Picking Up An Old Project

So a couple of years ago I started a little creative writing project at WEbook. Well, I got busy and never wrapped it up but I also never forgot about it. Today I was killing some time between things I had to be at and picked it back up. The basic premise is that of an alternative reality set in the near future in which I do the 'Dad blog' thing like one of my favorite bloggers, Poop and Boogies. I based it on a few general characteristics from my life and used it as a way to process some information from a class I was taking. In it, I have a five-year-old son named Andrew. This is odd because a) I have never had any intention of naming my son Andrew and b) shortly after writing the original piece I met some people who had a five-year-old named Andrew who looked exactly like what I was imagining.

I've got two other posts I'm working on now. One is reflecting on a book I'm reading and a video game series I enjoy. The other is a commentary on the three levels of worship that I formulated today while at a worship/media team meeting.

These will probably both be posted within the next week, but I wanted to go ahead and share this now. Fourth post in a month, new record! Again, click the first link in this post to view the original project and meet Andrew.

"Dance! Dance! Dancing!"

My son, Andrew, has taken to convulsing in public and calling it 'dancing.' The wife claims he gets this from me, which may be true. She strictly choreographed our first (and only public) dance at our wedding reception beforehand. I was to lead in a left-right sway while slowly spinning – clockwise, it must be clockwise – as my hands rested on her hips and hers on my shoulders. After this traditionally mandated exercise, she retired to the table to gawk at those who would dare to make such fools of themselves in public – of which I was a subset.

To be fair to her, the shoes she had been talked into wearing for the ceremony were a fearsome pair of blister-inducing, shin-splinters. In addition, she did join us for group dances to the "Electric Slide" and "YMCA" – dances which are also traditionally mandated.

To be fair to me, I can at least produce the appearance of knowing what I'm doing. The secret is to force your face into its most serious expression so that everyone thinks you are concentrating on getting the moves just right, thus giving you the look of a true artist. Sadly, most of my attempts at fancy footwork quickly devolve into the 'skank' – a classic dance for ska music that involves swinging your elbows around and kicking your legs out while hopping to the beat.

Sadder still, Andrew appears to have not even progressed to the skank. He merely writhes and throws various sections of his body outward with no regard for the music. This gives the impression of either a nod to Dadaism or demonic possession. He does this while shouting various forms of the word 'dance', thus adding to his overall image of mental instability. He may be on to something, however, as he seems to have attracted more attention from his beloved teacher who exclaims, "Beautiful, Andrew! You are such an excellent dancer!" thus adding to her overall image of mental instability.

I'm trying to educate him on proper form – something The Wiggles have apparently failed to do. We've watched Breakin' (I and II), Footloose, and that one scene from Beauty and the Beast (we can't watch the entire movie as the clock man frightens him). Unfortunately, all this has served to do is inspire him to throw himself on the floor for his convulsions and call it 'break dancing.' At the store the other night a lady called for an ambulance thinking he was having a seizure.

My wife claims that it's just a phase and he will grow out of it soon, much like his crotch-punching phase. Still, I'm considering calling a special prayer session at church next Wednesday to lay hands on him. I'll wear my pea soup colored shirt just in case.

My Favorite 'Twilight' Involves No Prissy Vampires (Or, How Rod Serling Taught Me About Life)

Last weekend I discovered that Netflix has started to carry the entire original series of The Twilight Zone. I've loved the ethic dramas of Rod Serling and others for years. These stories have motivated my interests in stories and films of philosophical depth. These stories also have a heavy connection with my childhood. Because of this, I have been on a nostalgia kick while analyzing the roots of my psychological development.

I don't remember exactly when I first watched an episode, but I know I was around six- or seven-years-old. I would get up past bedtime to watch it and keep the set volume low so as to avoid confrontations with mom or dad. The stories Rod Serling presented would terrify and inspire me. Even as a child, I began to connect the terrors of the show with the realities of the world around me. I began to understand that the fears and desires of men - as well as their best intentions - could be their undoing or lead to great evil.

A few episodes still stick in my mind all of these years since.

A Nice Place to Visit taught me that Hell is getting everything you ever wanted, thus removing any sense of adventure - and any reason to live.

The Little People taught me to tread lightly in dealing with others as, although I may be above them, someone else is ultimately above me. This also gave me some hope when dealing with bullies in the many years to come. In addition, I learned never to think too highly of myself.

Nothing in the Dark taught me that I had nothing to fear from death as "What you feared would come like an explosion is like a whisper. What you thought was the end is the beginning."

The Obsolete Man taught me the value of ideas and of every individual. It taught me that even my death should be used to promote truth. As I grew older and watched it again, Romney Wordsworth's words further impressed on me the importance of actually knowing of God for myself. "You cannot erase God with an edict!" This may have inevitably triggered the Grand Search that led me to Christ.

It's a Good Life, that iconic episode, frightened me to no end. I learned that any power I may be equipped with should be used for the benefit of others and not to control them. The torment of Anthony's family and neighbors taught me that personal control of everything was not something to be desired, nor was the suffering of others just because they make you unhappy or hurt.

The Monsters Are Due on Maple Street (my favorite episode - the first I saw and often cited as the greatest episode of the series) taught me just how dangerous fear and ignorance could be amongst people. Fear leads to faulty conclusions and false knowledge. I remember identifying with the character of Tommy who, regrettably, provides the 'silly' concept that fuels the fear of the entire group and later has that fear directed toward him.

A Close Call

One of the blogs I follow (and I suggest you do too) recently made an interesting post describing what most of us would consider to be a major inconvenience to a large family. Instead of following her initial impulse to be bitter, she turned the situation on its head. Take a look:

I have been trying, every time I get stuck in traffic, or the keys get locked in the car, or we get lost on the way to our destination, to view these frustrations as ways in which God steers us away from more difficult circumstances, even danger. Maybe my plans are simply not what He had in mind. Maybe there are people whose paths we are to cross, whom we would otherwise never know, if our schedule went as we had designed. Perhaps, more seriously, we would have met our demise from a reckless driver or a downed tree or a deer in the road....we may never know this side of heaven, but it seems like a reasonable explanation to me.

About five years ago, when I was still working in a grocery store back home on breaks, I had gotten roped into working until 11:30 at night on the fourth of July. I hated to miss out on the festivities but I needed the money (the holiday pay was good). On my way home, I stopped at the traffic light in front of the shopping center. When the light turned green, I hit the gas to go and was met with a mild sputter and even the electrical system of my car failed.

Just as I was about to get mad, I saw a pickup fly through the intersection in front of me. The guy driving had plowed through a red light and would have plowed into me had my car not died. He didn't even have his lights on so I wouldn't have seen him in enough time to get out of the way.

I thanked God for the save and then felt like I should pray for that driver's safety. I then tried to start my engine again. It started perfectly and didn't give me anymore problems. As I made my way home, I passed the pickup down the road. The driver had received a blue-light special and was failing his sobriety test miserably, thus insuring a safe night in the clink (the power of prayer, I guess).

The thing is, had I not been inconvenienced, I would have been horribly maimed at the very least. My car just dying and then restarting with no previous or following problems is suspicious. I think Someone must have messed with my engine. I'm glad He did. It was all just a 'God-incidence'.

Because I Care Enough About You to Want You to Do Well

This past week I was on Spring Break so I made the painfully long [1] pilgrimage up north to see my girlfriend and her family [2]. There we watched movies [3], answered thought-provoking questions, ate good food, were blown away at a couple soccer matches [4], and baked cakes for three birthdays [5]. We also helped her little brother with his state history project [6] but the event this post refers to occurred the night before we left to visit my parents [7].

We were sitting around quite a while after the birthday party discussing the usuals of politics and the economy, when I noticed her little brother [8] sneak down from the top floor and further descend the stairs to the basement den. At first I assumed that he had forgotten something as he had been playing down there earlier; however, when he tarried and I could faintly hear some sounds, I knew exactly what he was doing. Not wanting to break up the others' conversation, I walked down the stairs myself.

I found him sitting in his Jar Jar Binks inflatable chair playing his X-Box 360 [9]. After telling him a couple times to save and shut down, and being blatantly ignored, I turned the game off.

"Why would you do that?"

"Because you know it's time for bed. You have school and tests tomorrow. You need sleep."

"I can sleep right here in my Jar Jar chair."

"No, you need to go up to bed and get a good night's sleep. Besides, Jar Jar is creepy."

"You can't make me, I'm staying right here!"

At this point I reminded him of my alternate identity as the tickle monster, thus removing him from the chair. I then carried him to the foot of the steps and told him to go on up.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because I care enough about you to want you to do well."

This stopped him for a second and then, "Well, you can't carry me up all of these stairs!"

"Wanna bet?"

At which point I carried him to the ground floor where, when he recognized he was caught, he begged to be released. I sat him down and accepted his poorly concealed hug [10] before he headed, begrudgingly, upstairs.

He got the message, much like one boy I knew way back when, who also liked to sneak down and play games at night, got the message [11].

[1] About five and a half hours but it felt longer since I was listening to Dawkins on audio book.

[2] Well worth the trip! She's the kind of girl that makes me understand my favorite Marvin Gaye song.

[3] Including one sharing the title of my favorite Bill Withers song, a blatant rip-off of Batman that allowed me to make some great '90s PSA references, and The Lincoln Lawyer, which I suggest waiting until it's out on DVD as it feels like it would be better on a home screen.

[4] No, the kids weren't that good. The wind was intense that day and left us with nice wind burns to go with our sun burns. I got to see kids kick soccer balls toward the other team's goal only to see the wind blow the ball right back over their heads. I also got to see a kid learn why you don't pee into the wind even if you were told to go by the fence that is facing the wind. Poor kid, but therapists have to make money somehow!

[5] Her mom, sister, and maternal grandfather all had birthdays that week. We celebrated them all together but we still had two cakes and one big bowl of Jell-O! I'm glad I came up with the idea of getting three candles representing the numbers of their combined ages as it made for less fire and less waxy cake.

[6] As a teacher I couldn't not help or, better put, I couldn't not criticize the meaningless organizational activity that was being passed off as a project while belittling the poorly written rubric that failed to include criteria mentioned on other randomly inserted sheets. This is why our state is doing better than their state. That's my story and I'm sticking to it!

[7] A six hour drive that involves passing through two major cities and their continual construction projects. She must like Marvin Gaye too.

[8] Who was supposed to be in bed as he had school and state testing the next day.

[9] I must confess that my girlfriend, her sister, and I went in together to get this for him for Christmas so that we could prank him, but that's a tale for another day.

[10] Because I'm not buying that the squeeze was merely for stabilizing his landing.

[11] Thanks, dad! I love you! I figure you'll facebook-stalk your way here someday!