She did not seem very happy with the Mohawk. Her disparaging and disapproving tone prevailed. “What, did you think I should be excited he got a Mohawk?”
“God forbid anybody be happy,” I responded.
So she asked our son if he was happy he got a Mohawk.
“Yes. Very happy!”
I’d hold my breath for an apology, but I would just turn blue and breathe involuntarily anyway.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Monday, June 1, 2009
dreams 3
I took my son for a haircut on Sunday. He had been after me to take him for a couple weeks now. On the way, he told me about talking to his friends at church that morning and how they suggested he get a Mohawk. While we waited for his turn, I told him if he really wanted a Mohawk, he could go ahead. I figured that with school out now, he could try his hair however he likes.
I could see the excitement in his eyes and the turning of his mind as he pondered the possibility. “I’m going to do it,” he told me.
He went to the chair by himself as usual, and explained what he wanted. I could not hear most of the words exchanged, but I could tell from the gestures and a few phrases what was being negotiated. I sat with my MP3 player going as the stylist began shaping his hair into a Mohawk.
My legs shook to the music, more than usual, and I realized I felt anxious. The feeling was not for my son, but for me, for what my wife and his mother would say. I smiled at my son. His hair, his dreams, his identity.
She spiked it up for him and instructed him on how to achieve the look himself. He beamed as he walked away from the chair. He looked like he should have been sitting behind a drum set in a punk band.
I could see the excitement in his eyes and the turning of his mind as he pondered the possibility. “I’m going to do it,” he told me.
He went to the chair by himself as usual, and explained what he wanted. I could not hear most of the words exchanged, but I could tell from the gestures and a few phrases what was being negotiated. I sat with my MP3 player going as the stylist began shaping his hair into a Mohawk.
My legs shook to the music, more than usual, and I realized I felt anxious. The feeling was not for my son, but for me, for what my wife and his mother would say. I smiled at my son. His hair, his dreams, his identity.
She spiked it up for him and instructed him on how to achieve the look himself. He beamed as he walked away from the chair. He looked like he should have been sitting behind a drum set in a punk band.
dreams 2
I recently took my son to see a production of Of Mice and Men at the Steppenwolf Theater. In the playbill, there is an interview with the Director, Michael Patrick Thornton, and one of his comments jumped at me from the page.
“Of Mice and Men is both a story about identity and a cautionary tale about what happens when people do not pursue their dreams. I think that all the men in Steinbeck’s story don’t really follow their dreams, and this essentially causes them to lose their identities.”
The truth of his statement hit me to the core, and, more importantly, I realized that I had never asked my son what his dreams are. So after the play while we got some lunch together, I asked him. He explained that he wanted to be drummer in a rock band, and that he certainly wanted to work in the music industry if he could not make it as a drummer. He talked about how music had been very helpful to him in his life. We talked about how he was going about pursuing that dream.
I don’t know if my son’s dream of becoming a famous rock drummer will come true, but I know he acts like it will. He arranged for lessons and takes responsibility for making them. He practices! More importantly, he practices because he enjoys practicing and improving. He makes a lot of noise, but I never complain. I feel too proud of him for wanting to practice to complain.
“Of Mice and Men is both a story about identity and a cautionary tale about what happens when people do not pursue their dreams. I think that all the men in Steinbeck’s story don’t really follow their dreams, and this essentially causes them to lose their identities.”
The truth of his statement hit me to the core, and, more importantly, I realized that I had never asked my son what his dreams are. So after the play while we got some lunch together, I asked him. He explained that he wanted to be drummer in a rock band, and that he certainly wanted to work in the music industry if he could not make it as a drummer. He talked about how music had been very helpful to him in his life. We talked about how he was going about pursuing that dream.
I don’t know if my son’s dream of becoming a famous rock drummer will come true, but I know he acts like it will. He arranged for lessons and takes responsibility for making them. He practices! More importantly, he practices because he enjoys practicing and improving. He makes a lot of noise, but I never complain. I feel too proud of him for wanting to practice to complain.
dreams
I certainly made mistakes in my life. I do not believe in holding regrets, yet I have regrets anyway. One of my regrets is not formulating and holding onto my own dreams for my life. As I posted almost a year ago, I do not remember having dreams for my life as a child. I remember pursuing what I believed others wanted me to be. I studied and played at the things that I thought made me a “good boy”. I knew I would go to college because that was what I thought was expected of me.
Some of my people pleasing motivated activity served me well. Going off to college, I ventured out on my own, away from home and direct parental influence. I slowly slipped away from some of what I thought I ‘should’ do. Chemistry and calculus, subjects I still excelled in, bored me when I considered them as career choice, while sitting with my friend discussing the interpretation of dreams fascinated me. By my second year, I had decided to pursue Behavioral Sciences rather than physical sciences as a major. At least I had finally stepped away from majoring in people pleasing.
I do not know if I had learned how to formulate realistic dreams, however. Sure, I could dream the grandiose dreams of the alcoholic, fueling grand designs with massive quantities of alcoholic beverage. But in the sober day after, those dreams faded. Life drifted along like a lazy river, seeming to take me wherever it wanted to flow. Directing myself towards any grander goals seemed too daunting. When I dared to begin any kind of dream, I gave way to any counter pressures. Eventually, drinking was just the easier way, the only way.
Recovery saw me working hard to learn to stay sober a day at a time, but even with ten years sober, I do not know that I have learned to dream.
Though not for myself, I have developed a simple kind of dream for my children. I want them to have every opportunity to be who they want to be.
Some of my people pleasing motivated activity served me well. Going off to college, I ventured out on my own, away from home and direct parental influence. I slowly slipped away from some of what I thought I ‘should’ do. Chemistry and calculus, subjects I still excelled in, bored me when I considered them as career choice, while sitting with my friend discussing the interpretation of dreams fascinated me. By my second year, I had decided to pursue Behavioral Sciences rather than physical sciences as a major. At least I had finally stepped away from majoring in people pleasing.
I do not know if I had learned how to formulate realistic dreams, however. Sure, I could dream the grandiose dreams of the alcoholic, fueling grand designs with massive quantities of alcoholic beverage. But in the sober day after, those dreams faded. Life drifted along like a lazy river, seeming to take me wherever it wanted to flow. Directing myself towards any grander goals seemed too daunting. When I dared to begin any kind of dream, I gave way to any counter pressures. Eventually, drinking was just the easier way, the only way.
Recovery saw me working hard to learn to stay sober a day at a time, but even with ten years sober, I do not know that I have learned to dream.
Though not for myself, I have developed a simple kind of dream for my children. I want them to have every opportunity to be who they want to be.
Man up!
I love my job in part because I work with people who are very up front with their thoughts and feelings. Today, one of the supervisors under me was in my office filling me in on the goings on of the day. She stopped for a moment, looked at me, looked at the purple umbrella in the corner and asked,
“Is that your umbrella?”
We had a great deal of rain this morning, and the only umbrella I had in the van was the slightly broken purple one.
“Yes.” I smiled.
“We really have to man you up!” she joked.
We both laughed.
“If you only knew the half of it,” I thought to myself.
I have a several part post coming over the next few days, then off to Be-All!
“Is that your umbrella?”
We had a great deal of rain this morning, and the only umbrella I had in the van was the slightly broken purple one.
“Yes.” I smiled.
“We really have to man you up!” she joked.
We both laughed.
“If you only knew the half of it,” I thought to myself.
I have a several part post coming over the next few days, then off to Be-All!
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