Joshua Wilner

A Writer Writes

Children

No Boys In Your Bedroom

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I heard a male voice coming from my daughter’s bedroom and almost didn’t think twice about it.

You can blame that upon technology because it could be Netflix, Snapchat or something else on her phone.

For a moment I started to walk and then I heard echoes of stories from my past and those dear to me.

Heard someone tell me about her mother walking in on her and a boyfriend, remembered another friend telling me about being caught by an aunt and my own moment of interruption.

So I stopped outside her bedroom and listened to her laugh at something this boy had said and for a half second I wondered whether I would play mohel or MMA fighter.

“Wait, I think my dad is standing outside my door.”

I’ll give my girl credit for being aware of her surroundings but I won’t tell her I breathed a sigh of relief when I discovered she was Facetiming with him.

I don’t mind waiting a while before I have to worry about her learning what it means to date.

Oh, I See That You’re Busy

We haven’t yet had the conversation about boys not being allowed in her bedroom. Haven’t had to get real deep about the boy/girl thing yet.

Her mom has had multiple conversations about some of this stuff and I have made a point to let her know she can speak with me too.

But when you’re a month away from turning 14 you don’t want to speak with your dad about some stuff, especially about certain girl things that I won’t ever experience first hand.

****

“Dad, stop flexing. It is embarrassing.”

I don’t know why she is embarrassed because I am the one that was surprised. I had no idea that she had wandered into the master bath.

She is right, I was flexing, but not for her or anyone else.

It was a moment of taking stock and trying to figure out if the time at the gym is having the kind of impact I want.

“Don’t you know this is how old men get most of the ladies, by flexing in the mirror and telling bad jokes.”

She shakes her head and tells me my bad jokes would never impress a real woman.

“Several real women might disagree with you.”

Another head shake and an eye roll.

“Dad, don’t pretend your corny stuff worked.”

“I don’t have to pretend.”

“Ooh, that is gross.”

I shrug my shoulders at her and ask her to step out so I can change into clothes.

Later on she’ll ask if I ever thought about marrying anyone else and whether I dumped them or they dumped me.

We won’t have a ton of time to talk so she’ll tell me to give her a summary and I’ll say I have a past.

“What does that mean?”

“It means I have tasted life and that there have been points at which I could taken a different turn.”

It intrigues her enough to ask a few more questions but we really don’t have time so I promise to talk about it whenever.

In the interim I say life is about collecting experiences and that there is no rush to get involved with anyone.

“You can’t stop us from growing up.”

I smile and tell her I am not doing any such thing. I am just sharing some of my experience with her.

Bourdain Is No More

I have been thinking about Anthony Bourdain and Kate Spade.

I have mixed emotions about it because I wrestle with whether I should try to fly home to spend another Father’s Day with my dad.

We don’t know how long the race is so I can’t say if this could be the last or if there might be more so part of me is angry they decided to check themselves out of life when they were physically healthy.

But I know about depression and how it can be devastating to people so I know that my anger isn’t entirely fair.

I know they were in significant pain so it is too simplistic to scream and yell at them. The demons won.

Their demons that is and I recognize that their families are paying a stiff price too so I can be angry but I can be compassionate about it.

I can feel badly that life got to be so hard they couldn’t see anything else, especially when I have worked so damn hard to try and show others that the sun still shines.

****

Compassion is in shorter supply than I would like.

I listen to people say ripping apart families at the border isn’t horrible because people should know better than to come here illegally.

I listen to people justify terrible actions and wonder if somewhere Lady Liberty has begun to weep.

The New Colossus should be something we can shout with honor and poise knowing so many of us were once immigrants and not all came via the legal means that people push as being more noble.

Now I wonder if the accent should be on the silent lips and if we should replace the Statue of Liberty’s face with a skull.

Secure borders are important but there are ways to manage things that don’t require giving up our humanity or pretending that what we do is noble.

We’re going to pay a price for this, some of these families will remember us with anger and hate. We ought to focus on winning hearts and minds instead of this horrible practice.

With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

Final Thoughts

Don McLean sings Til Tomorrow and my mind wanders through past and present with an eye towards the future.

I have my thoughts and ideas about what will come and hope things turn out better than I fear they might.

When my children are older I want to tell them I did my part to push back against the tide. Some of you aren’t wrapping yourself in the flag to prove how patriotic you are.

You are doing it because you want to built a wall between the bad stuff the government is doing and your vision.

It’s a cowardly way to live.

69 Blog Posts You Won’t Comment On Or Read

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If I told you there is an article that says mothers and grandmothers were/are responsible for making sure the kids eat because the men/hunters are only successful at bagging big game 3.4% of the time you might scratch your head or pump your fist.

I know a few of are nodding your head because you’re convinced that without women we all would starve and or are children would be hurt ‘cuz the menfolk aren’t paying attention.

And I know at least 38 of you want to know who taught these men to hunt and whether they are using AR-15’s with night scopes and the latest sportsmen accoutrements.

So what does this have to do with 69 blog posts you won’t comment on or read?

Not much.

****

It is not because I can’t connect them together, ‘cuz I could.

Hell I could tell you about the scary lake in Ohio that people fear to buy houses upon ‘cuz it is eerie and tie in a story about Johnny and June promising to visit the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame together…maybe.

And if you are one of those people who spend two hours under a hair dryer on a Sunday night you might even read it twice while trying to decide whether to be annoyed  or pleased.

Anyhoo, let me throw a few more bananas into the crowd and say 14 years of blogging has proven that blogging about blogging always drives more comments and readers.

That other stuff I touched upon, well it is targeted at the non and former bloggers first ‘cuz it is goofy and interesting.

Goofy and interesting are relatively effective at generating interest and retaining interest.

They are variants of outrageous and intriguing which might be headlines like “Things You Shouldn’t Suck On” or questions like ‘what happens when friends of your ex send you FB requests and stalk you online.”

That is the kind of stuff that encourages all kinds of people to read because they want to know more and are curious where you are going with it all.

69 Blog Posts You Won’t Comment On Or Read

A few days ago I heard from another old acquaintance on Facebook.

They said they had heard about my father and wanted to know if there is anything they can do to help. I said no and thanked them for their concern.

“Josh, let me help, don’t push me away.”

I pushed ‘cuz I don’t know what to ask for.

Should I ask them to pray the cancer magically disappears and that the dialysis and diabetes go away too?

Might help, can’t rule it out, but cannot count on it. Cannot give it a half a percent chance of working, but would be glad to be proven wrong.

Could ask them if they have a spare 10 million floating around and find lots of useful ways to apply that cash. I could fly back as often as needed, fly my folks around on a private jet and pay for home help.

Would be nice, but I am not going to ask. I don’t think I know anyone who can offer that and even if they could.

It is not pride, well, there might be a little but the reality is far away from that.

I don’t think of asking for help except for specific things. Medical referrals, equipment come to mind, but other than that I just don’t think about it.

Might be because I am used to doing things on my own or that I don’t speak freely with many or maybe it is something else.

Maybe it is because this is black and white to me. It is not a question of if, but of when with a focal point on how to fill the time in between.

Love hard. Live hard and hope that it is not just empty words.

****

Fear and I are frenemies now.

Old Frankie Fear took up residence a couple of years ago. That motherfucker showed up uninvited and brought a world of chaos with him and he did it before the cancer came.

But he didn’t realize I would grow accustomed to his presence and that I would never stop fighting…never.

There are moments of silence when I tolerate and or ignore his presence because you can’t be happy/sad/angry all the time.

You have to just roll with it and I have gotten to be a master at that.

But what about the 69 blog posts you won’t read or comment on?

You’re reading now, right? You’re following along trying to figure out WTF goes on in the cavernous hole between my ears.

The best blog post fit into educational, entertaining and or informative.

Those are the ones that keep readers from pointing and clicking their way to the next shiny object online.

If you don’t have one or more of those elements your readers won’t hang out with you.

All I did here was use a silly headline that I gambled would pull people in and hope the content that followed would be enough to keep them hanging around.

Experience suggests that it will work but I won’t know for certain until after I publish.

Where Do You Focus Your Energy?

I can name a half dozen friends who have lost a parent to terminal illness and another four or five whose parents were murdered or killed in car accidents.

Some of them have reached out to say to take advantage of this time and a few have said to be aware that grief is a ripe old bastard that will surprise me and not necessarily in a good way.

I thank them and do what I do.

Sometimes I vomit words upon these pages here ‘cuz it is healthier than filling my belly with ice cream, candy and pizza.

Sometimes I work out and hope that my body doesn’t break down ‘cuz I push hard.

****

And sometimes I go argue online about the president.

Sometimes people tell me I take it too seriously and I wonder when they’ll recognize they ought to start.

I want to believe I am wrong and that there is a method to the actions of the mad king but thus far I can’t see it.

It is possible and even probable that I am going harder at some of these people because dad’s cancer is a big pussy who won’t come out from his body to fight me.

I have asked it to, told it there has never been a better time to fight me.

It is not like I am still 20. I don’t spend two hours in the gym every day or have the benefit of a body with far fewer miles than this one.

I have to figure it is either a coward or it recognizes that even if I am a lesser man physically than I once was I am a far tougher and much meaner.

Life experience will do that to you, but it also provides you with the wisdom to know when to be soft and when to be hard.

It is knowing when to be a part of something and when to be apart.

That is what I am trying to teach my kids. It is not particularly profound, wish our president understood it too.

Ten Minutes Alone…In The Closet

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The kid at the gym tells me he can’t understand why I am so excited.

“Dude, you just flew off of the bench and started bouncing. What’s up?”

“Put up 215 and did 5 reps. Could have done more weight. That is 40 pounds of progress.”

He shakes his head and tells me I shouldn’t get excited because I am not close to my potential and I shake my head in return.

“You don’t get it ‘cuz you’re a baby. Time feels endless to you but not to me, I know it is like an accordion and sometimes that accordion gets squeezed and it all goes rushing by. I live for moments. I collect them.”

We bounce a few thoughts back and forth but I don’t spend any more time trying to screw an old head on his young shoulders.

I am too busy thinking about progress and some of my favorite quotes.

Ten Minutes Alone…In The Closet

“You know what I could do to you, with you if I had you alone in the closet for 10 minutes.”

She laughs and tells me I don’t need to find a closet.

“I am happy to be with you anywhere and do whatever you want.”

We smile at each other, fingers intertwined and keep watching the movie while sitting on the couch.

“That is true, but if you ever forgot. If we somehow got separated I might need those 1o minutes to remind you.”

She laughs and tells me our life isn’t like the movie we’re watching. I just smile and make a note in my mental notebook.

****

Experience has taught me life is lived in a combination of moments and minutes, some ordinary and some extraordinary.

We don”t always recognize the extraordinary when they happen and sometimes we don’t realize what we have got until we have lost it.

And even then we sometimes make a list of reasons why that extraordinary moment…wasn’t. It is part of how we protect ourselves.

Stands right next to starting a fight with someone because it is always easier say goodbye or keep someone at arm’s length when we are angry.

Fathers and Cars

The younger Mr. Wilner offers me five minutes on what kind of car he thinks I should look at and what I definitely should not.

I listen to what he says and explain where I think the holes are in his assessment. It is a teaching moment and a good opportunity to help him understand how this all works.

A short time later I answer the phone and move from father to son.

Dad asks me a few questions and then gives me his advice.

Two things stick out:

  1. If I didn’t know he was sick I wouldn’t have a clue. He sounds normal, like cancer is something others deal with.
  2. If my son was listening he would ask/tell me I sound just like my father. Maybe one day my kid will be a dad and have a similar revelation.
  3. I pay close attention to this moment with my father and appreciate it because things can turn on a dime.

Yeah, I know the numbers don’t match and yes I did it intentionally.

****

One of the car salesmen asks me what he can do to earn my business and I tell him he needs to match or beat the price I got.

He says he thinks he can do it and I give him a number.

“Sales dude, I am going to be tied up for a while but you can text me if you come up with something.

He says ok and within 10 minutes fires off five or six texts.

Initially they are probing questions and I see he is clarifying the terms of the deal I tell him I have been offered.

They’re followed by texts that irritate me because he suggests I am lying. That is poor salesmanship, especially because I have a written quote.

I am not making shit up.

This dealer isn’t one I pulled out of the Yellow Pages either, I was referred to them. Thus far they have been superior to the others but since I have time to make up my mind I figured it wouldn’t hurt to bounce the quote around.

It is virtually effortless to reach out to a few other dealers and see if anyone can do better.

Now I am waiting to hear back from the dealer with the better pricing about a different car because I might go a different direction.

This guy hasn’t tried to push or grind me into anything. If I have to criticize him he is almost too laid back, but that comes as a someone who has spent years in sales and marketing.

As the consumer it is almost refreshing.

****

I want more certainty with the car than I am going to get.

Intellectually I recognize I can’t guarantee that it will be perfect. There will be things I like better and or less than my current car.

Chances are low that I am g0ing to get a lemon but that is not really much of a concern or the root of this issue.

This is me reacting to exhaustion. Two years of very hard moments and struggle have left me feeling little tolerance for certain things.

On the other hand there have been some major successes as of late so it is not like things have been nothing but awful.

Cue Music.

Final Thoughts

The kids watched part of the Rock-N-Roll Hall of Fame induction with me.

Daughter catches me mouthing the words to a couple of Moody Blues songs and looks at me.

“Abba, you and your old timey music.”

“What does that mean?”

“I know what you are thinking.”

“I doubt that.”

She shakes her head at me but I don’t ask her to explain. I am certain she really doesn’t have a clue what is crossing my mind and I don’t intend to share it to prove it is different than what she thinks.

It doesn’t stop me from smirking and telling her I had a very full life before she was born.

“You know I am 35 years older than you are.”

“Yeah, you’re old. Lots of gray in your hair, even though you pretend otherwise.”

“I earned it.”

She shakes her head at me but this time I say and do nothing. Let her have the last word.

I have a spreadsheet to look at and cars to think about.

How To Tell If It’s A Credible Threat Against A School

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The email from the middle school principal offered parents assurances that our local police department and school administrators have determined there is no credible threat against the middle school.

I read it twice and then sat with my 8th grader and had a conversation about it. She told me she already knew and showed me two group chats the students were having about it.

That didn’t surprise me nor was I particularly bothered by our children discussing it. They hear, read and talk about school shootings.

In my day we teased each other about what we do if Red Dawn actually happened. I remember promising to make Russian soldiers pay and that we would make them wish they had chosen to visit the beach and not our junior high.

I was serious but I never took it seriously.

Our kids look at the world differently.

June, It Was Just A Kiss

I once overheard a couple we’ll call Johnny and June debate whether their lip locking meant anything.

“June, it was just a kiss. Nothing more than that.”

June didn’t like that and she let him know in no uncertain terms that it didn’t please her.

I didn’t pay too much attention to the next thirty minutes of conversation because I was far too involved in responding to an email.

Upon coming back up for air I discovered the tables had turned and Johnny was trying to convince June that it was the greatest kiss he had ever been a part of.

It wasn’t clear to me whether June wasn’t having it because she was making him pay for upsetting her or if she just disagreed.

I couldn’t help myself and turned on some music for him and wondered if I could hire myself as his Cyrano.

Would he pay me good coin to write her a love letter that would open her heart and eyes?

Maybe.

More importantly, could I come up with the right combination of words that spelled out the longing, love and ache alongside of the confidence, courage and charisma that would be required?

Maybe.

That sort of thing is a challenge when you know someone intimately and even harder when you don’t.

Or maybe it is easier when you don’t and there is no baggage surrounding it. Maybe that is easier.

Or maybe that baggage can be reframed as experiences that provide scientific proof that you and him/her have had lots of good times together and time to have many more.

The Chair Is On Fire

My chair isn’t on fire but it might as well be ‘cuz my mind is flying at light speed. Been to multiple sites and read different reports about why this isn’t a credible threat.

Haven’t called the police but am thinking about it and wondering if they are going to tell me anything that will slow my mind a bit.

Funny thing about it is I would go to school and not think twice because it is me. I am very confident of my ability to take care of myself, but daughter is different.

Not because she isn’t capable of looking out for herself because she absolutely is. My baby girl isn’t a baby anymore.

She is smart, observant and has had the benefit of an older brother.

That might not mean something to you, but out on the soccer field the coaches and parents have noticed the players who are younger siblings tend to be tougher.

Sometimes those with older brothers are tougher yet because they have spent their lives playing with boys who have played pretty rough.

Or maybe that is just me trying to make myself feel a bit better…or maybe not.

Let the music keep playing while I think about what is best for my daughter and hope that things go smoothly as they usually do.

Stay Calm

“Stay calm and keep your eyes/ears open. The police and school have looked into this so I am going to figure it is business as usual. But stay aware anyway.”

She smiles because she has heard this a million times before, but it feels different this time.

Not because I am truly afraid but because she is about to become a high school freshman and I know how fast time is going to start moving.

Won’t be that long before the girl really is on the verge of going to college and I’ll be almost middle aged.

We need a revolution in thinking before that happens.

I am uncertain about how fast or how slow it will take because I keep encountering people who aren’t just stupid, they are profoundly dumb and unclear as to how very wrong their politics and approach to life is.

That is not something I say easily or with glee.

Most of the time I am comfortable with live and let live but I am beginning to see many signs that laissez faire may be a nice theory and not in practice.

That is disconcerting, troubling and disappointing.

****

How To Tell If It’s A Credible Threat Against A School

I am not an expert and you’re not going to find five fool proof ways to know if the threat is credible or not.

What you have are fifteen minutes of off-the-top-of-my-head thinking.

That includes the obvious moves of contacting the school and police to get their input and to speak with our children because they don’t always share what they know.

And because they need to know some adults are doing more than providing useless thoughts and prayers as bullet/knife/bomb proof vests.

Statistically speaking most of us are going to be ok.

Most of us aren’t going to pull the joker from the deck, but you never know.

I Can’t Make You Read This But My Monkey Can

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Sometimes the music is eerily perceptive of thoughts and ideas floating through my head and I wonder if the song placed an idea or two inside or if it just brought them to the surface.

The thermostat in the car flipped back and forth between 97 and 100 but I didn’t care because the difference is negligible for me.

Though I have noticed I don’t feel the same about the distinction between seven and 10 but am always grateful for 29 as opposed to 26.

Suffice it to say I am a man who will take the heat over the cold of a Chicago or cleveland.  Might as well include little sister’s adopted state of New Jersey which is too freaking cold for too long during the winter for me to want to live there.

One day I’ll tell you how people have remarked that I do very well in the very cold and I look at those natives and wonder if their brains have frozen, but that is not a story for today.

I Can’t Make You Read This But My Monkey Can

The words are flowing fast and furiously here and in some other places but some people will never see them because I can’t make them read.

I could tell them to look at the last half dozen or so posts because there has been some good material there but it won’t matter because they won’t do it.

My ‘monkey,’ the silverback at the top of the page could motivate them to do so but he is far away and I am not enamored with the idea.

It is tied into my letting go of some people and part of this particular stage of the journey. Someone asked me recently why I don’t stay in touch and I said if I died they wouldn’t notice.

They thought it was rude but I wasn’t being snarky. I was being honest.

If it wasn’t for Facebook they wouldn’t know a thing about me and their memories would be of the guy I was 30 years ago.

He was a good guy and I liked him. I see that guy all the time and I like him, but he is a small part of me.

How sad would it be if you knew me then and now and said I never changed.

If I thought you hadn’t changed and or grown in 30 years I probably wouldn’t want to spend any time with you any more than you would want to be with me..

BTW, I stumbled across an Irish version of the song above and think it is kind of cool.

The Mel Brooks/Marx Brothers Test

A gym buddy tells me he figures out whether the people he knows are good or bad based upon whether his dog likes them or not.

I tell him I sometimes wonder about people who have cats but really focus more upon the Mel Brooks/Marx Brothers test.

“What kind of test is that? Do you test them on quotes or movie knowledge?”

“No, not that at all. It is more of a question of whether they find them funny. If you tell me you don’t think Mel is funny or that you think Groucho and company are stupid I know we’re unlikely to be really good friends.

It is not fool proof or scientific, but it has generally proven to be true.”

He says he never thought about it and wonders if the humor translates because of age.

“My kids laugh at much of it and it’s not necessarily the slapstick stuff. Some comedy is pretty cerebral.”

When he tells me you don’t have to be particularly intelligent to be a comedian I decide I don’t care to correct him.

Yeah, I mean it like that.

There is some intellect required for comedy and while I am certain it doesn’t always have to be like that I’ll wager there are quite a few comedians who are pretty damn smart.

*****

The funny part of this is instead of moving on to a different topic this guy tells me he thinks many comics did poorly in school and that grades are indicative of intelligence.

“Stick to lifting or something you can back up. Grades aren’t indicative of success or intelligence. Hell they aren’t uniform and I can point out tons of people whose grades weren’t particularly good but are very successful.”

“Josh, that is offensive and I’ll assume you say that because your grades weren’t good. Careful that might reflect poorly upon your kids.”

I didn’t grab him by the collar and shake him like a rag doll nor did I accidentally drop a dumbbell on his foot…but I thought about it.

“My daughter has straight A’s and finished Algebra in 8th grade. My son was accepted into a honors program that included college classes in high school. I never worried about their grades or felt that their intelligence is based upon being to regurgitate facts.

Let’s not involve them.”

“Josh, grades are important. Did you not go to college? Why don’t you understand this?”

“Grades are meaningless to me, almost always have been. I had a B+ average through most of school and was admitted to the honors program at my university. But if you look at my college grades outside of my major, there are some that aren’t stellar.

I got bored easily and you can see it on my report card. Now I could tell you how good I was at finding angles to get by and that I was a master at cramming, not to mention I was good at tests.

But what difference does it make. Decades later no one ever asks me if I did well in school. I have never not gotten hired or lost of a position because of my grades. It is just mental masturbation.”

Last Words

My phone rings around 8:30 on Wednesday night.

Dad is on the phone and he sounds incredible.

“Did you go to chemo this week? You sound like you feel pretty good.”

“I do. Not sure what changed, but I feel good.”

We have a really good conversation and when I hang up two thoughts occur to me.

1) My folks still have a land line so when you call the house there is no guarantee who will pick up. If one of my sisters is over I might get to talk to them and both of my parents. That kind of thing doesn’t happen with cellphones.

2) That is the first conversation with dad that has felt normal since just before he started chemo and I am grateful. That doesn’t mean the others were horrible, but it was nice to have a moment where I didn’t spend the conversation wondering.

*****

The texts start rolling in around late afternoon today.

Mom wants us to know that everything is ok, but says they have been in the ER since early in the morning.

I don’t respond to the group text, I just watch and read.

If they need me to speak they’ll let me know, but for now there is nothing to add so I am silent.

Later on I picture my dad’s cancer standing in front of me.

“Cancer you motherfucker, if you want to do a little dance you’re welcome to take a shot but I promise I will fuck you up so badly you’ll feel like an early strain of strep that got knocked out by Penicillin”

It is ridiculous and I know it, but it is part of a ritual I have developed.

I wonder if that old man from the Africa song knows more than he says, maybe his advice to hurry boy it is waiting for you holds meaning I wasn’t aware of.

*****

I look up palms face up and arms outstretched but my hands remain empty and the silence is deafening.

Of Mediums & Messages

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I had a dream in which that which was lost was found again and all that was broken was repaired.

The boys played this in the background and I wandered around wondering if such things were real or just fantasy.

Upon awakening I lay in bed with my eyes closed and listened for remarks about bad timing or comments from the great beyond from Pasqualina, Zeruel or that Judy who thought she knew so much.

All I heard was the sound of silence and for that I was grateful because I needed a few moments to let it all sink in.

Of Mediums & Messages

If you have been a part of the journey you know there have been moments where I have approached the castle walls and looked up to see who might be looking down from the ramparts upon me.

Sometimes we have exchanged eye contact and I have felt confident for reasons that defy explanation but those moments have been juxtaposed with long bouts of silence.

Long moments where I looked up and saw nothing but walls and endless sky.

When that happened I would shrug my shoulders and go about my business for there was always a long list of things that had to be done and stuff that I wanted to try to do.

I never knew how long I would be at sea for or what things would look like upon my return but I always expected that one day I would find an answer or answers.

****

Some of the fellas suggest that I ought to look at Medium as part of this journey and that publishing there could serve as a great tool and resource.

They say it would be a way to get the word out about my writing to more than a few handfuls of people here and there.

I haven’t ever shared how long I have been sort of messing around with it or that I haven’t figured out yet whether it should be part of my marketing tool kit or if it is one step too far.

Does it serve as an extension or an over extension of what I am trying to do?

I am undecided on it.

That is not an indictment of its utility but recognition of my not having spent as much time with it as I could or maybe should.

I don’t want to be a digital share cropper and that place feels a little bit like it might be that kind of thing.

But it might not be too.

****

As we wander around from place to place I find ample opportunity to think about what my goals are and to ask if I am accomplishing them.

The answers are yes and no.

I feel like I am straddling and being straddled by…people/things.

Some of what I am focused upon doing is happening as I want and wish.

A combination of hard work and a smidgen of luck is paying off and I am grateful but it is not happening everywhere I want it to and so I ask if I am using the right formulas or if the math is wrong.

Why Do People Say No

The boys are playing again and I am thinking/working while I listen.

I ask myself if the fine folks that fly through here are getting the experience I want them to have and wonder if they know how to find their way around.

Do they know how to read the past posts they haven’t read? Should I encourage them to read what they have missed or just press on and publish new stuff?

Is there a better and friendlier layout/theme than this one?

****

We spent most of the weekend out on the soccer fields watching my daughter play in a tournament.

Her team didn’t enter but another did and she was asked if she would help them out.

My baby girl played every minute of four games and was recruited to play on two different teams. I heard lots of parents call our her name and it was hard not to kvell because she deserved the accolades.

The kid has straight A’s and is flying towards high school at warp speed with big dreams.

I listened to the people who said they would like her to come play on their team and tried to ask good questions.

She is thinking about trying out for her high school team next year and I want that for her because she wants it.

I don’t know if she will make the team this year or not.

I told her to stay humble and work hard.

If she really wants this and puts the work in I know she has the talent. She can make this happen.

So I sit here and silently consider options.

Do I let her take the lead on the approach or try to guide things knowing experience provides me with some big picture focus she hasn’t got yet.

Should we sign up for rec or club?

What will help her develop and provide her with the most opportunity?

She yelled at me when I tried to speak with her about it all. I understand why she did and am not angry.

I hope she recognized how proud I am of her and how excited I am for her.

I don’t want to push too hard one way or another but I don’t want to be totally hands off either. It is her life, but she is still young enough to need some help figuring it all out.

****

“I told you no for a reason.”

I keep a blank expression and say nothing.

“I can’t do it.”

I stay silent and wait to see if they have completed their thought.

“What do want me to do?”

I smile and say I don’t want them to anything beyond answer a question.

“Why are you saying no?”

That surprises them and for a moment they struggle to come up with an answer. Eventually they spit out their reply and I ask if I can show them something.

“Sure.”

Thirty minutes later they ask me if I knew how things would go.

“I know things and I know that people often say no because it is an easy answer and not because they have thought about it. I knew I had a solution and that it would make your life easier. You could have said no, but I figured if I was calm and not adversarial that would be enough.”

They smile and thank me.

As I walk away I remind myself that this wasn’t as easy as the story makes it sound. Took a lot of time and effort to get to this place, but it was worth it.

Hard Work and Patience

Every time I look in the mirror at the gym I see a beat up old truck that shows glimmers of what it could be with some hard work and patience.

The hard work doesn’t bother me but the patience isn’t what or where it should be.

That is because it feels like every time I start to make real progress I feel funny things happening that make me wonder if all is right.

The pain in my left arm isn’t enough to stop me from working out but it is enough for me to wonder if it tendinitis has come to visit.

I move a different way and feel a different pull and wonder what the hell that is.

It all comes after ample stretching and I find myself scowling at the reflection in the mirror.

The guy in the mirror doesn’t flinch and I know he’s ready to go to war with me. The thing is I don’t know if it is as comrade or foe.

This aging thing isn’t always fun, but there has to be a way to get around some of this. Has to be some formula or combination that will work.

****

Lying bed, eyes closed, I slowly stretch and feel strength I haven’t felt in a while.

But there are some mystery aches alongside of it and though I am not thrilled with those mystery aches, I suppose I’ll take them for the moment.

Maybe we’ll find a way to ditch them or maybe not.

It Is A Question Of When To Ask For Help

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A good story involves a little bit of this and a little bit of that.

Cuz there are moments when fire rains down from the mountains and the roads you expect to host your travels are wiped from existence.

Instead of worrying about how closely you ought to follow the rules of the road you start wondering how to blaze a trail through unfriendly land.

That is good for books and movies but less good for real life situations in which the consequences can’t be adjusted by clever writing.

It Is A Question Of When To Ask For Help

We’re in the great game now and the very best part is the worst too–there are no rules.

Ok, there are a few but only vague outlines of such and they don’t include sign of symbols we can use to guide our journey.

There are no pillars of fire or clouds leading the way and the path ahead is unclear.

So we reach the part where I acknowledge there is going to be a time to ask for help and supplement it with the caveat that I am not good at it.

Some of it is a trust issue- I don’t worry about Lucy snatching the ball away at the last minute when I take lead.

That doesn’t negate my recognition of the need to find and cultivate other resources because I know the importance of doing so.

You don’t know what you don’t know.

Sometimes ignorance is bliss and sometimes it offers a great way to crash your car and be struck by the fire from the sky.

How To Use A Key

The fire breathing version of myself has surfaced again and he is railing about being purposeful and intentional with what we do.

Headphones go on and music accompanies the intense focus upon the 99 problems and the quest for a solution.

Family recognizes now is not the time to ask frivolous questions because the bull is at the edge of the water.

Perhaps this is more proof that the sins of the father are visited upon the son because I am familiar with being on the other side of the glare that must reside upon my face.

****

Chemo has made dad a step slower and a bit fuzzy headed.

I keep looking for the sharp edges knowing they aren’t there right now. It is surreal to feel for the time I am the only Wilner man who is on top of his game.

This will not be how it is forever and it is not impossible to think I could be knocked off of my rock.

It is why I am digging in and planting my feet.

I have to hold the line and find ways to help manage a few things.

It can be done.

****

The funny part of all of this is how very different some of my major concerns were not so long ago.

They were well founded and based upon reality but they were different from now.

Still significant, but they felt…different.

Maybe this is why I like thinking about the different uses for a key. The ways it can be used to open doors so that you don’t have to knock down walls or climb through windows.

Or maybe I like that you can use a key to poke the bad guys in the eye.

Who Will You Run To?

One of the guys asks me what I plan on doing when the inevitable comes.

“Who will you run to and what will you do?”

I shrug my shoulders.

“How do I answer that? I can tell you about texts I have exchanged with loved ones who lost a parent. Some of them took place the day of the funeral and some on other days. I hope I said the right things but who can know. Grief is personal.”

He pushes me to think about it.

“It might help more than you realize.”

I nod and smile.

“You know some people will maintain their distance from me because they don’t know what to say or don’t want to get drawn in. Others will surprise me and reach out. I can’t say who or when.”

This time he is the one to nod and smile.

“You make this more difficult than it needs to be.”

“There are no rules.  You don’t read my blog posts and haven’t any sense of how much thinking I do.”

“Do you want me to read it?”

“It is up to you. Just understand there are boundaries and I won’t write about everything. Nor will you necessarily know what or whom I am referring to. Sometimes it is a combination of people/things. I like to write.”

He says that sounds reasonable and asks me if I know how many people read my posts.

“I used to care about that, but not so much these days. That might change again, or it might not. I just want to write and work on getting better at telling stories people want to read.

What Do You Think?

Dad asks me for my opinion on a topic that he never would have before and it reminds me of the past.

Somewhere around 15 years or so ago we had a conversation about work, parenthood and life.

“You understand things better than you once did. You can’t screw an old head on young shoulders.”

“No, you can’t. That line doesn’t bother me anymore. I get it now.”

“Yeah, I think you do.”

****

My teenagers lay into me about something I have done. I try not to smile at their unified front knowing they won’t interpret it as my being pleased as a father.

They’ll think I am trying to mess with them.

“I suggest you both tread carefully. It is not a level playing field and you haven’t earned the right to come at me with the kind of fire I hear below the surface.”

“Dad, you’re making us very angry.”

“Good, I am somewhere beyond angry in that secret world that lies between here and reality. You know the made up one you two are talking about.

Life isn’t fair.

I am not a superhero. I am a regular guy doing his best to be brave for five minutes longer.”

There is a soft pause, followed by a quiet question.

“Dad, what do you think is going to happen?”

“I don’t know for certain. Only thing I know is we’ll do our best and things will work out one way or another. ”

It is not a lie or an exaggeration. I believe it.

I just hope there are fewer bumps in the road than I expect and if I am wrong, well I guess help is available.

Time will tell.

What Kind Of Father Are You?

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Some guy on Twitter came at me with a series of jabs that were supposed to get under my skin so that he could finish up with a knock out shot.

“What kind of father are you?”

It was an indictment and not a question.

The kind of “gotchha” statement that must have sounded amazing in his head but didn’t have any impact in real life.

Not because my skin is so thick or because I don’t worry about people I don’t know calling me names but because what he condemns I revere.

And because I have asked and answered that question more than once and probably will again.

Today I am the kind of father who goes to sleep knowing I have done the best I could to be a good parent to my kids.

What Kind Of Father Are You?

Sometimes I feel like I have failed them because I didn’t go after certain goals and dreams of mine with the kind of single minded focus I encourage them to use.

If I am to lead by example you ask if this is a problem or perhaps you might unpack it further to get the full story and determine whether guilt is deserved or assumed.

Given the opportunity to go back in time I would make a few changes and do some things differently but that is the benefit of hindsight.

Since hindsight doesn’t provide foresight I can’t tell you things would definitively be better or worse, just different.

Some itches wouldn’t need to be scratched with such ferocity they keep me looking for future opportunity.

What kind of father doesn’t look backwards and forwards for ways to make things better. Sure some of us are secure with where things are at and confident that nothing could be better but that is some of us.

The thing to remember is the desire to improve things isn’t an indicator of a bad situation. Sometimes it is just acknowledging there is an opportunity to move closer to roping that moon.

What I know is I can take Otis’ lyrics and apply them to my life in multiple ways. I am a man of great experience which is how and why I can say I know things.

You Ought To Know

You ought to know this might be one of the weakest pieces of fiction I have written or so I think today.

There might come a time when I feel differently, but I can’t say it will happen nor will I spend time wondering about it.

You ought to know I am sharing this thought because it provides a platform to say I am certain some people will disagree.

Some will say it is far better than I say and some will declare it much worse.

That is part of the joy of writing.

If you are not writing opinion pieces it can be challenging to predict what is going to resonate with people and what is going to make them scream What the fuck did I just waste my time reading.

Some of you have told me you hate when I use curse words and that it turns you off and some of you have said it adds flavor and helps flesh out my voice.

You didn’t ask if the story of Scoundrel Johnson sold more than a 100,000 copies nor did I offer any information other than I am the kind of father who might have taught his children more than one four letter word.

Sometimes I am the father who wanted to ask where the ketchup was on the page with the spinach frittata but didn’t because sometimes I ignore people.

It took some effort not to say that frittata is a word that means monkey in Medieval French but I wasn’t sure if my words would be understood to be teasing and didn’t feel like getting into an unnecessary fight.

Is it because I am a lover and not a fighter?

Depends on the time and day–sometimes I am both and sometimes I am neither.

Did I mention I am the kind of father that isn’t just one thing.

So Close But So Far Away

Make a circle with your fingers and put the full moon inside them.

When you are young you look at the moon and wonder what might happen if you squeezed your hand shut.

Would you find yourself holding it or would it stay rooted in the sky?

Confession: sometimes I still think I can find a way to grab it and pull it out of the sky.

Ask Neil deGrasse Tyson is he can help me build a shrink ray and I’ll pull the moon out of the sky.

Hell I have already promised someone the moon, this would make it much easier to follow through.

I do hope they would choose to share it with everyone and not just keep it as a piece for their private collection.

*****

210 pounds.

That’s what I pushed up and down on the bench press today. It is a far cry from what I used to be able to do but the most I have comfortably done in a while.

The point isn’t to be focused on what I used to be capable of but to focus upon being the best I can be now.

That acknowledges the frustration of knowing I have lost a step physically while recognizing life isn’t stagnant and who I am now isn’t who I have to be forever.

Someone call Neil deGrasse Tyson and tell him my plan is to get back to throwing up 225 like a rag doll.

He’ll probably do the math and tell you how far off I am from being able to pull the moon out of the sky, let alone push it.

But that doesn’t mean I am going to just give up, this father remembers Archimedes and how he said with a lever he could move the earth.

Sometimes that is what you do. You move heaven and earth to find yourself so close and yet so far away.

Final Words

The children ask me more questions about my past, my present and the future.

They’re different than they once were–reflective of their age and sophisticated enough for me not to be able to finesse.

That’s ok with me because life isn’t filled with easy answers to hard questions but sometimes I wish I could do better for them.

When they move into comments and conversation about people I cite Jane Austen say if we are lucky we find people we wouldn’t mind be trapped on a desert island with and not those who would inspire us to build coconut swords.

That is the kind of father I am.