Kids

This weekend I bought a basketball hoop after years of threatening to do just that. In my life there's been very few periods of time where I didn't have a hoop of my own or at least have one within walking distance. And, in fact, we do have a park less than a block away with a hoop, but I'm tired of sharing it with the general public. They have no respect for the court. And they have no respect for therapy that is shooting hoops. The solitude and quiet and freedom to escape even for just a little while--that's what hoops has always been for me.

After a complete day of putting that damn thing together, we finally wheeled it out of the garage last night and onto the street so all the kids in our circle could play. Before long we got a game of PIG going, but we had to truncate it to PI because it was supper time.

Ah, supper time in the summer when you're playing ball. I hadn't had that feeling of not wanting to go inside for supper in a long, long time. As my wife scolded us to come in now, that feeling was just reinforced.

It reminded me of the little boys who live behind us. They play baseball almost every day, and I've often heard them squeel in protest plenty of times when their moms call them in. And damn if those kids aren't good, too. I should say boys and girls, because I see a little sister or two making plays. That reminds me of my sister and other girls in my neighborhood growing up who could play just as well and better than the boys, and they were tougher.

It does me so much good to see those kids outside playing together, and not just playing, but playing sports, riding bikes, making cities in sandboxes, hiding and seeking. It makes me appreciate even more the small town I grew up in and the friends I had and the endless games we played and invented and taught other kids how to play. It also makes me appreciate the period of time I grew up in in which parents could let us run free, knowing that someone was always looking after us. I, unfortunately, don't have the same luxury for my kids. So, seeing a bit of innocence live on, even if only in the form of kids playing baseball behind my backyard, is heartening. It's those kinds of things that I hold on to to keep my hope breathing.

By the way, I won that game of PI, narrowly turning back the 11-year-old, smack-running kid across the circle. Like the cat in "White Men Can't Jump" said, "You talk a whole lot of ying for not having any yang." Something like that, anyway. Well, this kid is full of ying, but his body hasn't grown into his yang. If and when it does, I have no doubt he'll let us all know. In the meantime, like someone told me once, it's good to be humbled once in awhile. Ha!

I'd Like To Make A Movie

". . . and find characters for them to
play. "

Actually, I'd like write, shoot, direct, and make a movie. I'm not talking anything huge; just a little thing that I could ask people to do and find characters for them to play. I've been talking my ideas over with my right-hand
man on all creative matters--my 11-year-old resident genius in the house--and I think we're on to something here. And I promise you, if the movie ever materializes, the story will be familiar, but with a twist I suspect you've never seen before. I'm optimistic. I could even record a little music, write a few songs, bring in the talents of my many talented friends, and shoot the thing. Hmm. I'm inspired.

Nightime is the right time.

I defy you to name me three things that are better than a warm summer night slowly fading into being. OK, without using chocolate, a hot bath, coffee, baseball, or sex. Go ahead. Told you so.

Come Out Swinging

Ever been backed so far into the corner by so many people at once that you had no choice but to come out swinging? No choice but to take a little ground back? Fight them off? Beat them back? Keep what's yours? Defend what they're trying to take? Trying to plunder? Trying to extinguish? Yeah, me, too. Yesterday in fact. And although I won't go so far as to say the deal went down exactly like I would have wanted, I can say it felt good not backing up anymore than I already had. And it felt giving a little while taking it. And when the dust cleared, no one was dead, no one was wounded, no one was left laying. That's why it's so good to have a home to retreat to until you have to battle again.

Summer Days, Summer Nights

Welcome these days. They won't last forever. Soon enough the laughs of our children will be back indoors, confined to walls. Soon enough the trees will be empty and the birds will be gone and the grass will be brown and dormat. Soon enough the sidewalks will be lonely and unused. Soon enough the dogs will snore with boredom. Soon enough the water will run still and children will stop whispering and days will stretch shorter and shorter. Soon enough will watch the stars fully clothed and midnight sits on the steps will be memories and breezes will be chilly and bugs won't be so difficult to ignore. Soon enough the flowers will droop and bikes will cease motion and baseballs won't fly and pools won't hold laughter. Soon enough. Welcome these days. Embrace them. Use them. Listen to them. Soon enough the heat will devour us and the swings will sit idle.

Boo!

Age creeped up on me at some point. When exactly, I'm not sure. But it did, and there's no slowing it down. It doesn't scare me, really. I knew it was coming. I knew I couldn't stop it. I'm not sure I even want to. It's just less fun. The older you get, the less spontaneous life is. It has to be if you're at all responsible for those around you. Too many committments. Too many meetings. Too many calendars and appointments and coming and going. Too many this and thats. I don't mind aging. I do mind aging without newness. It seems I worked most of my life to get to a point so I could do the things that I couldn't when I was young. Things I was told I was too young to try. Things I was told I couldn't handle yet. Things I was told I wasn't mature enough for. Places I couldn't go or see. People I couldn't hear or view. Experiences I couldn't taste. Now that I'm old enough to do anything I want, I'm just as unable but for so many other reasons. And that's a big saddening. Whether that's ironic or not, I don't know. I do know it leaves me a bit resentful. And hardened. And bitter. And bitter doesn't taste good ever.

All's Quiet On The Lake

Last weekend we went camping at a nearby lake, and it didn't take me long to notice that something was missing. Figuring out exactly what that something was took a bit longer, however. Soon enough it hit me right between the eyes: silence. Yeah, silence. Growing up, camping was pretty much a peaceful experience. Even last year when I took my daughters camping, there were maybe five other families on the entire lake, and but you would have never known it if you hadn't of seen them. But this past weekend, we drifted to a different lake, and immediately upon coming over the hill and seeing the dozens of boats and jetskis and skiers, I should have known I was in for something different. The environment was more typical of a speedway, and the sounds coming off the lake were more like a racetrack than a gift from God. It wasn't until well past nightfall that silence began creeping in oh so slowly, and it wasn't until then that I really felt that I was actually camping. Despite all that, I felt a little guilty at how much fun all the noise was. Perhaps times have changed, and I'm slow to accept them. Perhaps I'm holding onto something that's long gone. I still think there's a place for peace and nature to co-exist. In fact, I'm sure of it. But I'm more concerned about myself and my willingness to enjoy that which my heart tells me not to, including noise, crowds, and disturbance. At any rate, camping is still a great time for families to get together on the cheap (no thanks to you Mr. Game Warden wanting more money to pitch a tent), have actual conversations over a fire, and not feel the need to get off to someplace to do something to feel something artificial. On that note, many thanks to Barb for the excellent bacon Sunday morning, to my daughter for riding out the rainstorm with me all of Saturday night in the tent, and to the tent for keeping me dry. Can't wait to do it all again.

I'm So Unsatisfied

The first time I heard The Replacements I was about 16. My sister scored a mixed tape somewhere, and my head about exploded with glee when "Bastards of Young" came scrawling out of our old, crappy tape deck. It was like God looked down on me and thought I needed a pick-me-up, so he reached down, grabbed that tape Himself, stuck it the box, and said upon to thee: "Blare that bad boy, kid, we need some angst around this place." And so there was angst.

The Mats were like me: from the Midwest (Minneapolis) and young. Where they were different was that they didn't give a flip about what you or I thought. I wasn't that brave. What they did better than any band I had heard up to then was combine just the right touch of the music I wanted to hear with lyrics that weren't juvenile or corny. Paul Westerberg's words were religion to me then, and they've remained the same as I've grown, and as he has, also. It probably sounds stupid to some, but his music and the music from the like-minded got me through a good deal of my teenage years. I used to think that was a melodramatic notion on my part, but I live with a 13-year-old boy in my house everyday who shows me it wasn't and isn't. Seeing up close how much music means to a kid each and every day in 2006 tells me I was right all along.

That's why I'm all over this when it comes out, and I'll probably review it for a magazine I write reviews for. I'm entirely biased on the subject, but that's OK. I've owned every song but the two news ones on this set for years and years anyway, and hearing them all over again in one setting isn't going to change that. I know the world will probably pass The Replacements over the way it did the first time around, but that's OK, too. I've found that the best things (at least to me) are the things that the general populace doesn't appreciate or know about. Too bad for them; good for me.

I've tackled The Replacements before in writing, and it wasn't easy. They mean a great deal to me. If you've ever had a favorite band, you know what I'm talking about. The same if you've ever had a favorite author, artist, filmmaker, poet, teacher, preacher, or creature. If you don't know of which I speak, I hope you find it someday.

One of my fondest memories is of a Friday afternoon one spring day many years ago when I was in my girlfriend's dorm room waiting for her to come back from class. The window was open, the day was perfect, and the night was waiting to creep in. The opening chords from "Alex Chilton" came floating into the room just as I was drifting off, and I distinctly remember thinking, "Cool. There's at least one other guy in the world whose taste in music doesn't suck." Pompous, elitist, and snobbish. Yep. But life gets no better than when everything falls into place even for one fleeting second. That was such a second. And they've come few and far between since.

What are you looking at?

I wonder about people who don't like animals. I understand why (I guess), but I don't know how those people become those people. What's not to like, other than the poop, fur, noise, chewed up shoes, vet bills, and their impending deaths. Ah, the impending deaths. That's the kicker.

When our dog recently died, the first question a lot of people asked was, "So, are you going to get a new dog now?" What the hell's up with that. "Um, are you going to get a new mother?" "Are you going to get a new uncle?" Yeah, I'm probably going to get a pet soon, and I understand that all people aren't comfortable with the whole death thing, but come on, man.

Seriously, I'm not a pet freak, and in fact, they get on my nerves as much as any person does time and again, but they also have been more loyal, faithful, trustworthy, and sympathetic than just about any human I've known. Maybe I haven't known the right people, or maybe animals are just better than us. They haven't seemed to have forgotten the concept of integrity and truth. Man, even when a pet is deceitful, they don't go to great lengths to cover it up. They just run away or tuck their head between their legs and accept your disapproval. Guess what happens then? They move on. Seems like a good way to live life.