D.O.D.

I have insomnia. But it's not really insomnia. Recently, and when I say recently I mean the past month or so, I have been waking up at 4 am and then I can't go back to sleep. At first it's an exciting canvas of free time with no husband or children to bother me. I get up, I drink my coffee, I read, I write, I make lunches and then by 5 am I'm back in my bed and when the alarm goes off at 6 am I feel slightly hung over.

When I'm in Atlanta visiting my dad I always wake up early so I can have coffee with him. His house is about 2 square feet so I can hear him puttering around (this is a very dad word...puttering or to putter...it means to do little stuff that on it's own is not of much consequence) so I steal the opportunity to have him one on one and we go and sit on his front porch and drink coffee and talk. Dad is not a big talker. He never has been. But at 4-5 am he is at his chattiest and we have our best conversations in the world before the sun rises. His house, though no where near a beach or water for that matter, sits up on stilts so when you are on the front porch among the trees it's like you are sitting in a tree fort having a secret meeting. Even when I'm not visiting, sometimes I'll wake up early and call him on the phone or send him a text and it feels almost like we are sitting in his tree fort drinking coffee. And days, weeks or a month can go by and I can call him up or send him a text and there is never any bitterness or resentment for the missed time. No apologies or explanations needed. It's like that in our little club.

Now things haven't always been roses or butterflies in our 43 years of acquaintance. He has never really gotten mad at me or if he has he doesn't show it. He just gets silent. That is the absolute worst. Silent judgement...only you don't know if it is judgement or indifference or castigation or agreement or what. It's maddening. When I was a teenager and pushing the boundaries in mostly pretty harmless ways, I could never get a reaction out of him which was quite frustrating and when you were a mildly borderline and narcissistic adolescent as I was you could read all sorts of stuff into his silence. He's not a turtle or an ostrich. He doesn't retreat into his shell or stick his head in the sand. He's like an old oak tree that just stands there rooted despite the storm that is raging around him. Before he and my mom got divorced they would "talk" in the kitchen with the door closed. The den was adjacent to the kitchen and while my brother (who was like 2 or 4 at the time and oblivious) and I watched TV I could hear all sorts of inflections and tones and volumes in my mom's voice but no sound ever came out of my dad. If I'm allowed to speculate, I'd say that his silence is part of the demise of their relationship (among many other things). My mom, who was 23 when she married him & still working out her own issues, couldn't handle the silence. It was like water-boarding and she was the water-boardee.

I can remember 2 times in my life where I got really mad at him. I believe pissed would be the correct term to use. The first time I was a junior in college and the second time was about 5 years ago. Both times it took about a year to get all the kinks worked out. The first time I raged at him via phone and letter and in my mind and then it was over. When you rage and someone doesn't rage back I guess the storm eventually dies. The second time, after I finally worked up the nerve to tell him I was angry, he actually came out with his boxing gloves. There was no TKO but he did spar and it ended in a draw and with greater understanding for the both of us. I lost about 9 months of good communication being resentful before I finally decided to air my grievance but I was kind of proud of him for putting up a defense.

He's always reserved his opinion. Even when you ask him for it directly often he won't give it. Growing up it seemed more elusive than the Loch Ness Monster. Now, if I ask him for his opinion he doesn't come right out with it. He mulls it over for days and days and then when you least expect a response it will come to you...normally by text or email. It always catches me off guard. Not because what he has to say is so shocking but because I mostly don't expect to get it (his opinion, I mean). So I'll be waiting in line at HEB or in the car pool lane or sitting strung out on the couch at the end of the day and I'll check my phone and there it is...the golden ticket...an email or text from dad with his thoughts. Usually by that time I'm 3 or 4 minor crises removed, but I will read it and about 98% of the time it makes good, solid sense. Probably it makes sense 100% of the time but the other 2% I disagree and so discard it as the shortcomings of an older generation.

Another favorite dad display of affection is when he sends me random articles or book suggestions. Sometimes these come by email, sometimes by phone and sometimes even by mail. We are both in the health care profession so I've gotten several esoteric medically related articles. Or sometimes he'll send me a short story out of Mother Jones or some left-leaning political piece (even though I'm more right leaning, I don't mind these articles and enjoy the difference in perspective). But what I really like is when he shares his reflections on his spiritual growth or the most recent Bible passage he has read or the most recent sermon topic he has heard.

The coffee is starting to wear off and I haven't even had time to talk about the simple, yet eloquent way that he walks the walk...there has never been a time that he hasn't been helping someone else, but it is almost always in an understated and quiet way. It might be putting a new roof on someone's house at the church or spending a Saturday doing a build for Habitat or flying across the world to volunteer but there isn't fanfare or self congratulations. If he's in Vietnam or Haiti there might be photos but most of them are of the people he's met or who he is helping. I used to wonder why we didn't get a lot of gifts, but the older I get the more I realize the real gift is the example and I don't think he's ever really meant to do that; be an example. He'll tell me about the new roof he is putting on a church ladies house (this is a 67 yo man climbing up onto someone's roof, shucking shingles in the hot sun or cold air) in the same sentence he's telling me about reorganizing his work room or the dog's most recent antics.

He's a good egg, dear ole dad. And then there are his chickens...but I've gotta go refuel and make pb & js. No going back to bed today.

Not So Snowy Day

The kids are home from school today. This is the second day in 2 weeks where school has been cancelled because of inclement weather. Because we are in the south our city isn't equipped to deal with the teeniest amount of ice, sleet or snow. Lucky for me, I don't have to go to work today (clinic was cancelled) so I get to enjoy the day with my kids.

Regardless of your political leanings to the appropriateness of canceling school because it is cold outside, your inner child has to be yahooing with delight. As a kid, it doesn't get much better than school being canceled for any reason. I grew up in Chamblee, Georgia and I remember vividly the wonder of snow days. The only difference is we did get some real snow accumulation. There was a particular hill in my neighborhood of Huntley Hills behind the houses on Plantation Lane...many kids would gather there with sleds or toboggans or anything that would go down a hill. There were no helmets and there were certainly no adults. We'd walk back home cold and dripping wet and make Totino's Pizza Rolls and watch the Price is Right. It was just my brother and me because my mom still had to go to work. I don't remember if we had to make up those days or not because on that one day, it was absolute freedom. For my kids, it's slightly different in Houston, Texas. In the 23 years I've lived here I think we've had snow stick to the ground only twice and it wasn't more than a light dusting. We did get 2 weeks off of school for a Hurricane, but that is a different story. And because it is flatter than a pre-teen girl's chest, there is zero opportunity for sledding even if there was snow. But, you still get to sleep late, watch bad TV, play video games for hours and run back and forth between your house and your friend's house depending on whose mother is the least irritable at the time. The other difference is that my kids aren't completely unsupervised (not mom's fault...the plight of the single parent).

I suppose 35 years ago, it wasn't as big of a deal not to have a parent around all the time. But, my mom didn't really have a choice and she did the best she could. It's only by the grace of God that a lot of bad stuff didn't happen and that my brother and I didn't end up in the prison system. She was meaner than a snake and I was scared to death of her. I guess it's kind of like animals in the wild, they develop defense mechanisms to ward off any one who might try to do them harm. My mom had this scary as hell exterior so we wouldn't f*ck with her and so we'd do what we were supposed to do. In the words of Sweet Brown she must have been thinking, "I ain't got time for that!"

A couple of times I managed to get away with stuff. One afternoon my friend Cathy and I decided we wanted to make French fries and we almost burned down my house in a grease fire. It took several years to get all the smoke stains off the cabinets. Another time, same friend - Cathy, decided to teach me a lesson and not leave her supervising my younger brother while I rode my bike over to another neighborhood to visit my boyfriend who'd just been in a car accident. I had no sooner arrived at his house than the phone rang and she told me I'd better get home quick b/c my 9 year old brother had just fallen out of a tree and broken his arm. I got on my bicycle and raced home to find him lying on the couch, moaning with his arm in a temporary sling. I burst into tears. I'd like to think it was out of concern for my brother, but it was because I knew my a$$ was toast as soon as my mom found out a)I'd left my little brother and b)I went to a boy's house unsupervised. I was weeping great tears of fear. Cathy and my little brother (and by this time my neighbor Mary Ann had joined in the fun) kept up the rouse for about 10 minutes while I tried to think up all sorts of lies to tell my mother. Finally Bill popped up off the couch and scampered off somewhere to play, arm intact, and Cathy laid into me about ditching her for a boy AND leaving her with my little brother.

I doubt my kids will get into that kind of trouble, but they'll manage their own brand of mischief. The boys are the best because they tell me most things and when they don't their friends do, even if it is unintentional. I've gotten more Intel from my sons' friends just by being a fly on the wall. And thankfully my daughter has a 31 year old neighbor to confide in and I trust her (the neighbor) unquestionably.

Gonna go drink my cup of coffee in peace and torment my oldest son's friends as they have already started bullet texting him at 8 am ("Go back to bed you fool"). I guess I am DOM, daughter of Martha...

Everyone have fun today in the not snow!