. . . and then there was pickle.

09/29/2006

I'm back

My show is now up and running. I am back to being at home on a regular basis, and will now return to my self-indulgent semi-poignant ramblings.

We made it through this stint without actually having to take The Pickle to day-care, and although it has been a significant strain on the relationship with the MIL, the wife's stability at work, and the overall cleanliness of the house - it looks like we are going to avoid and early entry into snot-fest '06.

It's not even that I didn't think that day-care would not have significant positive effects or that it wasn't a really solid place for infant care, it's just that I don’t trust anyone with my baby.

I know that no one has the same instincts or understanding of The Pickle's needs and routine. That's not a judgment on anyone. It is a fact. I just have trouble accepting that her comfort has to be sacrificed to enable other people to have time with her.

I know there's more to it than that, but it is often my first reaction when I see people making what I generally refer to as 'rookie' mistakes. I need to let other people learn about The Pickle to make it possible for them to give the proper care to her.

How to get experience without a job, and how to get a job without experience, or in this case how to get experienced childcare without working your child over.

I know that this is just the beginning. Someday I am going to be expected to stand in an aisle and hand her off like a lace wrapped football to some Joe Shmoe who wants a tax-break and regular sex from her.

It's just such an awkward process. It is my job to prepare my child to eventually care for and provide for herself. Yet at this moment it is solely my job to protect, provide, and care for her. The question is: when does that transition begin? When do we start sacrificing our child's comfort for their development?

I think the answer is birth. I just don’t like it very much.

I don’t want anything to hurt her. I don’t want her to have one moment of discomfort more than inevitable. But Inevitable is a funny word. Inevitable. Inevitable.

She just had her first real cold.

I have learned from personal experience that cold medicines don’t heal you - they just cover up the symptoms. I have twice ended up with pneumonia in my life due to my body being so filled with cold medicines it no longer knew it was sick and decided to stop fighting. My brother has a house full of kids that have been pumped full of antibiotics from the time they were hours old that they have never bothered to develop immune systems and are constantly sick.

Over the last three days I have fought through crying, snot, sleeplessness, and coughing to let my daughter's body learn how to fight a cold.

I need to learn to do the same thing with her being as I have done with her body. But it is not easy.

Pickle’s Papa

15:27 Posted in Pickle Ponderings | Permalink | Comments (3) | Email this

09/26/2006

ok. I'll post.

As per Mad Momma . . . I must post.

Some random thoughts.

My daughter is standing on her own in the crib . . . and the house is still not baby proof.

To my family: something I learned in grad school. In managing relationships it is ok to set high expectations; however, when you place a hoop to jump through - don't move it after the expectations have been met. It tends to create a disgruntled work force.

To my production: set designers should be taken out into the street and slaughtered like cattle.

To my administrative position: I dont type.

To my wife: Talk to your mother.

To myself: Get over it.



In general:

I like rediscovering friendship. I recently had an unexpected solo camping trip in which I was surprisingly paired up with an old friend, the bird trainer whom I once shared a stage with, and that I spent the summer's free time rebuilding my '76 280Z. His wife was a cop, mine was finishing law school - we had our futures together as kept men, and then he moved out into the country and vanished.

As I was facing the perils of a weekend alone in the woods I looked over to my right in line at the campsite check-in, and low and behold stood an actual friend.

I will skip the dirty details of how I ended up in this perdicament for my therapist, but needless to say - it was a good thing I was rescued by someone that was interested in my story and having me tag along on the day long canoeing excursion that I was going to do by myself anyway.

Brandon now has a son, 15 months old, and we had much to commiserate on. It turned out to be a great trip for completely different reasons than those originally planned.

But needless to say I hate my family more than words can express. Every fucking one of them except my father - whom everyone else says is crazy, and I am starting to think is the only sane one of the bunch . . . yes, you too mom.

ON Cleveland:

It is really hard to be a loyal Cleveland sports fan. I hate us being the character in the story line that we inevitably become season after season. Even in the games where we are supposed to get excited about now - I cant help but see the rest of the story line play out before me. At half-time this week of the Browns game - I already knew we were going to lose. Even though no one else did, why? because we're Cleveland.

True - we have Ohio State Football, but I can already feel the Michigan upset in the air.

I hate becoming emotionally invested in this shit, but every year I still end up being shocked that we dont walk away the victor. I have only once not been let down, 2002 Buckeyes, and I never actually expected to win that one. We were'nt as good of a team as Miami.

So many Browns and Indians teams should have gone all the way over the years, and yet - here I sit in Cleveland. The Browns have more all around talent than most any team in the NFL - yet, without any semblance of an offensive line I remain a Cleveland sports fan.

I am bitter, and overworked - and looking for a win.

ON ART:

I need a drink. I forgot how hard it was to make this shit pallatable. I loathe the way we, as artists, have to kiss ass and lie to make the lights come up. I also hate how every one else working on a show seems to be an imposition on the work I'm doing rather that an aid. For god's sake - just let be do my bad british dialect, and get out of my way.


In the mean time- The Pickle comtinues to grow. I continue to become salty, and The Wife tolerates me less and less.

Good Times.

Pickle's Papa

21:15 Posted in Pickle Ponderings | Permalink | Comments (6) | Email this

09/12/2006

Theory vs. Practice

So I had this whole parenting thing pretty much worked out when it was all I had to do, think about, and take the time to climb up on my soap box about.

I am now running around from rehearsal to meetings, memorizing a book, and building a strategic plan for a program from scratch while I am supposed to maintain this idealistic super-parent plan that I hypothesized about when I was still human.

See, nowadays I’m lucky if I have the time or patience to recognize that I have a daughter – let alone analyze the best practice scenario of how I should rear her.

Several weeks ago I knew exactly how and what I was going to guide The Pickle through the landmine filled path that is her development. Today I am wondering if I am going to be able to recognize barbed wire from a building block.

I have always been a very effective multi-tasker, but I know that no matter how you look at it parenthood isn’t something you can schedule in. It is a 24 hour a day job that requires your full focus and cognitive ability in an unpredictable and inconvenient time-frame.

I have another week of full-time rehearsal before we go into performance, and I am just trying to make it to opening without completely undermining all of the work I put into my relationship with, and understanding, of my daughter.

Every day I feel further and further removed from the intuition which once guided my care of her. I knew from morning until night what she needed when, and why she was doing what she was doing.

Today I come home and look at her as a new and growing mystery from which I have somehow lost the key. I know that this is a norm, but it is a new one for me. I suppose I, like everyone else in the world, wanted to share every moment of growth and wonder living through the eyes of my child.

She is beginning the path of separation. I know it is nothing compared to her leaving for college, but it my first taste of knowing she is a person all on her own – and it’s not the easiest idea to accept.

I want to see every moment of discovery, every fall to comfort, and every dream to help build – because I need all of those things from her too.

Pickle’s Papa

12:20 Posted in Pickle Ponderings | Permalink | Comments (8) | Email this

09/04/2006

Working Life

OK. I may not be blogging as much as I used to. This whole employment thing is really putting a damper on my free time.

It is amazing the amount of work I’ve already had to do just to get my office in a position to functionally accomplish work in here again. I once ran a company from my home office, but that was a while ago, and the physical needs of going to grad school vs. running a business are significantly different.

I have spent the last four days cleaning, re-organizing, and throwing away more nostalgia from my previous incarnation that I just no longer have the room to keep. I really let this place go to hell.

I dusted about an hour ago and I still haven’t stopped sneezing.

I have also gone through and created a whole new electronic system of organization that is quite impressive including a weekly work log and year calendar with all significant dates already denoted.

You’d almost think I was organized if you came in here.

At the moment I am genuinely looking forward to winter – as my office is in the loft, and I am sweating my *alls off. It is only in the mid-seventies. Good thing this is usually the most comfortable room in the house in winter.

So we’ve been looking into daycare, and wow, is that unreasonable. It seems as though infant caregivers require that you sign up for full-time care regardless of your actual need. We have a pretty good daycare center at the end of our street, yet they would want us to pay for a full week’s care even though we would only want to put her in 2-4 days a week on a varying need base.

Even on the days she would need to go in it would usually only be for 5 hours or so. I think they’ve got a racket goin’ on.

I don’t know.

Anyway, I thought I should let you all know that my postings will be slim for the next couple of weeks as I am in full-time rehearsals during the day, and scheduling every possible groundwork meeting around that I can.

I am busy. Pickle is happy and the wife is enjoying a four day weekend.

I will be brilliant again soon.

Pickle’s Papa

13:04 Posted in Pickle Ponderings | Permalink | Comments (5) | Email this

08/21/2006

Making Ends Meet

Necessity is the mother of desperation, and today I spent the day working with Ryan installing satellite TV in strangers homes. Not that if I knew any of them it would have made my job any easier, but at least then I would have had an excuse for my incompetence.

I have always been ‘handy’, but there is a big difference between working on your own project and being a professional technician. I am not a professional technician.

As I am still unemployed, not having heard back from my recent interview yet, and feeling the tug and twinge of the impending need for income – I ventured forth to do what most people do every day.

I left my home to go do a job.

I have led a spoiled, sheltered, idealistic adulthood that has enabled me to believe that one should be paid to do what one is good at and/or loves. Jobs have little to do with that premise.

A job is an exchange of your life for money. That is my rough summation of the concept. I’m not used to expending energy against my will. In fact I am not really used to expending energy at all these days.

My recent vocation, daddy, is more of an effort or exercise in will, determination, and logic. I am not used to the idea that my physical discomfort has an equal and reciprocated value in dollars.

Because today I was uncomfortable, and was so, in the pursuit of money.

This is a lesson I learned long ago in the mailroom of a best left forgotten newspaper where I was once the fasted ad stuffer this side of the Mississippi.

It is amazing how seven years working in your chosen profession will erase your memory, and work ethic.

I don’t like work. I love projects.

Today was a horrific reminder of how much I want to find a job in my field. I was once an excellent worker, and as I have aged and been spoiled - I am now perhaps the laziest man on the job that has ever lived.

This is not the historical path for me. I have always focused my OCD onto whatever task lie ahead of me – regardless of the job’s relevance or gratification. I think in my maturing understanding of the value of my soul and time, I have come to the acceptance - that toward many actions in this world . . . I just don’t give a shit.

I don’t care if you enjoy your television experience, but I do want to be able to wipe my daughter’s ass with hypoallergenic wipes - and today those two concepts somehow became related.

I am one in a thousand that discovered my calling, worked toward an education in my field – and built a resume and ties to the professional community that would allow for a sustainable career in the arts. I did so without wealth or family ties.

For the first time in my adult life I seem to find myself being pushed out of the center of my comfort zone in the working world. I know that I have said that this was a reasonable sacrifice to make for the support of my family, but when the act itself in upon you – it doesn’t feel very good.

And it isn’t that I look down on anyone that does anything but what I’m trying to do for a living. I think we all have different ways and approaches to satisfying our needs for personal fulfillment and the balance of financial support.

Ryan is one of the more intelligent people I know. He has a deeper understanding of all things scientific and mechanical than I could every hope to. He also has the vision and problem solving ability to walk into these people’s houses and within five minutes come up with an executable plan for the most time and cost effective solution to their unique situation.

I don’t care.

I think it may be the difference between a sculptor and a painter; or a gardener and a tree trimmer. I am definitely a gardener. I love to plant seeds and cultivate the right chaos for the right corner. Other people like to look at the chaos and whittle it down to a manageable and beautiful form.

The world needs both, but I haven’t been able to match my skill for developing a crop with the reality of feeding my growing herd.

Perhaps it is the same in parenting. It is the balance of the cultivation and the pruning that can make the stunning shape.

The trick is that as parents we don’t get to pick one role or the other. We have to do both, and I think that is what I am missing in my life. I need to relearn the ability to prune if I am to find the balance in my form.

Pickle’s Papa

02:20 Posted in Pickle Ponderings | Permalink | Comments (3) | Email this

08/18/2006

Poetic Justice

The other day I was going through some of my old papers and such when I discovered a notebook of old writings and poems from high school. I was struck by how much, and little, my ideals have changed in almost twenty years. Hopefully my writing has improved.

This poem struck me as very relevant to a lot of my current questions regarding the development of a value system. I think I wrote this just about the time I realized I had one.

Life by the Lyrics


Elenor taught me
compassion for man.
The old fool on the hill
gave me patience at hand.

Comfortably Numb
taught me to set my goals as a human,
and Animals taught me
that life was confusion.

Lucy gave me dreams
when all seemed dim,
and Vera was there
to be my true friend.

The bombs did fall
as depression set in,
and the worms did crawl
as my dreams caved in.

The music told me
that life wasn't pure
and it told me that nothing
was ever too sure.

But it told me too
that if my heart was true,
anything I wanted
could be mine.

With hope, dreams, and
a life of pure goals;
no matter what happens
never sell your soul.

Because what you've seen before
will soon come again,
and that who was your enemy
will soon be your friend.

You can have everything that is,
and everything that will become
and everything, everything
under the sun.

I learned to live
and to be true to me,
because if I didn't
who would I be?

I set my goals to my conscience
not to society:
Least comes to money
chincy it may be.

Second to that
comes egotistical possessions,
and anyone reading this
could surely learn this lesson.

Then comes to others
that I do satisfy,
and now comes the toughest
that I fail, but consistently try.

Third is my country.
Second is me.
First and yet most ignored
is my sense of humanity.

It was my parents who actually
taught me right from wrong,
for you see it was them
that hummed me the song.



That, ladies and gentlemen, was crafted at the hand of Florence, AZ's 1982 first prize winner of the third grade poetry competition. It wasn't actually that poem that won me the prestigious honor, but I do think it was written about the time I was creative writing editor of my high school newspaper.

Yeah, I was that good. It's amazing I didn't end up writing for a living. Nowadays I kind of write so I can keep living.

Pickle's Papa

10:13 Posted in Pickle Ponderings | Permalink | Comments (3) | Email this

08/16/2006

Television

I am a horrible parent.

At six months old I have abandoned my child to the guidance and supervision of Baby First TV. I even went so far as to sacrifice my subscription to Playboy TV to get the channel in the door within our TV budget.

I can’t decide if this is a noble sacrifice or a pathetic example of how misguided I really am. I do love the channel. It is perfect for her cognitive development at this point; without commercials to plant the marketing disease in her yet.

The issue is that it is still Television.

She is already being conditioned to sit in front of the color-changing box and listen to the music. I really don’t like this, but I know it is doing a much better job of stimulating her development than I could without it.

I keep telling myself that the lack of commercials and regulated use will be a great developmental tool, but the truth is I am already using it as a crutch to my laziness. I am already plopping her in her exersaucer, and walking away.

That’s bad.

I need to be an active participant in her TV watching experience, but it is so easy to let it do all the work. What am I supposed to do? Stop being a lazy bastard just because I’m a parent? Oh. Well, I guess that would be a ‘yes’ then, huh?

I grew up without television as a child, and when we re-assimilated to functional society my parents went a wee bit overboard on the whole TV experience. In other words from the moment I woke up ‘til the second I went to bed there was the constant voice of a stranger in the living room.

It is still the case today in my parent’s house. Whether it’s the Weather Channel or Headline News – it’s always something.

When I was little - it was music, and for the majority of my adult life that has been the case. When I lived alone instead of turning on the TV, I would usually put on music and read - but these days it seems there is always the sound of someone talking at me coming from that box.

I don’t want The Pickle to think that is a good idea.

I need to figure out how to balance the positive aspects of the medium with the drawbacks of loss of input control, and numbing the nervous system to the subtlety of the general life experience.

I don’t know at what point the television stops developing auditory processes and starts teaching how to not listen, but I know it happens. I need to listen to her reactions, and gauge when to turn it off.

And here I thought this was going to make things easier for me. It’s scary to think that this box is going to be her first non-parent ‘teacher’, and with all of them in the future – we need to use our discretion and guidance to lead the knowledge she will glean.

If worse comes to worst then I guess I may be forced to read to her – Who knows?

Pickle’s Papa

13:43 Posted in Pickle Ponderings | Permalink | Comments (7) | Email this

08/09/2006

Sinking Ships and the like

There is something to be said for the idea of going down on a sinking ship. We all hold the captain who rides his vessel down to the depths of Davey Jones’ locker in the highest regard, but there’s a funny thing that happens to you as you get older, have kids, and realize that death is real - and some decisions you make will have dire and irreversible consequences.

I now have a daughter.

For the majority of my life I have taken the big risk, and refused to quit. I did this even when all indications were that I was wrong, and probably screwing up my life. My biggest proof of this fact is that I spent my twenties building a career as a professional actor in Cleveland, OH.

This was not the easiest path. . . nor the smartest of moves.

I have track marks on my arms from selling my plasma, and probably will until the day I die. I did that when I knew I had to take acting jobs to build my resume that didn't pay me enough to eat. Those marks are a constant reminder of how hard it was to get where I am.

These days I am older and less motivated to prove that I can do something just to be hardheaded. And I now worry and wonder about my daughter, and what will drive her big choices.

I based most of my decisions on whether or not I felt people believed I could accomplish a goal. If someone ever told me I couldn’t do something - you could bet the farm I would see it through.

The reason I became this way was my father. My old man is a dreamer. But there is a big difference between a man who dreams and a man who works to see his dreams become reality.

My father would rather fantasize about his heart’s deepest wishes than act on them - because when he was younger he had his dream crushed. It’s a lot easier on your heart to dream than to fail.

As a child I bought into all of my dad’s schemes. I wanted his dreams to change the world the way he imagined that they could. But every time he would begin the process of launching his latest idea . . . he would become distracted by his next obsession.

It broke my heart over and over again.

As a child I vowed to finish what I started, and I have seen things through against insurmountable odds and logic.

I do not think that this is solely a process of instinct. I was trained to hate quitting.

Soon my daughter is going to hate her piano lessons. There will be classes and cliques that will lead her to want to walk away, and my reaction and support of her in these choices will inform her view and value of completing a task once assumed.

I am a success today because I refused to quit, but life sure could have been a lot easier – and I certainly don’t want my daughter to have to suffer in the same ways I did.

Each generation is supposed to make advances. I want my daughter to understand the satisfaction of crossing the finish line without having to have a single-minded obsession or disregard for common sense.

Maybe she’ll get it right.

Like so much of the burden we put on our children – I want her to be able to do what I was unable to do. I want her to understand that it’s just a ship. I want her to pick the right one, and to carry a life preserver because we all get wet. But the truth is that when she does want to walk away from her goals - I am going to see my father in her eyes.

How am I going to react, and what is the right thing to do?

My success has been the road less traveled. I know that if I had listened to logic or anyone that supposedly ‘knew something’ I never would have had my career, but does that make it right for her . . . and how could I pass that drive on anyway?

In all of this I have overlooked the one most important fact: the love I have for this child. I know that when she finds her dream within her heart it will be all I can do to give her the support and guidance of one who knows how hard reality can be and hope her ship has an easier path than mine . . . or my father’s.

Pickle’s Papa

18:47 Posted in Pickle Ponderings | Permalink | Comments (2) | Email this

Family Resemblance

Well, I suppose I can admit that I guess I am no longer creative at all, but merely read other people's blogs and either expand on their posts or do an offshoot inspired by something I've read. I'm ok with that, and this is yet again another example. After reading this post on Creative Type Dad I was reminded of this fantastic story.

This is a true.

A colleague of mine’s husband had their toddler/potty training daughter in the mall when she expressed her desire to go to the bathroom.

Everything was going along fine – sans the potty.

The bathroom was fairly busy with the sounds of many men going about their business outside the cramped stall where he was trying to convince his daughter to go.

This is when she uttered the most horrific phrase that any man has ever heard in this situation:

“You’re not my Daddy.”

Uhmmm.

“Where’s daddy?, You’re not my daddy.”

. . . yeah. So as the angry and malicious crowd gathered outside the stall ready to pounce - the man did the only thing he could do . . .

Gasp in horror.

I don’t think any man has ever feared for his life more as he dressed his daughter and tried to make his way from the can. She continued to say the dreaded phrase as they walked out of the stall when he was stopped at the door by several men who wanted proof that the girl was, in fact, his offspring.

Soon security arrived and despite his protestations the girl continued to utter the same phrase over and over – “You’re not my daddy.”

After great anticipation and phone calls and the final arrival of mommy the police finally accepted the fact that the girl was his.

As soon as Mommy arrived the girl gave in and admitted her game. When asked why - she simply said, “I don’t know . . .” and smiled.

You know that smile.

So beware all fathers out there. Just remember at any given moment your daughter can have you strung up by your testicles in public.

I'm just glad she looks so much like me. Nobody would believe her and they'd understand why she would want to distance herself from me.

Just thought I’d share that horror story.

Pickle’s Papa

08:32 Posted in Pickle Ponderings | Permalink | Comments (7) | Email this

08/07/2006

Daddy Elbow and other ailments

I had heard most of the warnings of what parenting would bring, but as a big strong man I never thought about, nor expected, parenting to require so much physical strain or endurance.

The repetitive wear and tear of doing the same actions over and over again . . . and then over again takes the patience, focus, and durability of a long distance runner.

The one that is getting me today is Daddy Elbow.

For those of you who don’t know - this rarely diagnosed condition is a bruise and tenderness of the elbow created from the repetitive bottle feeding of one’s child using the armrest as the resting point of your elbow in the arm ‘V’ baby headrest position.

I currently am making the cringed, pursed lips face every time I bend or set my elbow down, but this is far from being the only physical strain that taking care of my child has put on me.


This is a short list of my new-found ailments:

Bjorn Back

Diaper Change Dry Hand or Antibacterial Cracking

Public Appearance Depression or Lack of Shower Blues

Baby Wont Sleep Pink-Eye

And last but not least, Oh My God Why Wont She Let Me Put Her Down Bouncy Walk Sway Thing Back



Nobody warned me about these . . .

And if any expecting parents are reading this - I highly recommend endurance back training.

Pickle’s Papa

20:00 Posted in Pickle Ponderings | Permalink | Comments (4) | Email this

08/06/2006

You have my permission to marry him

Well, as it turns out by marriage, and then by another marriage - I am somehow related to an amazingly famous and wealthy beyond regular terms individual whom (despite my previous inability to do so) I will refrain from naming.

On our vacation we stopped at the amazingly famous and wealthy individual’s brother’s house to visit and pick up the sister-in law and brother-in-law who are not so amazingly wealthy or famous. The in-laws' in-laws have two very beautiful boys – one of which is about five months older than The Pickle.

The afore mentioned gazillionaire has no heirs and will most likely be leaving the fortune to these boys, and as I sat there watching them play I couldn’t help but wish that she would accidentally become impregnated by this eleven month old Quasimodo.

This is not to say that the child is deformed, but I must tell the story of how he crawls . . . or rather, doesn’t.

Q, as he will be referred to henceforth, does not crawl. He sits on his butt, legs outstretched before him and does a shoulder lurch to one side. Putting his weight onto one hand he hops his butt forward while pushing down and pulling himself forward with the heels of his feet.

All he is missing is a hump.

The family is completely ok with this behavior, and enjoys the humor of it fully – but damn if it isn’t funny lookin’.

My point is - as the unscheduled play-date went on, I couldn’t help but buy into the idea and dream of The Pickle marrying into unbelievable wealth. To quote Chris Rock, “I’m not talkin’ rich – I’m talkin’ about wealth.”

There she sat, actually playing with someone that would never have to worry about money in their entire life – aside from maybe accidentally pissing away a couple hundred mill on a bad investment . . . and still not have to get a J.O.B.

I really did turn into a horrible daydreamer and am fairly certain I had the same look on my face as the father in ‘Arthur’ – the Dudley Moore movie when he finds out the reason Arthur doesn’t have a job is because he is independently wealthy.

In that cool, honest, fatherly tone he tells his daughter, “You have my permission to marry him.” It didn’t matter what kind of human being he was or how he treated his daughter.

It’s scary how much money matters. It is so base and animalistic to want your child to be secure in the most primal of senses.

We all know how hard life is, and wouldn’t it be great to have money not be a concern. In that Forrest Gump, “well, that’s one less thing” kind of way.

The worst effect that thinking like that has is the way it plays on your own insecurities.

The Wife and I are in a fairly decent position to provide for The Pickle, but when you start thinking about being wealthy as a goal or even an option – all of a sudden being able to pay for college doesn’t seem that impressive anymore.

What are the realistic expectations for the provision of comfort and security to enable your child to launch off into their own lives?

I certainly don’t know anymore.

My parents believed in food, shelter, and teaching right from wrong. These days those seem to be a given, and the pressure on providing opportunity as a parent is almost overwhelming.

It is our job to get them into the right schools. It is our job to make sure they are exposed to the finest in culture and society to allow the opportunity for the utmost in upward mobility.

What the hell?

Am I not changing diapers? Why am I thinking about this?

Because I bought it.

Whether I like it or not - I’ve swallowed the poison pill, and have come to accept that money can buy happiness. And now I have come to understand the stepping-stones and traditional ladder to success of today’s culture . . .

But wouldn’t it just be nice to marry in.

And that’s why I said to my in-laws’ in-laws, “she has my permission to marry.” . . . and that has triggered a horrible sequence of analyses about what I want for her and why.

In my ideal I just want her to be happy. Unfortunately the way I have been programmed - I now think the easiest way to be happy is for her to come into money . . . and the more, the happier she'll be.

I can’t think of anything more illogical and unfair to attempt to superimpose into her dreams.

I also don’t understand how I got this, because I assure you my parents never taught me to value money, power, or stature. This must be one of those “picked it up at school” kind of things.

So I’ve got another thing that’s wrong with me that I need to hide or fix before screwing up my kid any further.

But if I picked it up at school, what is to say that she won’t do the same? Especially with the schools we’re planning on sending her . . .

irony

We are all told that the most important thing to want for your child is their happiness, but I’m starting to wonder if the way they’ve told us to get them there isn’t all fucked up.

Pickle’s Papa

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08/02/2006

Vacation

As most of you know – we just got back from a week on Hilton Head Island in South Carolina. To get there we flew into Atlanta (to meet up with The Wife’s sister and hubby) and drove from there to Hilton Head (4+ hrs).

I had had severe concerns about taking The Pickle on this trip due to the travel, but as it turns out - she handled it all much better than I did.

Overall we had an outstanding trip, but for any of you considering the possibility of imprisoning six adults and one infant under one roof for “family fun” - I sincerely recommend rethinking your plans.

Humans are funny. It seems, despite our best intentions, we all seem to have things called ‘needs’. Surprisingly six people rarely have the same needs at the same times.

This is something that became more and more obvious as time went on, and eventually led to me locking myself in our room for the last day and a half just trying to keep from having an overt conflict of interest that I know would have damaged my already perilous relationship with my in-laws. By the end of the vacation, I was perceived to be an anti-social jerk rather than the ass-hole I would have inevitably been seen as had I remained in contact with my in-laws for all of the required social activities.



I know that it is a very good thing that my daughter has the opportunity to have a relationship with her grandparents, and that they are so passionate about having that relationship with her. I just wonder if perhaps this relationship could occur without psychologically damaging yours truly.

We do all try to get along. We just refuse to compromise. So despite good will and fair intent we always end up in a bitter battle of will.

I know that my mother-in-law (MIL) is not going to change – just as I have no intention of change. The challenge that showed it’s ugly head on this vacation is how we can remain true to ourselves without it putting The Pickle in the middle (that’s funny).

I have no desire to use my daughter as a tool of manipulation toward my in-laws. I am neither that cruel or cold, but on this vacation I found that my desire to be with my daughter, and to not do what my MIL was doing - inevitably created situations where either plans were changed or resentment was felt because of control issues with the child.

I don’t feel good about this.

As much as they grate on me, and I at times would prefer a parallel universe where I didn’t have to take their opinions into consideration – I will not stand between them and The Pickle.

I think that that is what got to me the most on this trip. Normally I would have had the argument, but for once I was aware of the fact that I am the intermediary between these people, and that my opinion and ego are less important than their relationship.

This is a new idea for me, and I wasn’t even fully aware of why I was feeling so lousy until well after the fact. What changed things for me was The Wife explaining a misconception that my in-laws had - regarding my big avoidance.

On the last night of our stay my MIL had offered to baby-sit and pay for dinner at a very nice restaurant the four ‘kids’ (Me, Wife, SIL, BIL). By the time that afternoon had rolled around I was already DONE with the MIL. I had reached the point where I was incapable of accepting anything else from her.

It is such a fine line between gracious host and entitled bitch, and the MIL usually falls on the latter side of that fence. There was no way I was going to have her baby-sit and pay for dinner. I think I was afraid that when we returned she would have constructed a make-shift cross in the living room of the condo for her final martyrdom.

Because I decided to not have the confrontation regarding the issue, my in-laws perceived my refusal of dinner to be a reflection on my trust of their ability to baby-sit.

Yeah.

Therein lies the guilt, and the pickle in the middle.

So how do you fix this one? I don’t know, but I have a feeling that it will eventually lead to that dreaded and most difficult of all words . . . Compromise.

Pickle’s Papa

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07/31/2006

Super-Size Me

I’m fat.

I pretty much always have been. Here’s the irony: I eat really well. I’m not kidding. I have a very healthy diet. My problem is alcohol, and the various forms by which it enters my body.

My alcohol related caloric intake is probably enough to sustain a family of four. But I recently read a post on Creative Type Dads that got me thinking about diet, and The Pickle.

I’ve watched Super Size Me, and I was horrified. I know that both my family and the wife’s have a social and genetic disposition to be ‘big boned’.

This issue is one that I haven’t put a lot of thought into, as I have generally regarded society’s infatuation with weight to be greatly over emphasized. I think Twiggy ruined nature’s concept of beauty.

For centuries mankind viewed a plump, ‘Rubenesque’ woman to be the picture of health, fertility, and beauty – and so have I. For many years I kept my subscription to Xlgirls.com (I'll refrain from linking that one) paid up, and have found the sight of a woman’s rib cage to be one of my top turn-offs in life.

Health and Athleticism are not equal to Weight.

Let me say that again. . .

Health and Athleticism are not equal to Weight.

They can be inter-related - but correlation is not causation, and the number of old fat French people should be the biggest clue that culturally we’re betting on the wrong horse.

I want The Pickle to have a healthy, happy, long life with her self-esteem built on a separate standard than the inaccurate picture of beauty and health that the media has marketed. This is the image that has been created because it is the impossible dream. It ensures a returning consumer base that will always be dissatisfied with where they are in relation to the ideal.

As long as we believe that this is what we’re supposed to look like – they will be able to sell their products.

Don’t get me wrong. America has the largest percentage of out of shape, fat, unhealthy eaters that the world may have ever seen, but to compare Roseanne to Calista Flockhart isn’t really fair.

The enemy should be McDonalds and KFC, not bread and pasta.

As much as I think “Honey We’re Killing the Kids” is an accurate portrayal of a large and serious issue in this country – I don’t know if scare tactics are the way to go.

Health should be the goal. Not Image.

I am certain that as The Pickle becomes mobile we will regulate her diet, and create a regimented system of activity – but I assure you we will go out of our way to keep from telling her, “you should look like . . .”

I guess I’m just trying to keep all aspects of the marketing machine out of our lives. I simultaneously want to keep the garbage food and lump creating entertainment industry out of her circle of influence while helping to make sure that her self-image and ideals are built on a realistic basis as well.

I suppose that is too much to ask.

I don’t know. It doesn’t help that both the wife and I are overweight. I am not sure on this one, but ironically it isn’t that big of an issue for me. I guess for me it all boils down to her health and self-image.

Watch her end up being anorexic . . . That’s parenthood.

Pickle’s Papa

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07/28/2006

On Racism

We all have our prejudices. Some are created through personal experience, and others are built through paranoid ignorance.

I have managed to avoid the biggies of my generation and make-up. I have a true heart-felt respect and empathy for the Black Man, Muslim, Oriental and Jew.

Where I fail is my gut reaction and perspective on the Hispanic culture as a whole.

What I would like to clear up, right off the bat, is that I don’t necessarily think that my prejudice is wholly accurate or truly justified. It is, however, how I feel inside when I see the behavior of the Hispanics that are most evident in my environment.

We all fear what we don’t understand, and I don’t get it.

My father loathed his father’s prejudice. My grandfather hated all “Ni**ers, Jews, and Camel Jockeys.” My father worked very hard to make sure that my brother and I judged each person on the merits of their own actions, with no preconception of nature based on religion, or color of skin.

I bought it, and time after time he has been proven right. Almost every injustice that has been done to me in my lifetime - has been done by a White Christian Male.

I want my daughter to judge men, and women of course, on the same scale. I want her to see that each person is as capable of good, bad, or the cruelty of indifference on equal ground. True, there are varying socio-economic barriers that every person must conquer to get to that equal playing field, but nature and will are not predetermined by color or creed.

These are the prejudices of ignorance.

Mine is unfortunately a learned behavior. I do not know why karma has chosen to expose me to the sects of Hispanic culture that it has in the order and way in which I have been – but the end effect is a very low opinion of the nature and positive attributes of the culture.

Here is the overview:

My neighborhood is adjacent to Cleveland’s largest poor urban Hispanic community.

I have never known an educated Latino.

Over 50% of all Latinos I have known are criminals or liars.

My only general contact with Hispanics are the wandering youths in my neighborhood that harass women, children, dogs, me . . . in public places and convenience stores.

When driving to the highway all I see is teenage mothers and entire families on front porches at 1:00 in the afternoon.



This is what I see. It makes me distrustful, and it has created a very negative stereotype.

How do I hide this, or guide The Pickle in such a way as to not carry my perspective with her? Or do I chose to not hide my preconception and let her resent me the way I know she will when she plays out her own personal ‘West Side Story’.

I would like, most of all, for my opinion to change – but short of that I don’t know how to approach this. My primary flaw is my core indecision of what I want my desired result to be.

In the ideal world my goal should be to make sure that my daughter is happy and comfortable in her environment. We have no plans of moving anytime soon - so I need to make sure that The Pickle is open and accepting of other children as she is introduced to them in the various ways (i.e. daycare, playing in the park, carjacking . . . ) over the next several years.

My true fear is that I am not going to get over it. She is going to rebel as a teenager by running into the arms of some Teenage Latino Hood, and I am never going to see my daughter again – just so she can prove how ignorant I am.

What I am hoping will happen is that I will meet some nice Hispanic people that I like, relate to, and respect - that will change the way we all see each other, and maybe someday make me happy to accept their son as my son-in-law.

Pickle’s Papa

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07/27/2006

Fooling the Aristocracy

I am a professional actor. I have a gift.

For years I did what I have come to express as, “running from my own personal trailer park.” As I became more educated and exposed to the various strata of society I became immensely insecure about my own behavior and knowledge.

To compensate for this I studied the behavior of the elite. I spent four years driving a limo while my acting career was getting started studying the way they, and every level of ‘wanna be’, interacted with each other.

I befriended several people of 'trust fund descent' along the way to show that I wasn’t just a court jester, but had the potential to become a Homer; that I too had the potential to be allowed to step out of my meager upbringing into the privileged class.

The truth is that I would sooner cut my penis off with a broken bottle of Glenlivet than have to play that game on a daily basis.

When I learned how to speak without saying and order the next round on me - I discovered the horrible fact of the dehumanization of culture. I have been given a glorious gift by my parents: the barbaric yawp.

At some point I came to a prophetic acceptance of self, and a surreal understanding that I have something that none of them can buy – a sense of peace, or at leats that's what I tell myself while balancing my checking account.

A former board member of my company, who worked in the Carter administration, told me a very funny story, which hinged on the punch line of, “just look them in the eyes like you know that they don’t belong here either.”

Since that period I have had a great deal of fun toying with the models of those I come into contact with. Somehow I have repeatedly found myself in circles and environments that expose me to situations where ‘the game’ is in full effect.

I have traveled Europe, and most all the major playgrounds of the US. I enjoy breaking the mold. Not in the Rodney Dangerfield ‘Caddyshack’ extreme, but in the subtlety of stepping in and out of the rules.

I can discuss any subject intelligently: art, politics, business, music, literature, history, you name it . . . I know it. I can also drop cuttingly rude and offensive witticisms in ways that would make Oscar Wilde blush.

This week we went going to Hilton Head. There are some rich people there.

It is my first emersion in elitism since becoming a father, and I wonder what my instinctive reaction will be. Will I blend in, or toy with the system?

I know that my relationship with society will be a great factor in the development of The Pickle’s identity. I want her to be comfortable in whatever social situations she will eventually find herself in.

One of the things my father did to me as a child in preparation for socialization was to embarrass me in every possible social situation. Whether consciously or not he went out of his way to break people out of their routines. He would flirt with waitresses while sitting at the table with wife and kids. He would tell raunchy jokes at the most inappropriate moments.

I still can’t figure out if this tactic worked for me or not. I know I was miserable then. But I don’t think he thought about whether or not it would make me more comfortable or not, and as I have gotten older I now know your comfort in public is most determined by your comfort with self.

He’s the real question – Was it for my benefit at all, or was it my dad just being my dad? I have a funny feeling he wasn’t doing it for me at all, but for him and the waitresses.

The same shit I do – at a different level, but for the same effect. We both like to drop the turd in the punchbowl; in spite of the fact that we know better.

So who knows if The Pickle will be a consideration as I venture forth into taking her into the valley of the shadow of civility, but I do know it matters - which I think is more than my father did.

And if you’re in Hilton Head this week, I’m the one with the white socks in "Prata" slippers (thank you MD) wearing the Whitesnake T-shirt. (and I don’t even like Whitesnake)

Pickle’s Papa

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07/21/2006

Getting Myself in Trouble

For those of you who don’t know - my wife blogs too. Actually she has been at it a lot longer than I. She discovered it when looking for support during our extended period of attempting to have a child, and fearing infertility.

That worked out OK.

The thing is, she never wanted me to read her blog. It was her way of venting and complaining with impunity from those around her. Which I dig.

When I began blogging - everything changed, because I am an attention whore. I needed not only everyone online to read me, but her as well.

She has taken more of my approach as time has gone on and we have lost one of the most important aspects of blogging – the ability to bitch about those closest to you (i.e. each other).

The other day we decided that we were both going to write posts complaining about how the other is as a parent. This is to be done without fear of repercussions. The key is that we both, on the whole, feel the other is an amazing parent – but as long as its been over a year since I’ve seen my therapist, it would just be tacky to show up and bitch about my wife for an hour and leave him again.

So here it is. I am now going to complain about the wife.

P.S. – if you would like to read about my inadequacies please visit her site: Urban Drool.

------------------------------------------

I must say that my wife has been nothing but astonishing with The Pickle so far, and most all of the things I will be venting are my pent up paranoia and frustrations about her family.

We all turn into our parents, whether we like it or not – and I cannot stand my mother-in-law. I get sick to my stomach every time The Wife exhibits behavior that resembles her mother.

The biggest reason that I disapprove of her mother, as a parent, is that she had children for her benefit - not theirs. Instead of a family, she seemed to want a staff. I have shared enough on this site to let everyone recognize how twisted my home life was as a child, and I hear stories of what this woman did to manipulate her children and my skin crawls.

She ignores the actual needs of everyone around her, and gives both affection and gifts indiscriminately without any regard for what the people in her life are actually needing or even begging for.

It’s as if she lives in a bubble and thinks of what people would want or need instead of actually paying attention the signals and signs that they are giving. This is not to say that she does not give. She gives constantly.

And she expects results from those gifts. I cannot tell you how many times I have had to spend the day at their house because her mother did something for us. I feel like I’m being rented.

She cooks enough food for fifty people and wants you to take it home, or she shows up to baby-sit with a bunch of food that no one will eat. Then I end up feeling guilty for throwing it away after it has been rotting in my fridge for 2 weeks.

I told her to stop bringing food to my house, because I couldn’t take the guilt anymore. That went over well.

The Wife is by no means her mother . . . yet, but if there is one aspect of The Wife’s familial behavior that I want to weed out in this generation it is this.

My wife is a giving human being and I don’t ever want her to stop that, but I want to make sure that she does not use it as a tool for control – and I want to help ensure that she is giving what is actually needed.

My wife is not the most observant of people. She's just not. That is not meant as an insult - just a fact. Our daughter is a subtle dance of information and I am worried that The Wife will miss the guiding signals of what it is that she needs.

This is somewhat unfair because I spend so much more time with The Pickle than her and have gotten to know her signals considerably better, but what concerns me so far is the wife’s jumping to conclusions. (Get it? Jump . . . To Conclusions)

My wife has a certain automatic reaction to The Pickle showing signs of distress without ever actually taking the time to interact with her to discern what is really causing the issue. There is also the fact that when my wife is tired – The Pickle needs to go sleep. Finally is ‘the swaddle factor’.

The Wife still swaddles The Pickle to nurse her and put her to sleep. The Pickle is now at an age where she needs to learn control of her limbs. By consistently swaddling her we are laying the foundation psychologically for us assuming the control and responsibility of her actions.

Every behavior at this age is a building block on which all other behaviors are built, and the most insignificant of interactions can lead to a lifetime of assumed roles. The Wife professes that she gets too distracted when she is not swaddled. I believe that The Wife just doesn’t want to put forth the effort to wean her into self-control.

These are the basic signals that worry me about the wife and what her environment has led her to believe is acceptable parent/child roles. The problem with these behaviors is that they are not conscious, and I certainly can’t say something every time I see it occurring (not if I intend to continue to live here).

But what can I do to express my fear of these behaviors? I know that we must come to a compromise about how we approach satisfying The Pickle’s needs, as well as the interaction and reciprocation of those needs in a healthy parent/child relationship.

The Wife has many issues regarding communication. For some reason as a child she learned that the only way to get attention was to talk constantly. In my mind this shows an environment, which didn’t listen.

I want The Pickle to trust that if she expresses a need – it will be met, or at least she will be given a reasonable explanation as to why it is not going to be met.

I am worried from The Wife’s initial reactions and interactions with our daughter that she is going to have a natural tendency to fall into her familial traps of ignoring the actual need and substitute a barrage of other ‘gifts’ just to make the noise stop.

I do not know how to make the wife recognize these behaviors, or even if she will find them negative – or for that matter if they will even ever fully manifest themselves. But I've done what I needed to do - state my fears, and used my blog for what it was for. Getting myself in Trouble.

Pickle’s Papa

08:36 Posted in Pickle Ponderings | Permalink | Comments (7) | Email this

07/20/2006

Random Thoughts

Here are some general notes and realizations that I would like to pass on. Each of these is very important, however as I have accumulated them – none has been worth a complete post on their own.


·If I were still single, I would borrow babies to pick up chicks.

·Only babies can smile innocently while peeing on you, and I don’t want to talk about my point of reference.

·You never feel good about the job you’re doing, but occasionally they let you not feel bad.

·Everybody knows the right thing to do with a baby, child, or mother-in-law.

·Never buy into any routine; she’s waiting for you to make the assumption – to change the groove.

·Sweet Potato encrusted eyebrows make you feel like a loser in public. . . it was dark in the house and I ended up having to do the ‘lick the thumb’ scrape in the park just praying nobody saw her orange Frankenbrow.

·Don’t tell anybody how good she is until the end of the visit or she will prove you wrong.

·A crying baby can get you out of any conversation.

·Bribing grandmothers with baby time can get them to sell crack for you.

·Vomit is a state of mind. If you don’t believe its bad – it’s not.

·All chores and meals are optional upon the signed written consent of The Pickle and her sub-personalities. They are the seven dwarves of hell – cranky, bitchy, cryee, bouceed, poopy, tired, and where’s mom?

·Any parent with a child older than yours can make you feel immediately insecure with the phrase, “Oh, you do (that) . . . we always did (this).” Because you cannot help but second-guess your own judgment or the advice of your pediatrician.

·People without kids think you’re a freak – unless they’re trying to have them or gay.

·Old people feel sorry for you.

·Other parents think you have it easy.

·Every Day is one you’ll never have back again.

·She’s only going to do something for the first time once, and the ones that come when she’s older – you don’t really want to be there for.

·The only thing better than naptime is when she loves you and is playful.

·There is nothing in the world like the sparkle in her eyes when she smiles.

·And I don’t want to go back to work.


Pickle’s Papa

12:09 Posted in Pickle Ponderings | Permalink | Comments (2) | Email this

07/18/2006

Guidance Systems

Guiding your child has historically not just been the job of the two people, but the overall responsibility of that child’s family and community as a whole. It has historically been a major function and value of our communities.

This is no longer the case. As mankind has developed mass communication, job-jumping, and the transient nature of ‘home’ - we no longer see this as a recognizable asset of community as we are no longer bonded to our communities as strongly as we once were.

We have a whole new world of community to replace these former systems. I have a community of fellow daddy-bloggers. I have a community of colleagues. Most people have a community of fellow congregation members.

But we are no longer tied to these communities as we once were. There was a time when if you didn’t agree with what you heard – you couldn’t just pick up your marbles and go. You were stuck there. But more importantly, the combined value system of the group helped to inform and guide the development of a child brought into these communities – whether you wanted it to or not.

Nowadays when you disagree with the people around you, you simply find a new group of people to surround yourself with.

It’s that easy, but what are we losing by removing the voice of community?

This lost relationship between child and community has different purposes at different stages of development. The points where I think it had the most value and is now missing in the biggest way is in the ability to have a trusted adult, non-parental voice in the age of teenage-rebellion.

My in-laws were brilliant at this, and I hope that my wife will be able to find and guide a similar scenario in our home.

My wife essentially grew up in the theatre. Her parents met doing a community theatre production in the mid-sixties and have spent the last forty years amassing a collective resume of thousands of shows. There was one company in which they were particularly active. At this theatre for most rehearsals and performances - there was a crib sitting in the green room where my wife and her sister were joyously entertained by actors and run-crew between shifts and scenes.

I cannot imagine a better way to learn about the nuts and bolts of life than sitting backstage at a theatre. It’s like life in purgatory. All you see is the preparation and stress.

The other side of this is that throughout the years she was able to develop individual relationships with grown-ups outside of the influence and control of her parents. In the circle of a community theatre, or any community for that matter – you find that it is essentially the same group of people that you end up being around for years on end.

This is a community, and in my wife’s case – as she grew older and hit the point where she no longer trusted the opinions of her parents these people functioned as such in the traditional sense.

I want The Pickle to have people that she can trust enough to go to, with the stuff she can’t talk to us about, that I know will give her sound, informed, and caring advice. It is a very important part of growing up, and I want to make sure that we expose her to a wide array of trustworthy and intelligent people that will be our community as she grows up and out of our control.

My wife and I are very lucky that neither one of us were ever molested, abducted or anything of the like. Maybe we are the minority. I don’t know, but I hope that we have the appropriate judge of character when exposing The Pickle to any potential adult role-models.

I know that it is a horrible thing to think of, but I think that a great deal of the way that these relationships are initiated and managed will help to ensure that she is exposed to people in a safe way. Because it is also the job of community to protect its young from it’s own darker sides. If we are able to find healthy group situations then these groups will also act to police themselves and guide healthy non-parental adult/child relationships.

I don’t know how many children are molested. It seemed as though it was every other girl I dated in college, and as much as I have historically professed to deny the dangers of the world – I am not stupid enough to not recognize that it is a legitimate fear of parenthood.

My goal, in this regard, is to protect her without creating a sense of fear of men or society in general.

In this situation I have to trust in the nature and purpose of community. When most children become teenagers they stop hearing their parent’s words and more than anything need informed and caring adults already established as trusted icons that can help guide them through those rough years.Who knows where these people will come from that will help guide the choices of our children.

I was lucky enough to have had great teachers that helped instill goals and dreams for adulthood.

It is a wide variety of factors that help built the influence of community, and we have to start working on how we expose our children to our communities now - if we ever hope to fool them into believing that these people aren’t just telling them what we want them to hear. The last important factor in this is that we need to help to foster these relationships at an early enough age to ensure the her trust of people that we trust will be a good influence.

I know that this is unlikely, but it did work for my in-laws – and day-by-day I am slowly learning to steal every bit of positive parenting from every potential source I can.

I am not sure how this is really going to play out for us, but my goal is to find a group of people, whom I trust, to help be there for my daughter when she needs advice – and feels she cant come to us.

Pickle’s Papa

19:22 Posted in Pickle Ponderings | Permalink | Comments (3) | Email this

07/16/2006

How much is too much?

One of my early goals with The Pickle has been to make sure that she is a functional social creature, and what I am starting to worry about is that what I am truly doing is laying the groundwork for her to be a trampy urban socialite.

See, recently I was thinking about how good of a job we have done at making sure that The Pickle has been exposed to safe, engaging and cultured social situations. What I discovered in looking at this was that she in fact has had more of an intense social calendar than most club-hopping suburban trailer-trash ‘hoochie-mamas’ trying to disprove that “this is too much eye-liner.”

My daughter is 5 months old, and so far she has been in more restaurants, bars (classy wine bar for friend’s birthday), zoos, parks, parties, plays (including 2 musicals), and general social encounters than I had by the time I was in college. She had her first meal (mushed up slices of Avocado) at Cleveland’s top Japanese restaurant and sushi bar, and this is what began my quandary.

One of the general rules of parenthood is that we all screw up our kids in an equal and opposite reactionary fashion from the way that our parents screwed us up. I want to make sure that I am not overcompensating for my lack of socialization by submerging her in society to a level that she loses the opportunity for individual introspection and creation of her own identity separate from the people she is surrounded by.

Here’s the problem. Because I had no socialization as a child – I don’t know what is actually appropriate. I thought I would be able to gauge from her reactions to the situations that we put her in, but so far she has shown no sign of anything resembling a desire to not embrace people.

This weekend she went to the opening of a local production of Little Shop of Horrors, and the backstage reception afterwards to hang out with the cast and such (you know, normal 5 month old behavior). You would think that at some point the child would have shown some signs of sensory overload or ‘maxing out on people’. I know I would, but she didn’t. Matter of fact she was the biggest flirt in the place and ate up every bit of attention that was thrown at her.

I don’t know if this is a positive or not. I am very proud of the fact that we, as parents, have done a good enough job of satisfying her base needs to create the foundation for her to trust her environment and people in general, but at what point is that a liability?

Everyone in the world isn’t always going to have her best needs in mind. Nor are they all going to be there to support and care for her. Matter of fact, someday someone will want to actually do her harm in one-way or another.

Am I creating a sacrificial lamb by teaching her that people are OK?

I am moderately nervous about this, but on the other hand (if you’ve read any of my previous posts you’re aware of this) I do not want my daughter to ‘fear’ her environment.

The problem is how to teach discretion without instilling fear. I want her to be comfortable with herself and the world, and yet still have an understanding of the darker nature of man. I know that somewhere, somehow someone will hurt my daughter. Be it schoolgirls playing favorites, a teenage boy who breaks her heart, or even something much more malicious and horrific. There is going to be psychological and perhaps even physical damage done by people.

How can one prevent this without removing your child from the world?

I hate to say it, but I actually trust that people will do the work for me. You see, in every aspect of human behavior I believe that our duality and balance of nature is evident. I hope that she will see the flaws in the day-to-day behavior of people and be able to extrapolate that idea inherently to the understanding that people as a whole are not necessarily to be trusted at their word in all situations.

I know that this is a lot to expect, but I think the leap isn’t as impossible as one would initially assume. Especially when it is almost impossible to eliminate the news from our lives. I think that expressing the fact that some people do bad things is a lot more relevant than expressing that there are bad people in the world.

I am a firm believer that under the right circumstances we are all capable of acts that we would normally find reprehensible, and finding ways to express that idea to my child as a way of judging others behavior and evaluating potential risk in social situations will be one of the key tasks I will need to address in her safety as she ventures out into the bestial world of uncivilized society.

The other key aspect of over stimulated societal contact is that of value placement. For the most part, society as a whole puts way too much emphasis on physical appearance. I want to make sure that The Pickle understands that her value to society, a man, and her family is a much more complicated and difficult creature than simply her ability to highlight her cheekbones or manipulate boys through flirtation. It is also very important for me to convey the idea that her worth is not related to her dress size or how similar she looks to whatever the icon of the day is.

I know that these two ideas are working in opposition to the overall message that I will be submerging her in by constant contact with society, but I am fairly certain that children learn more by what you do than what you say, and I know that her mother and I will teach her what is important by reinforcing appropriately, and guiding her through the barbed wire of social behavior as best we can in preparation for the inevitable threats to her ego and well-being that are so unavoidable in this world we live in.

Every generation is an experiment built on a mistake, and like all those ahead of us we will strive to build the perfect human as best we can. To all those who are on the same path of misguided parenthood I wish you luck as well, and I will be sure to let you know what I’m screwing up along the way.

Thanks for listening.

Pickle’s Papa

22:07 Posted in Pickle Ponderings | Permalink | Comments (4) | Email this

07/10/2006

Confessions of a recovering masogynist

I have not historically been very respectful or supportive of women. OK, so I ‘ve actually been an ass-hole most of my life. The thing is, like most of our behavior as humans – I was trained to be that way.

If at some point if the actions I was taking stopped getting the desired result – I probably would have stopped, but here’s the surprise . . . it didn’t.

It seemed the more childish and rudely I behaved – the more women seemed to run around trying to satisfy my every need. This constant behavior by the opposite sex undermined my ability to respect them because, in showing little or no self-respect, it was difficult to try to give them something that they obviously didn’t feel they deserved themselves.

Now I know there are a million sociological factors that go into every individual insecurity complex, but at what point does the blame game stop?

The key is that I now have a daughter, and if any ass-hole ever tries to treat her the way I treated most every woman I came into contact with – I’m gonna string him up by his testicles and make him watch Mommy Dearest on a loop for days on end.

I think the key is to make sure that she understands that she deserves better. That no one has the right to treat her as a puppet, and that she doesn’t have to buy into what the television is selling.

All of this is much easier said than done, but I think the beginning starts with me. My daughter is going to watch the way I treat her and her mother as the first example of how men interact with women, and right now – some shit has got to change.

It’s weird how I can want my wife to be so many things to me – that I never want my daughter to be to a man. It all of a sudden makes me feel very disrespectful of my wife, but I guess part of me, as human, wants my daughter to find a much better man than I am.

But how can I expect her to do that if we, as parents, only show her the roles we’ve played to date. I guess it shows that to want her to be more – we have to try to be more.

Every day I try to be a better person than I was the day before, and as a father the ways in which our flaws and dreams are exposed to us changes, and the pressures and ways we influence the nature and value of our child’s lives grows in ways that we never could have expected.

In the mean time I need to see if The Wife has finished shining my shoes.

Pickle’s Papa

11:15 Posted in Pickle Ponderings | Permalink | Comments (5) | Email this

07/05/2006

Seeking Tolerance #2

This is one of the funniest and most tragic stories I have from my life as a professional actor, and what I hope to do by sharing it – aside from making you laugh is to show the value of perspective and how a little knowledge is a dangerous thing.

One of the ways I put my wife through Law School was by working at one of our big LORT houses (union theatre) in their children’s series. Throughout the years I have played more ridiculous characters, and put on more fur and tails than I would care to mention, but it was a great job. We performed 12 shows a week, Tuesday through Sunday, 10 am and noon matinees during the week - for every school bussed in from a two county radius.

I was at the bar by 3. – with a pretty decent paycheck.

This is the story of Pecos Bill and The Ghost Stampede. I was playing ‘Pa’. Every performance began with a spotlight that came up on me as I sat on the edge of the stage and strummed a guitar recanting the history of Texas.

Now, when you’re doing back-to-back shows you’re generally running around like a chicken with your head cut off between them trying to re-set props and costumes – cuz you’ve got like 15 minutes before they start to seat the next group.

When a 10:00 show starts late, cuz of traffic or poorly planned bathroom breaks or just sheer incompetence it puts a damper on the second show starting on time.

This is the case of the day in question. We were running late. Technically we were in ‘act fast, go home early’ mode – which happened more than I’d like to admit. When we finished the first show – we were supposed to be starting the second one.

No good.

Thus begins the worst experience of my professional career.

There was one piece of information which the stage manager neglected to pass on to us before we walked out to start the second show - a half-hour late . . . this was a special needs class. This was important information to have.

We were all already in a simmering state of malcontent to begin the show.

And then as I finally started the show, I was immediately struck by a kid sitting in the front row off to my left who was talking, and I dont mean whispering - this kid was putting on a show of his own. I couldn’t make him out completely because he was just out of my spotlight and far enough down to where I didn’t want to look over at him, to give him any more focus than he was already taking on his own.

Now, you have to remember – at this point I just thought he was another randomly bad kid. So I was barreling through my monologue just focusing on being louder than him. It was at the point that he got up on his knees to talk to the person behind him - that I could take no more, stopped my speech to snap my fingers at him and said, “hey! I’m over here.”

. . . the entire audience did a unified gasp - as I, was apparently the only person in the room (or perhaps the county) that did not know that this child was blind and had Tourettes.

Yeah . . .I stopped a play to yell at a blind kid with tourettes.

The good news is that I was not the only cast member to fall down on this one. Later on during the show there was a moment when Pecos was supposed to have thrown cactus seeds and the cacti sprung up out of nowhere all at once. To do so an actress pulled a ground row (fake row of cactus that were laying across the lip of the stage) up by a rope.

Apparently the kid I had abused earlier wasn’t the only blind child in the audience because as ‘Ma’ pulled the rope, the two red tipped canes, which were lying across the front of the stage, went flying end over end into the audience.

We were done. As a cast we had reached the end of our ability to act and deal reasonably with the fact that we were horrible, horrible people.

At the end of every show we had a talkback section where we fielded questions from the audience before their busses arrived. We were in bad shape by the time we got to curtain, and really should have cancelled this one, but our stage manager decided to push onward.

Now in all of my years of doing these - I know who to ask questions of, and so did the person fielding them that day. The problem was that only one child raised their hand, and it was perhaps the last child on earth that you would have wanted to raise their hand – even more that the blind kid with tourettes. This girl had a sullen psychotic gleam in her eye that you could read from the fifth row, and yet she sat – the only arm in air.

Michael reluctantly called on her and this is what she said –

“My mommy’s in a deep . . . deep . . . sleep.”

. . . thank you, goodbye.

We were at the bar by 3:30, and that was my worst working day as a professional actor.

The reason I tell this story is to show the importance of communication, and setting realistic expectations for the situations we find ourselves and our children in during our life journeys. That was not the worst group of kids I ever performed for by a long stretch, but the situation that led up to it; as well as the lack of information that was given to us and to them (don’t lean your canes on the stage, ask questions about the show) set us all up for failure.

Childhood is a guided path, and if The Pickle is going to be able to healthily deal with the uncomfortable circumstances that we all must encounter – it is my job to prepare her for the play by communicating expectations.

True, life is more of a constant improvisation - but the premise is the same. We, as parents, have a duty to prepare our kids for the reality that the show isn’t always about you, and give them as much information as they could possibly need to play their role.

We are all the stage managers of the show that is childhood, and it’s important to remember that there are other jobs besides starting on time.

Pickle’s Papa

p.s As a side note: A couple of weeks later as I was walking from my dressing room to our stage - I crossed paths with your standard burly Union Stage Hand - whom I had never met. As our path's crossed he nodded, smiled and asked me, "yell at and 'tards lately?" . . . just to show the depth and breadth of the level of offensive I had actually reached. I dont think I have ever done anything so completely demoralizing as that.

11:58 Posted in Pickle Ponderings | Permalink | Comments (4) | Email this

07/02/2006

Seeking Tolerance #1

So I am about to break almost every major rule about what you’re supposed to blog about, but I swear I’m doing it for a good reason. I know we’re not supposed to talk about Politics or Religion, but I want to talk about how we influence the beliefs and values of our children – and it’s pretty hard to do without discussing the ideas that are deemed ‘core’.

OK. I am now going to say two things about myself. One of which, at least, is going to make you dislike me. The first is that I am pro-life. The second is that I am a fairly staunch non-Christian. So I have now pretty much isolated myself from the majority of the populous by believing in one core value that is diametrically opposed to the other in terms of our general society.

The key to this is that I made a choice based on the wonder that is free will. I was allowed to make a judgment about what I have discovered as ‘truth’ in my life.

My parents raised us to question authority, but also gave a strong base for understanding right and wrong. I have never stolen anything, and value life and freedom more than most anyone I have met. It is this upbringing which has allowed me to understand the value of opinion. . . because mine changes, and it’s allowed to - as I am shown more and more along my path.

At the core of my belief system is the understanding that this plane of existence is beyond our understanding. To assume that we could possibly comprehend whatever it is that has built and fills this world with life would perhaps be the biggest sacrilege of all.

I see god in all things – because that is how she has shown herself to me.

This is not to say that I lack acceptance in others. I married a woman who is equally pro-choice as I am pro-life, and yes – we knew this before we got married. What allows for this mutual respect is that I know she put just as much thought and passion into her opinion as I have mine.

My daughter is going to grow up in our house. I know that I have come to a state of peace internally because of my faith. Although it is drastically different from most other people’s concept of God, I know that the living result is basically the same for me as it is for them.

This is what I hope for The Pickle. To have the ability to build her concept of the true ‘Super-Power’, in relation to what gives her understanding and peace.

I do have some dissent in relation to most organized religion,and I view my moral job as a parent to keep those concepts out of her psyche. One of things that I always hope to create for her is an environment free from fear, and one way in which I hope to do that is by ensuring that she never has the image of GOD as ‘Big Brother’.

I never want her to see god as judgmental, cruel, or vindictive. One of the key aspects of any church’s control of people has always been the threat of god’s wrath. My god does not hate me enough to sit around waiting for me to make mistakes to punish me for them.

It is this fear of god that I hope she never has. I wish to teach her right from wrong and set very high guidelines for the moral code by which I expect her to live; however, I want her to live this way through respect, and the process of living to honor what has filled us with life. This is a separate concept than admitting that one's true nature is evil, and to satisfy god one must give up free will in accordance with the prescribed rituals and behaviors deemed appropriate by a human conglomerate of 'Holy Men'. I dont buy it.

I think to honor god she must not see herself as a mistake that he created or that in some way she must struggle to try to fix or deny herself to be what he truly wanted . . . but a gloriously rounded creature made with in the ideal of love and trust in the idea that free will is to be embraced and respected within the bounds and codes of nature and love. The core concept which seems to be lacking in most religions, that I want to ensure that she has - is a sense of responsibility for one's own actions.

The reason I go into all of this is to prove that I have a strong, out of the norm value system that I don’t necessarily wish to simply super-impose on her brain. One of the best things about my concept of faith is that it is completely built around my life experience, and the ways that I have been exposed to what I term as ‘Sacred.’

Unless you are so insulated from spirituality (which usually takes a church to do) that it is impossible to not see that there is something larger at work than man - I cannot imagine her stumbling through life without a god. I want her to discover this on her own and put it in terms that are relevant and guiding to her in the most poignant of ways. As she grows and seeks enlightenment I will take her to whatever mosque or church she desires.

I have read The Bible, The Koran, The Book of Mormon, and Lao Tzu. Although they all say the right things - I know they are inherently man’s vision of god, each adapted to the culture that they are intended to reach.

My father made us memorize passages from The Bible when I was a child to learn morality and to introduce us to God. My father was, and is, a very religious man – who never preached. He studied in the seminary to become a priest – gave up on that. The military sent him to a Baptist Bible College where he got thrown out for arguing the validity of speaking in tongues, and then he discovered Buddha in Vietnam (he's a hoot when the Jehovah Witnesses knock on the door).

As a child in the desert we used to have evening family time, which he called, “church of the open campfire.” This was my earliest concept of worship – family in nature, being at one with your environment. We sat around a campfire honoring the spirit that filled us, and the world around us.

You can basically trace my belief system directly to him, but at no point did he ever tell me what he thought. My father allowed me to discover my god, and I hope to do the same thing for The Pickle.

I just hope he’s not one of them that makes her shave her head funny.

Pickle’s Papa

p.s. Yes, I know I'm going to hell. But if you feel that you must tell me that as a comment - I probably wont delete it . . . unless you're mean. I deserve it for being dumb enough to post this.

21:16 Posted in Pickle Ponderings | Permalink | Comments (3) | Email this

06/19/2006

This is so gay

OK. So when did it become all right for straight men to own exfoliating soap, squeeze fruit in public, and color co-ordinate shoes, belt and slacks? (and yes I said slacks)

My Father’s Day post got me thinking not only of the changing roles of father, but the changing role of men in our society, and I’m not talking about the standard metrosexual model chasing single. I’m talking functional husband, father, goes to work guy.

I now travel in a circle of men that ten years ago I woulda pegged every one of as a closet fag – even with the front-carriers and wedding bands (maybe especially because of the front-carriers).

Now, I know homosexuality.

Wait . . . that didn’t come out right. I have both a music and a theatre degree hanging on the wall. See, that’s so much better, and yet it says the same thing.

Somehow, in all of my exposure/submersion in homosexual culture, I don’t think that my well-tuned ‘gaydar’ could judge the regular daily behavior of most men now.

I don’t know when this happened, but I think someone came in the night and stole all of our penises. I don’t want to scare you, but ‘Married With Children’ was once reality TV.

I am not saying that we don’t still love the ‘pun-tang’ as they say, but somewhere along the way we stopped thinking that a Camaro was the way to go if we wanted a girl to act like she’s drunk enough to sleep with us. We still watch sports and drink beer, but we are now pro-active in finding the coasters and can actually taste the difference between Budweiser and Sam Adams.

And - OH, MY JESUS!!! If I see another man burst into tears on television (especially that fuckin’ Dick Vermeil ) I think my testicles will shrivel up and die – just as a matter of principle.

(Ryan . . . hey, Ryan. Put down the cell phone, and the copy of US magazine - he was a football coach that burst into tears at every press conference)

Now, I am not some machismo uber-guy. I have my fake Pradas and Burts Bees men’s line products lining the cabinetry – but I just don’t know how we lost our edge. Yes, that’s right . . . I said it.

We used to be in a position of authority by being able to act stupid, and strong – nowadays we publicly admit that we mix brown sugar and coriander seed on a Turkey broil. . . . . . . . and no woman is going to respect that.

If anything she may end up bei