Humorous Cracks

My newly minted 4 year old has gone through a rite of passage (last week). He broke his arm. Cracked the growth plate at the bottom of his humorous bone, in the elbow. This is what happens when you dance to music played on Oprah...on top of an ottoman. Dash was a hurting little boy for 3 days until he got his cast, but once his bright red cast was on, he was instantly better. I must give him credit, though we didn't sleep well while uncasted, though his pain medication constipated him, though his elbow was swollen and sensitive, he did very well. It did make for a long week though. He is, however, one step closer to manhood - and it probably won't be his last cast if he's like his daddy at all.

If you see him in the next 3 weeks, he'll probably ask you to sign his cast. He's very proud of it.

I spent the better part of Memorial Day working around the house. My dad and brothers came by my aunt/uncle's house (next door) and we visited for a minute. The following events and conversations actually happened and no names have been changed to protect anybody...

My uncle Elten walks out of his garage and asks everyone, "Anyone want to see the first club I ever purchased?" and holds up an old wood-headed driver. We (dad, eric, nick, me, paula) look at it and my uncle tees up a ball and promptly smokes one out his back yard. Then Nick takes the old club and smacks one, with a slight hook, over yonder. Naturally, I grab the club next.

Now, before I continue the story any further, I'd like to point out 3 things. 1.) My backyard and my uncle's backyard are basically a steep downhill mess of forrest and fauna and flora. Many a golfball has been launched back there, this is not unusual. 2.) the last time I swung a wood-headed driver was when I was in high school - it was mine - and the head broke into 3 pieces. I even mentioned this while I took a couple warm-up swings. 3.) It is quite possible that Dash has a tighter handgrip than I do. Seriously, for a 34 year old man, I might have the worst grip in the county. Years of jamming/breaking/dislocating fingers have taken a toll on my poor hands. And the fact that I had been weed-eating for the last couple hours does not bode well for what I am about to do...

Back to the story. I tee up a ball and take a couple warm up swings - this is when I make my "last time I swung a wood-headed driver" comment. As I'm swinging, I think to myself, "I should have my golf glove on." Anyway, not to be outdone by my brother or my uncle, I swing away... I actually have no idea where or how far the ball went. No one did. Because we were all watching, in slow motion, the driver helicopter itself down Mt. Brynion. It was just like a movie, pure silence until the club vanished behind a small stand of Alder trees, then an eruption of laughter from everyone - except my uncle. I swear I couldn't have thrown that club any further if I tried. The 1970's driver did have a very slick grip, in my defense. But that baby is gone, never to be seen again. Elten was in sort of a laughing shock, Eric was crying, my dad was shaking his head. I did go and look for it, but there was no way I was finding it.

This was the second time I've done something like this.

It was pretty funny, but I did feel kind of bad for losing my uncle's old driver. He came over later for some shuffleboard and I beat him in both games we played. It wasn't a good day for him.

Quadradical!

I'm late on this post, but Dash turned 4 May 7th. It was a glorious occassion. He had a great party, mostly because it seemed like everyone got him orance tick-tacks (which are his favorite). 8 packs. He ate one package in one day, which probably makes me a bad dad, but I helped him eat them. I'm making him do a push-up for each one he eats now.

(the picture above is an old one from when he was younger, balder, and smaller, but just as mature and intelligent.)

When life isn't easy.

Earlier this week, a woman who I went to school with, lost her son to cancer. I don't know her well, but her son was the same age as Dash. I cannot imagine how Maya and her family are feeling. I mean, I can imagine, but I don't want to. I can imagine how I'd feel if it were Dash and it makes me want to vomit. But imagining is very different than experiencing.
The fragility of life. . . There's a lot of cliche's that could be said here, but the bottom line is that tomorrow is promised to no one. We are all on loan to each other. We get some for long periods of time, others we get for a moment. No matter when someone close dies, it sucks. And the younger it occurs, the more tragic it feels. There are no words to console my friend. My prayers seem thin, though I try. And trying to give a reason for this would almost be insulting. It would be much easier to shake our fist and yell at the sky "WHY?!" I'd like to state that one life lost is not more tragic than another, but of course my biases to the ones I know betray me. I'm saddend by tornados in the south, earthquakes in the east, but very saddened by little Ronan's death. Hypocrisy? Whatever. Personal reflection, about how everything affects me, reveal more about myself than I care to share here. I have a great aunt who may not have much longer due to cancer. Cancer at any age is awful.
Live and love. Take nothing for granted. There are many things in life that don't seem to be "fair". We give and get things that aren't always deserved. My heart will break when some of my closest kin will die. Someone's heart will break when I die. Maya's family didn't deserve to go through this; neither did Ronan. About the only silver lining that I could come up with (that was worth a crap) was that I doubt if there is/was a child who was as loved and appreciated more than he was. This child knew explicitly how much his mommy and daddy loved him. That's awesome. I'm sure that once his parents found out that his life had a timeline, they squeezed every moment they could out of their son. Moreso than I do with mine. I know that even though I love my son like no other, I take advantage of the fact that he's a healthy little guy. And such a good boy! With perspective, behaviors can change. Ronan will make me a better dad. So for that, thanks Ronan.