I don't normally post at this time of day, but I happened to check my stats early this morning. Once or twice a week I get a referral from a search engine. Usually it is someome searching for 'The Family Man' or 'The Family Man Blog.'
This one was different.
Someone typed this into MSN Search:
he likes to wear woman panties
This blog was the third record served for that search.
For the record, I do not wear women's panties.
But I think what triggered the hit was this post.
It's great to be The Family Man (in boxer briefs).
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
Sunday, September 25, 2005
Tagged again
Yes, I've been tagged again, courtesty of Jessica.
Still not sure why anyone wants my answers to questions. But I'm a good sport and willing to play along. Following are the questions and my answers.
6 Things I Want To Do:
1. Be a great dad
2. Be a great husband
3. Own my own business
4, 5 and 6 – see this post.
6 Things I Can Do:
1. Make my kids smile and laugh
2. Make MBW laugh
3. Take a good photograph
4. 35 pushups, 3 chinups (and improving)
5. Snow Ski Black Diamond runs
6. Scheme and Dream
6 Things I Can’t Do:
1. Dunk a basketball
2. Bench press my weight (just 10 pounds shy)
3. Retire today without financial worry
4. Hold my liquor
5. Suffer fools lightly
6. Stand hypocrisy
6 Things That Make Me Attractive To The Opposite Sex: (I don’t assume that I am. Perhaps, many years ago, I was. If there was/is anything, it might be the following)
1. Sense of humor
2. Commitment
3. Intelligence
4. Shoulders
5. Eyes
6. Bankroll (ok, see #1)
6 Things I Say All The Time:
1. Tommy!!!!
2. Chris!!!
3. Be careful
4. Please eat your (insert meal)
5. C’mon, fellas….
6. I love you
6 Celebrity Crushes :
None – I honestly don’t follow or care about the whole celebrity thing.
6 Strangers That I've Tagged:
As usual, I won’t tag others, but offer up the opportunity to reply in comments.
Tommy did a really interesting thing this weekend. In my next post I’ll tell you about it.
It’s great to be The Family Man.
Still not sure why anyone wants my answers to questions. But I'm a good sport and willing to play along. Following are the questions and my answers.
6 Things I Want To Do:
1. Be a great dad
2. Be a great husband
3. Own my own business
4, 5 and 6 – see this post.
6 Things I Can Do:
1. Make my kids smile and laugh
2. Make MBW laugh
3. Take a good photograph
4. 35 pushups, 3 chinups (and improving)
5. Snow Ski Black Diamond runs
6. Scheme and Dream
6 Things I Can’t Do:
1. Dunk a basketball
2. Bench press my weight (just 10 pounds shy)
3. Retire today without financial worry
4. Hold my liquor
5. Suffer fools lightly
6. Stand hypocrisy
6 Things That Make Me Attractive To The Opposite Sex: (I don’t assume that I am. Perhaps, many years ago, I was. If there was/is anything, it might be the following)
1. Sense of humor
2. Commitment
3. Intelligence
4. Shoulders
5. Eyes
6. Bankroll (ok, see #1)
6 Things I Say All The Time:
1. Tommy!!!!
2. Chris!!!
3. Be careful
4. Please eat your (insert meal)
5. C’mon, fellas….
6. I love you
6 Celebrity Crushes :
None – I honestly don’t follow or care about the whole celebrity thing.
6 Strangers That I've Tagged:
As usual, I won’t tag others, but offer up the opportunity to reply in comments.
Tommy did a really interesting thing this weekend. In my next post I’ll tell you about it.
It’s great to be The Family Man.
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
S'more of that
A couple of weeks ago we packed up the Camping Machine and headed off for a long weekend of family bonding around the campfire.
It was with some fanfare that we purchased the Camping Machine earlier this year. After over a year of research, doubt and angst I pulled the trigger on the purchase of a new 27-foot travel trailer. Visions of several summer excursions danced in my head as I imagined the adventure our family would have, modern day pioneers exploring the West in our 20th century Conestoga.
In fact, the reality of the summer was that between soccer, swimming, birthday parties, barbeques, visits from and to out-of-town family and other assorted social obligations, the camping machine left the RV pad all of three times – one of which was to the repair shop.
So as I pulled the rig out of the driveway two weeks ago I had two thoughts – one, I hope we have as much fun as everyone thinks we will, and two, where the hell did the summer go?
Our destination was a large lake, ringed by mountains, named for a large carnivorous mammal. It’s a beautiful lake, large and clear, and surprisingly under-developed in terms of commercial enterprise. It’s a wonderful retreat from our increasingly congested urban valley, about 3 hours in our rearview mirror as we arrived.
Let me preface everything that is to follow by stating clearly, for the record, I consider what we did as Camping. I respect the opinion of those who beg to differ, but the facts are these. We cooked (most of) our meals over an open flame. We slept in sleeping bags. We had a campfire, ate at a wooden picnic table, and had s’mores. Our campsite had real trees
The fact that we slept in a trailer with a furnace, hot water, refrigerator, microwave, and electricity has no bearing on the definition of camping.
Look, we did without TV and internet access, for Pete’s sake! How much more ‘roughing it’ do you expect?
I’ve done my share of the tent thing. I spent three nights in a tent in Yellowstone National Park, in July, freezing my butt off. I spent a night at 11,500 feet at the base of our state’s tallest mountain before reaching the summit the following afternoon. I’ve gone three days on pop-tarts, trail mix, protein bars and Gatorade powder.
But these days I’m an old man, with young kids. I want to have fun, positive family experiences in the outdoors. My days of proving, or perhaps disproving, my manhood as it relates to Grizzly Adams are long past.
What I do want is to spend quality time with my family outdoors. I want to spend time with my boys doing things, not watching other people do things. We live in such a beautiful state with exceptional recreational opportunities that it would be a shame not to take advantage of them. And that their ages right now, the Camping Machine is a great way to do it.
So we set up ‘camp’ at the local KOA (stop laughing!). The boys thought it was a great adventure watching dad try to park the trailer, unhook it from the Burbus Maximus, make it level and get it connected to the water and power. Sort of like unhitching the Wagon, setting up the cookfire, tying off the horses and preparing the campsite 150 years ago along the Oregon Trial.
Well, maybe not JUST like that. But something like it.
With camp set and the watch posted, we went down to the lake. Unlike many mountain lakes, this one has a beach of sorts. The water was clear, shallow and surprisingly warm. Chris and Tommy had a great time splashing around in the water, playing with their trucks in the sand, and chasing the seagulls. Yes, there are seagulls here at this lake. We watched the jet skis and the water skiers glide across the smooth, glassy waters. A paraglider sailed serenely overhead. It was a wonderful afternoon.
Soon it was time to head back to the campsite. After a quick visit to the convenience store (stop laughing!!!) we fired up the cookfire and made dinner. Beans and hardtack. Okay, maybe not exactly, but with a bit of imagination the hamburgers, hot dogs and brats could sort of be like that.
Then it was time for the s’mores.
Chris and Tommy have never had s’mores before. As you might expect, they adored the s’mores. They wanted more and more s’mores. I don’t abhor the thought of more s’mores, but I don’t want you to be bored with more s’more stories (stop snoring).
So I’ll just say the s’mores were more of a hit that I’d thought before. Nobody was bored with the s’mores. They wanted more. At least four more. Four score more.
Sadly, soon the sun set on the s’moregasborg of s’mores and it was time for bed. I’d selected a couple of moderately scary books to read as bedtime stories for this trip. As we all lay cuddled up in the sleeping bags in the warmth and comfort of the camping machine (stop laughing) I read the stories, tucked the boys in, and turned out the lights.
Just at that moment, a character long thought dead and vanquished made a surprise appearance.
Vampickle crept into the trailer and slaked his terrible thirst on the tickles and laugher of Chris and Tommy! Oh, the horror! I don’t know which was worse – the squealing, helpless laugher of my two sons, or the thought of one of the worst characters in blog history having the audacity to show his hideous face in my camping machine.
Yet Vampickle was quickly vanquished, and the boys fell asleep, exhausted with all the work of roughing it in the deep woods by the shore of the mountain lake named for the large carnivorous mammal.
MBW and I stepped back outside into the chill of the mountain evening and pulled up chairs next to the glowing campfire. Sitting side by side, holding hands, saying little. Gazing up at the stars. So many more stars are visible here than back in our yard, our ¼ acre patch of suburban bliss in the bowels of the congested urban valley.
Don’t get me wrong – our home and our neighborhood are very nice. We are fortunate to have what we have and live where we live. Still, the air is cleaner here at the campsite. The stars are brighter and we can see more of them. It’s a reminder that there is more to life than the daily routine we live every day in The City and its Suburbs.
We need to get up here more often.
And we will.
By and by the fire burned low, and MBW and I went back into the trailer. Checked on the boys – sound asleep. Adjusted the thermostat up a bit to take off that slight chill. Snuggled into our sleeping bag.
After a while, actually slept.
The long weekend was over much too quickly. After more swimming, a bit of hiking, some sightseeing and some more s’mores (would you like a bit more detail on that? No? Why not?) it was time to break camp. Which we did, much to the amusement of the boys watching Dad wrestle with the task of hooking the Camping Machine up to the Burbus Maximus.
The ride home was not nearly as fun as the ride up. Still, at least there was no bad news waiting for me when I got home.
With MBW and the boys in the house, I worked on unhooking the Camping Machine from the Burbus Maximus and stowing our gear. We had a great trip. I wish we had found the time to do a few more trips like that this summer.
I was thinking that summer ended much too quickly. Even more that that, with Chris starting kindergarten, it occurred to me that we only have 12 summers left before he’ll be off to college. As I mentioned before, him starting kindergarten does not make me sad. It’s the idea that these times, like the weekend we just experienced, are limited. They’ll go by so very, very quickly. I have to make sure to get the most out of the time we have, to make every summer count. I don’t want to look back and wish we had done more.
Yes. I want s’more of that, please.
It’s great to be The Family Man.
It was with some fanfare that we purchased the Camping Machine earlier this year. After over a year of research, doubt and angst I pulled the trigger on the purchase of a new 27-foot travel trailer. Visions of several summer excursions danced in my head as I imagined the adventure our family would have, modern day pioneers exploring the West in our 20th century Conestoga.
In fact, the reality of the summer was that between soccer, swimming, birthday parties, barbeques, visits from and to out-of-town family and other assorted social obligations, the camping machine left the RV pad all of three times – one of which was to the repair shop.
So as I pulled the rig out of the driveway two weeks ago I had two thoughts – one, I hope we have as much fun as everyone thinks we will, and two, where the hell did the summer go?
Our destination was a large lake, ringed by mountains, named for a large carnivorous mammal. It’s a beautiful lake, large and clear, and surprisingly under-developed in terms of commercial enterprise. It’s a wonderful retreat from our increasingly congested urban valley, about 3 hours in our rearview mirror as we arrived.
Let me preface everything that is to follow by stating clearly, for the record, I consider what we did as Camping. I respect the opinion of those who beg to differ, but the facts are these. We cooked (most of) our meals over an open flame. We slept in sleeping bags. We had a campfire, ate at a wooden picnic table, and had s’mores. Our campsite had real trees
The fact that we slept in a trailer with a furnace, hot water, refrigerator, microwave, and electricity has no bearing on the definition of camping.
Look, we did without TV and internet access, for Pete’s sake! How much more ‘roughing it’ do you expect?
I’ve done my share of the tent thing. I spent three nights in a tent in Yellowstone National Park, in July, freezing my butt off. I spent a night at 11,500 feet at the base of our state’s tallest mountain before reaching the summit the following afternoon. I’ve gone three days on pop-tarts, trail mix, protein bars and Gatorade powder.
But these days I’m an old man, with young kids. I want to have fun, positive family experiences in the outdoors. My days of proving, or perhaps disproving, my manhood as it relates to Grizzly Adams are long past.
What I do want is to spend quality time with my family outdoors. I want to spend time with my boys doing things, not watching other people do things. We live in such a beautiful state with exceptional recreational opportunities that it would be a shame not to take advantage of them. And that their ages right now, the Camping Machine is a great way to do it.
So we set up ‘camp’ at the local KOA (stop laughing!). The boys thought it was a great adventure watching dad try to park the trailer, unhook it from the Burbus Maximus, make it level and get it connected to the water and power. Sort of like unhitching the Wagon, setting up the cookfire, tying off the horses and preparing the campsite 150 years ago along the Oregon Trial.
Well, maybe not JUST like that. But something like it.
With camp set and the watch posted, we went down to the lake. Unlike many mountain lakes, this one has a beach of sorts. The water was clear, shallow and surprisingly warm. Chris and Tommy had a great time splashing around in the water, playing with their trucks in the sand, and chasing the seagulls. Yes, there are seagulls here at this lake. We watched the jet skis and the water skiers glide across the smooth, glassy waters. A paraglider sailed serenely overhead. It was a wonderful afternoon.
Soon it was time to head back to the campsite. After a quick visit to the convenience store (stop laughing!!!) we fired up the cookfire and made dinner. Beans and hardtack. Okay, maybe not exactly, but with a bit of imagination the hamburgers, hot dogs and brats could sort of be like that.
Then it was time for the s’mores.
Chris and Tommy have never had s’mores before. As you might expect, they adored the s’mores. They wanted more and more s’mores. I don’t abhor the thought of more s’mores, but I don’t want you to be bored with more s’more stories (stop snoring).
So I’ll just say the s’mores were more of a hit that I’d thought before. Nobody was bored with the s’mores. They wanted more. At least four more. Four score more.
Sadly, soon the sun set on the s’moregasborg of s’mores and it was time for bed. I’d selected a couple of moderately scary books to read as bedtime stories for this trip. As we all lay cuddled up in the sleeping bags in the warmth and comfort of the camping machine (stop laughing) I read the stories, tucked the boys in, and turned out the lights.
Just at that moment, a character long thought dead and vanquished made a surprise appearance.
Vampickle crept into the trailer and slaked his terrible thirst on the tickles and laugher of Chris and Tommy! Oh, the horror! I don’t know which was worse – the squealing, helpless laugher of my two sons, or the thought of one of the worst characters in blog history having the audacity to show his hideous face in my camping machine.
Yet Vampickle was quickly vanquished, and the boys fell asleep, exhausted with all the work of roughing it in the deep woods by the shore of the mountain lake named for the large carnivorous mammal.
MBW and I stepped back outside into the chill of the mountain evening and pulled up chairs next to the glowing campfire. Sitting side by side, holding hands, saying little. Gazing up at the stars. So many more stars are visible here than back in our yard, our ¼ acre patch of suburban bliss in the bowels of the congested urban valley.
Don’t get me wrong – our home and our neighborhood are very nice. We are fortunate to have what we have and live where we live. Still, the air is cleaner here at the campsite. The stars are brighter and we can see more of them. It’s a reminder that there is more to life than the daily routine we live every day in The City and its Suburbs.
We need to get up here more often.
And we will.
By and by the fire burned low, and MBW and I went back into the trailer. Checked on the boys – sound asleep. Adjusted the thermostat up a bit to take off that slight chill. Snuggled into our sleeping bag.
After a while, actually slept.
The long weekend was over much too quickly. After more swimming, a bit of hiking, some sightseeing and some more s’mores (would you like a bit more detail on that? No? Why not?) it was time to break camp. Which we did, much to the amusement of the boys watching Dad wrestle with the task of hooking the Camping Machine up to the Burbus Maximus.
The ride home was not nearly as fun as the ride up. Still, at least there was no bad news waiting for me when I got home.
With MBW and the boys in the house, I worked on unhooking the Camping Machine from the Burbus Maximus and stowing our gear. We had a great trip. I wish we had found the time to do a few more trips like that this summer.
I was thinking that summer ended much too quickly. Even more that that, with Chris starting kindergarten, it occurred to me that we only have 12 summers left before he’ll be off to college. As I mentioned before, him starting kindergarten does not make me sad. It’s the idea that these times, like the weekend we just experienced, are limited. They’ll go by so very, very quickly. I have to make sure to get the most out of the time we have, to make every summer count. I don’t want to look back and wish we had done more.
Yes. I want s’more of that, please.
It’s great to be The Family Man.
Sunday, September 18, 2005
Special K
A couple of weeks ago Chris started kindergarten. This is a pretty big deal. Our first son, off to kindergarten. Growing up. Away from home, in formal education, five days a week.
So why am I not wistful, sad, feeling depressed?
From what I have read, been told and seen firsthand, I should be feeling all of these things.
MBW is feeling a bit of this, although not much. Part of the reason, I think, is that she is his kindergarten teacher. So her emotions are a bit different from many moms who have sent their children off to kindergarten.
I’m actually very happy for Chris. He is a very friendly, outgoing boy. The social experience will be great for him. He will thrive in kindergarten. When I get home from work he is very excited to tell me about his day. He’s making friends, having fun, and, as an added bonus, learning some things.
I do feel some sadness about Chris going to kindergarten, though it has nothing to do with Chris.
I feel badly for Tommy.
Since MBW and I both work outside the home, we needed daycare when Chris was born. Rather than go to a drop off daycare facility, we hired a woman to come to our house to take care of him. This continued when Tommy was born. So both Chris and Tommy have grown up playing together in our home. Chris had two years by himself, but Tommy has never known a day without Chris in the house.
Now Chris is gone five days a week for about three hours. And Tommy is sad.
So we have Tommy going to a preschool for a couple of hours two days a week, and MBW has some play dates set up for him each week. Still, it is frustrating to Tommy – once again, Chris gets to do something he cannot do.
I mentioned in an earlier post that Tommy called MBW ‘stupid’ when he was having an issue over something. Some readers pointed out that this is more than ‘spirited’ behavior, and is in fact disrespectful. I agree, and perhaps the tone of that post was a bit more frivolous than I intended it to be. What I have come to realize, in the past couple of weeks, is that Tommy is using the word ‘stupid’ to express his frustration at things that he feels are beyond his ability to control. He’s now saying, for example, that it is ‘stupid’ to be little. He says this because ‘big boys’ go to kindergarten, ‘big boys’ get to ride in ‘big boy’ car seats, and ‘big boys’ get to ride bikes without training wheels. Most of all, ‘big boys’ get to go to ‘real school’ and Tommy only gets to go to ‘preschool.’
All of this is, of course, ‘stupid.’
So I have spent quite a bit of time with Tommy lately, trying to tell him that these things are not stupid, that he is a big boy, just a big younger, and he will get to do all of these things very soon. Of course, very soon in ‘Tommy Time’ is five minutes from now. And I understand that what I am saying to him is not really helping very much. I’m just trying to let him know I’m listening to him, that I am empathetic to his feelings, and that I will make sure he gets to have a chance to do things as well.
Is it working? Who knows? But I’m trying.
Meanwhile, Chris is thriving.
So I went to Back to School night last week, where all the parents go to see their child’s classroom, meet the teacher, and learn about what to expect in the coming year. This is especially important for first time kindergarten parents. Chris’s classroom is full of colorful charts with letters, words, numbers and pictures. It is a very happy, friendly place. There are books everywhere, art easels, and an aquarium with fish. His teacher is very nice – fifteen years experience, graduate degree, committed to making the world a better place for children. It’s going to be a great year for him
Not to mention the fact that she is exceptionally fine looking. So I’m looking forward to parent-teacher conferences this year!
At the end of Back to School night the teacher handed out a packet of information to each of the parents. In the packet were a few sheets of work the children had already done in the first few days of school. The first page was a self portrait, and Chris did a reasonably good job. The second was a page where he had written his name - needs some work, but I could read it. The third page was a list of ‘favorites’ – favorite color (he colored a green circle), favorite food (he drew something resembling a slice of pizza) and his favorite thing to do.
In that area he drew something I could not quite interpret.
Below the drawing, the teacher had written in what he told her he had drawn.
It said, “Playing with my dad.”
It’s great to be The Family Man.
So why am I not wistful, sad, feeling depressed?
From what I have read, been told and seen firsthand, I should be feeling all of these things.
MBW is feeling a bit of this, although not much. Part of the reason, I think, is that she is his kindergarten teacher. So her emotions are a bit different from many moms who have sent their children off to kindergarten.
I’m actually very happy for Chris. He is a very friendly, outgoing boy. The social experience will be great for him. He will thrive in kindergarten. When I get home from work he is very excited to tell me about his day. He’s making friends, having fun, and, as an added bonus, learning some things.
I do feel some sadness about Chris going to kindergarten, though it has nothing to do with Chris.
I feel badly for Tommy.
Since MBW and I both work outside the home, we needed daycare when Chris was born. Rather than go to a drop off daycare facility, we hired a woman to come to our house to take care of him. This continued when Tommy was born. So both Chris and Tommy have grown up playing together in our home. Chris had two years by himself, but Tommy has never known a day without Chris in the house.
Now Chris is gone five days a week for about three hours. And Tommy is sad.
So we have Tommy going to a preschool for a couple of hours two days a week, and MBW has some play dates set up for him each week. Still, it is frustrating to Tommy – once again, Chris gets to do something he cannot do.
I mentioned in an earlier post that Tommy called MBW ‘stupid’ when he was having an issue over something. Some readers pointed out that this is more than ‘spirited’ behavior, and is in fact disrespectful. I agree, and perhaps the tone of that post was a bit more frivolous than I intended it to be. What I have come to realize, in the past couple of weeks, is that Tommy is using the word ‘stupid’ to express his frustration at things that he feels are beyond his ability to control. He’s now saying, for example, that it is ‘stupid’ to be little. He says this because ‘big boys’ go to kindergarten, ‘big boys’ get to ride in ‘big boy’ car seats, and ‘big boys’ get to ride bikes without training wheels. Most of all, ‘big boys’ get to go to ‘real school’ and Tommy only gets to go to ‘preschool.’
All of this is, of course, ‘stupid.’
So I have spent quite a bit of time with Tommy lately, trying to tell him that these things are not stupid, that he is a big boy, just a big younger, and he will get to do all of these things very soon. Of course, very soon in ‘Tommy Time’ is five minutes from now. And I understand that what I am saying to him is not really helping very much. I’m just trying to let him know I’m listening to him, that I am empathetic to his feelings, and that I will make sure he gets to have a chance to do things as well.
Is it working? Who knows? But I’m trying.
Meanwhile, Chris is thriving.
So I went to Back to School night last week, where all the parents go to see their child’s classroom, meet the teacher, and learn about what to expect in the coming year. This is especially important for first time kindergarten parents. Chris’s classroom is full of colorful charts with letters, words, numbers and pictures. It is a very happy, friendly place. There are books everywhere, art easels, and an aquarium with fish. His teacher is very nice – fifteen years experience, graduate degree, committed to making the world a better place for children. It’s going to be a great year for him
Not to mention the fact that she is exceptionally fine looking. So I’m looking forward to parent-teacher conferences this year!
At the end of Back to School night the teacher handed out a packet of information to each of the parents. In the packet were a few sheets of work the children had already done in the first few days of school. The first page was a self portrait, and Chris did a reasonably good job. The second was a page where he had written his name - needs some work, but I could read it. The third page was a list of ‘favorites’ – favorite color (he colored a green circle), favorite food (he drew something resembling a slice of pizza) and his favorite thing to do.
In that area he drew something I could not quite interpret.
Below the drawing, the teacher had written in what he told her he had drawn.
It said, “Playing with my dad.”
It’s great to be The Family Man.
Monday, September 12, 2005
Busy Signals
The lack of posting is not really due to the football season. I've been exceptionally busy with work the past few days and I'm going to be out of touch for the next few days as well. I hope to have a new post before the weekend.
Thanks for your understanding.
It's (usually) great to be The Family Man.
Thanks for your understanding.
It's (usually) great to be The Family Man.
Friday, September 09, 2005
Bloggus Interruptus
We interrupt this blog for the start of Football Season.
The quantity and quality of any future posts will depend heavily on the success, or lack thereof, the New York Giants and Syracuse Orange football teams enjoy this season.
It looks like its going to be a long year.
The quantity and quality of any future posts will depend heavily on the success, or lack thereof, the New York Giants and Syracuse Orange football teams enjoy this season.
It looks like its going to be a long year.
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
To Do list
Once summer morning about 12 years ago, when I was a TV news cameraman, I was diverted on my way into the TV station to cover a single-vehicle rollover accident on a rural highway outside of town.
I arrived on the scene and was stopped by the Highway Patrol. Beyond the patrol car I could see a pickup truck lying upside down on the side of the roadway. From the marks on the road and the condition of the truck it was clear the truck had rolled multiple times, literally cartwheeling down the pavement, ejecting contents of the vehicle with each bounce. One of those items, about halfway between where I stood and where the truck came to rest, was a single body, covered by a sheet.
Over the course of my 10+ year career at a TV news photographer I’ve seen my share of injured and dead people. This one, seen from a distance and covered by a sheet, was not abnormally upsetting. Not to be callous about it, but wasn’t something that haunted me. I felt sorry for the individual, his family and loved ones, to be sure, but in terms of visually disturbing images, this one was not particularly horrific.
No, what struck me about this accident was one of the first items to be ejected from the truck as it rolled, and therefore closest to my vantage point. It was a daily planner, one of those leather, loose leaf binders with a set of daily or weekly pages. It happened to be lying open on the road. Using my camera I zoomed in on the planner, and while I couldn’t make out any of the words, it looked to me like a to-do list.
A list of items that now would never be completed.
A list, no doubt similar to my own, the one in the planner on the dashboard of my news vehicle.
I’ve never forgotten the feeling I had that morning, wondering what that person had planned to do, and now no longer would. Wondering what items would forever be unchecked.
Fast forward a few years, to 1999 or 2000. No longer a TV News guy, I’m now a white-collar mid-level Advertising Executive. The Wall Street Journal hits my desk every morning. Flipping through it one day, I come across an article about a man name Ted Leonsis, an executive with AOL. The article praises his ability to prioritize his multiple responsibilities and get an incredible amount of work done, while still maintaining a balanced, fulfilling personal life. He attributes this ability to a single, defining moment in his life. I clipped the paragraph out of the paper and kept it in my planner – I still have it to this day. It reads as follows:
‘One of his defining moments, he says, came in 1986,
when he was flying to Atlanta and the plane made an
emergency landing in safety foam. “I said, ‘God, if I live,
I will play offense with the rest of my life,’” Mr. Leonisis
recounts. So he set out to create a list of 101 things he
wanted to do before he dies, including hitting a
hole-in-one, catching a foul ball and entering
outer space. To date, he has done 61 of them.’
I was impressed with one line in particular – “I will play offense with the rest of my life.” What a great philosophy. Live as though you are trying to score, trying to make things happen, trying to accomplish something. I resolved to do exactly that.
Sadly, several years later, I have to confess that I have not lived up to my goal.
In fact, one could make the case that I should be nominated for Defensive Player of the Year.
Oh, don’t get me wrong. I have plenty of to-do lists, and I cross things off them every day. Work lists – projects, meetings, reports – all listed, all accounted for, all regularly checked as Completed. Personal lists – birthdays, anniversaries, soccer games – duly noted, not forgotten, appropriate actions taken – Check. Honey-Do lists, household projects, all listed…not always checked off as often as others might like, but progress made nonetheless. Check.
No, what’s missing is The List. The 101 things, or whatever the number is, to do before I die. The Offensive Game Plan, if you will.
For try as I might, I have not been able to come up with items important enough, meaningful enough, to place on that list, and to strive to then cross off that list.
And having recently stood on my own gravesite (granted, I’m not in it yet), I’m feeling a bit of urgency to get a list made and make some plans to accomplish something.
Compounding the issue, I’m also at the age where a mid-life crisis is, while not imminent, certainly a possibility in the not-to-distant future.
The problem I have is trying to determine what is worthy of being placed on such a list. I think it would be relatively easy to make a list of things that might be fun to do, interesting to say that you did, but not necessarily worth devoting an inordinate amount of time to achieving. Using Ted’s list, for example, he mentions hitting a hole-in-one and catching a fly ball as things he wants to do before he dies. I think, while I would happily do either one, I’m not going to make a priority of doing those things. Sure, I’d like to hit a hole-in-one, but I’m not going to get out and play golf four or five times a week until it happens. I’m not going to go to dozens or hundreds of baseball games, strategically sitting in zones where foul balls are often hit, just for the opportunity to catch one. For me, those things would be nice if they happened serendipitously, but they are not things I personally consider worth pursuing.
For me, the list should include things that are worth pursuing – making a conscious, concerted effort to achieve.
One thing on my list is to one day own my own business. That is something I want to do. I’ve taken steps along the way to make that possible, and I continue to do so. I do believe someday I will do that.
Another thing I want to do is attend a game in the championship series of each of the four major professional sports – The World Series, The Super Bowl, The NBA Finals and The Stanley Cup Finals. To date I have done two of those – I’ve been to an NBA Finals game, and I’ve been to a Stanley Cup Finals game (in Madison Square Garden, no less!). Two down, two to go. I’d like to do the last two with Chris and Tommy, one day – perhaps go back and do all four with them. Is that an accomplishment, or an indulgence? Probably mostly the latter. But it’s on my list
Still, it seems like there should be more.
Also, I’m not talking about the things that, to me, are obvious, no-brainer, things to be expected. Being a responsible, involved parent. Being a faithful husband. Being a good role model for my kids. Being a good friend, being a contributing member of my society. Yes, I expect to look back on my life and acknowledge that I have done those things. But is that really an accomplishment? It seems to me that anything less is failure, not something to be recognized as outstanding. That is the bar – not exceeding the bar.
I want to look back on my life and point to certain things that I can justifiably feel good about accomplishing. I want to look back on a life lived, not a life existed. It’s not about leaving a legacy; it’s about leaving with few regrets. I don’t want to look back and have my list be full of “I wish I had…”
As I read this it seems like the post is getting very morbid. That’s not the intent. We’re all going to die one day. But for me, sometimes it takes contemplating death to force me to try to make the most of life.
It’s all too easy to get caught up in getting through each day, fulfilling all of the obligations that come with a modern life. Professional responsibilities, family responsibilities. Employee, husband, father. Often, at the end of each day, it’s considered a success if nothing has fallen through the cracks, if nothing major was forgotten or left undone.
More and more, it seems, I’m simply keeping up with the treadmill, not sliding off the back. And considering that successful.
Less and less, it’s about personal fulfillment, accomplishment, achievement.
The equation has to change.
I think the way to make the change is to make the list. It gets back to the to-do list. If it’s on the list, you have the obligation to get it off the list. You commit to doing it. It sits there, reminding you, badgering you, challenging you to knock it off.
Maybe many of you don’t share my feelings on this. That’s fine. I’ve been told by people close to me, including MBW, that I am extremely introspective, often hard on myself, and have unrealistic expectations about what I need to accomplish.
Perhaps that is true.
Still, that’s how I feel. The older I get, the faster time seems to go. Days become weeks, weeks become months. Especially when you have young children. Here is my observation about the nature of time when you have small children – any given day can last for what seems to be forever. Yet the weeks, months and years go by at light speed. One day when your kid is sick, or the weather is too nasty to go outdoors, it can take forever for bedtime to roll around. Yet the next thing you know, your kid is off to kindergarten. High school. College.
And all the while, time is running out to do those things you want to do, or think you want to do, or even want to make time to decide if you really want to do.
At some point, it becomes too late. It becomes, “I wish I had…”
I already have a closet full of things I wish I had done. What it that saying? You most regret the things you didn’t do, not the things you did.
Hey…I resemble that remark!
It’s time to revisit the playbook – the Offensive playbook. It’s time to look for the Flea Flicker, the Statue of Liberty, the End Around. To find those things that are meaningful enough to commit to doing. Those things that I’ll look back on one day and say, “I’m glad I did…” instead of “I wish I had…”
Find them, put them on the list, and knock the suckers off.
Before my metaphorical pickup truck cartwheels down that old rural highway.
When someone picks up my planner off that cold pavement and looks at my to-do list, I want them to see checkmarks in boxes. To ask, “Did he really do these things?”
To which, from the great beyond, I’ll say, “Damn right I did.’
I’ll put together my list, over time, and post updates here in this space.
If you care.
And now, to bring this back full circle to my last post.
What’s on YOUR list?
Tag.
It’s great to be The Family Man.
I arrived on the scene and was stopped by the Highway Patrol. Beyond the patrol car I could see a pickup truck lying upside down on the side of the roadway. From the marks on the road and the condition of the truck it was clear the truck had rolled multiple times, literally cartwheeling down the pavement, ejecting contents of the vehicle with each bounce. One of those items, about halfway between where I stood and where the truck came to rest, was a single body, covered by a sheet.
Over the course of my 10+ year career at a TV news photographer I’ve seen my share of injured and dead people. This one, seen from a distance and covered by a sheet, was not abnormally upsetting. Not to be callous about it, but wasn’t something that haunted me. I felt sorry for the individual, his family and loved ones, to be sure, but in terms of visually disturbing images, this one was not particularly horrific.
No, what struck me about this accident was one of the first items to be ejected from the truck as it rolled, and therefore closest to my vantage point. It was a daily planner, one of those leather, loose leaf binders with a set of daily or weekly pages. It happened to be lying open on the road. Using my camera I zoomed in on the planner, and while I couldn’t make out any of the words, it looked to me like a to-do list.
A list of items that now would never be completed.
A list, no doubt similar to my own, the one in the planner on the dashboard of my news vehicle.
I’ve never forgotten the feeling I had that morning, wondering what that person had planned to do, and now no longer would. Wondering what items would forever be unchecked.
Fast forward a few years, to 1999 or 2000. No longer a TV News guy, I’m now a white-collar mid-level Advertising Executive. The Wall Street Journal hits my desk every morning. Flipping through it one day, I come across an article about a man name Ted Leonsis, an executive with AOL. The article praises his ability to prioritize his multiple responsibilities and get an incredible amount of work done, while still maintaining a balanced, fulfilling personal life. He attributes this ability to a single, defining moment in his life. I clipped the paragraph out of the paper and kept it in my planner – I still have it to this day. It reads as follows:
‘One of his defining moments, he says, came in 1986,
when he was flying to Atlanta and the plane made an
emergency landing in safety foam. “I said, ‘God, if I live,
I will play offense with the rest of my life,’” Mr. Leonisis
recounts. So he set out to create a list of 101 things he
wanted to do before he dies, including hitting a
hole-in-one, catching a foul ball and entering
outer space. To date, he has done 61 of them.’
I was impressed with one line in particular – “I will play offense with the rest of my life.” What a great philosophy. Live as though you are trying to score, trying to make things happen, trying to accomplish something. I resolved to do exactly that.
Sadly, several years later, I have to confess that I have not lived up to my goal.
In fact, one could make the case that I should be nominated for Defensive Player of the Year.
Oh, don’t get me wrong. I have plenty of to-do lists, and I cross things off them every day. Work lists – projects, meetings, reports – all listed, all accounted for, all regularly checked as Completed. Personal lists – birthdays, anniversaries, soccer games – duly noted, not forgotten, appropriate actions taken – Check. Honey-Do lists, household projects, all listed…not always checked off as often as others might like, but progress made nonetheless. Check.
No, what’s missing is The List. The 101 things, or whatever the number is, to do before I die. The Offensive Game Plan, if you will.
For try as I might, I have not been able to come up with items important enough, meaningful enough, to place on that list, and to strive to then cross off that list.
And having recently stood on my own gravesite (granted, I’m not in it yet), I’m feeling a bit of urgency to get a list made and make some plans to accomplish something.
Compounding the issue, I’m also at the age where a mid-life crisis is, while not imminent, certainly a possibility in the not-to-distant future.
The problem I have is trying to determine what is worthy of being placed on such a list. I think it would be relatively easy to make a list of things that might be fun to do, interesting to say that you did, but not necessarily worth devoting an inordinate amount of time to achieving. Using Ted’s list, for example, he mentions hitting a hole-in-one and catching a fly ball as things he wants to do before he dies. I think, while I would happily do either one, I’m not going to make a priority of doing those things. Sure, I’d like to hit a hole-in-one, but I’m not going to get out and play golf four or five times a week until it happens. I’m not going to go to dozens or hundreds of baseball games, strategically sitting in zones where foul balls are often hit, just for the opportunity to catch one. For me, those things would be nice if they happened serendipitously, but they are not things I personally consider worth pursuing.
For me, the list should include things that are worth pursuing – making a conscious, concerted effort to achieve.
One thing on my list is to one day own my own business. That is something I want to do. I’ve taken steps along the way to make that possible, and I continue to do so. I do believe someday I will do that.
Another thing I want to do is attend a game in the championship series of each of the four major professional sports – The World Series, The Super Bowl, The NBA Finals and The Stanley Cup Finals. To date I have done two of those – I’ve been to an NBA Finals game, and I’ve been to a Stanley Cup Finals game (in Madison Square Garden, no less!). Two down, two to go. I’d like to do the last two with Chris and Tommy, one day – perhaps go back and do all four with them. Is that an accomplishment, or an indulgence? Probably mostly the latter. But it’s on my list
Still, it seems like there should be more.
Also, I’m not talking about the things that, to me, are obvious, no-brainer, things to be expected. Being a responsible, involved parent. Being a faithful husband. Being a good role model for my kids. Being a good friend, being a contributing member of my society. Yes, I expect to look back on my life and acknowledge that I have done those things. But is that really an accomplishment? It seems to me that anything less is failure, not something to be recognized as outstanding. That is the bar – not exceeding the bar.
I want to look back on my life and point to certain things that I can justifiably feel good about accomplishing. I want to look back on a life lived, not a life existed. It’s not about leaving a legacy; it’s about leaving with few regrets. I don’t want to look back and have my list be full of “I wish I had…”
As I read this it seems like the post is getting very morbid. That’s not the intent. We’re all going to die one day. But for me, sometimes it takes contemplating death to force me to try to make the most of life.
It’s all too easy to get caught up in getting through each day, fulfilling all of the obligations that come with a modern life. Professional responsibilities, family responsibilities. Employee, husband, father. Often, at the end of each day, it’s considered a success if nothing has fallen through the cracks, if nothing major was forgotten or left undone.
More and more, it seems, I’m simply keeping up with the treadmill, not sliding off the back. And considering that successful.
Less and less, it’s about personal fulfillment, accomplishment, achievement.
The equation has to change.
I think the way to make the change is to make the list. It gets back to the to-do list. If it’s on the list, you have the obligation to get it off the list. You commit to doing it. It sits there, reminding you, badgering you, challenging you to knock it off.
Maybe many of you don’t share my feelings on this. That’s fine. I’ve been told by people close to me, including MBW, that I am extremely introspective, often hard on myself, and have unrealistic expectations about what I need to accomplish.
Perhaps that is true.
Still, that’s how I feel. The older I get, the faster time seems to go. Days become weeks, weeks become months. Especially when you have young children. Here is my observation about the nature of time when you have small children – any given day can last for what seems to be forever. Yet the weeks, months and years go by at light speed. One day when your kid is sick, or the weather is too nasty to go outdoors, it can take forever for bedtime to roll around. Yet the next thing you know, your kid is off to kindergarten. High school. College.
And all the while, time is running out to do those things you want to do, or think you want to do, or even want to make time to decide if you really want to do.
At some point, it becomes too late. It becomes, “I wish I had…”
I already have a closet full of things I wish I had done. What it that saying? You most regret the things you didn’t do, not the things you did.
Hey…I resemble that remark!
It’s time to revisit the playbook – the Offensive playbook. It’s time to look for the Flea Flicker, the Statue of Liberty, the End Around. To find those things that are meaningful enough to commit to doing. Those things that I’ll look back on one day and say, “I’m glad I did…” instead of “I wish I had…”
Find them, put them on the list, and knock the suckers off.
Before my metaphorical pickup truck cartwheels down that old rural highway.
When someone picks up my planner off that cold pavement and looks at my to-do list, I want them to see checkmarks in boxes. To ask, “Did he really do these things?”
To which, from the great beyond, I’ll say, “Damn right I did.’
I’ll put together my list, over time, and post updates here in this space.
If you care.
And now, to bring this back full circle to my last post.
What’s on YOUR list?
Tag.
It’s great to be The Family Man.
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