Who saves Superman?

  When I was little, all I ever wanted to do was fix things or make them better. It was pretty simple then:  if my friends were upset, I tried to make them smile or laugh.  If someone made them angry, I'd see what I could do to fix it for them.  I mean...what else was I supposed to do when a situation was intense...I always thought the quickest way to make things less awkward was to try to fix them.  Fast forward a few decades, and here I am...still a fixer.  My insane desire to please everyone has been tempered...but not by much.  So...there it is...

My name is Jordan, and I am a fixer.

  If you're not quite sure what  fixer is, let me see if I can paint a picture for you.  A fixer is a lot like Superman...or at least that's what he sees when he closes his eyes.  He walks around all day like Clark Kent, pretending to be an ordinary person.  But, as hard as he might try, he just can't avoid the things that need to be fixed...the people who need to be saved.  They're everywhere.  They can be as simple as computers that need to be configured (Who has time to wait for IT to come over?), and they can be as difficult as a friend's marriage falling apart.  In either case, he dons his cape (I do not, however, imagine myself in tights.) and tries to save the day.  Most of the time, he's successful; crises are averted; and the world keeps turning.
  Here's the part of that little fantasy that no one ever shows us in the movies:  If Superman is always off saving everyone else, then who saves Superman?  Who fixes his problems?  Wait...that's right...he's not supposed to have problems.  He's Superman, so he ignores his own needs and just keeps saying, "Sure, I can help."  If he's lucky, though, he's married to a woman (and not Lois...she was always more trouble than she was worth in my opinion.) who will force him to face reality, and he's made enough good friends in his life who will do the same.  Maybe, just maybe, he gets to the point to where he can be honest with himself and write about it.  It can't be easy saving Superman.  If he really is the Man of Steel...you know, faster than a speeding bullet and all...he's bound to be a real pain in the rear and hard headed to the nth degree!
  One day, though, his health will get just a little questionable...nothing too serious...just enough to make him worry. First his blood pressure will be just a little too high...And maybe his eye will feel like it's going to fall out of his head, or maybe he'll want to scoop it out with a spoon because it hurts so bad!  In the middle of all of the crap surrounding him, he'll look at his wife one night, and she'll ask, "Did you ever think getting older would be this hard?"  At first it will seem like a comical question because, obviously, he is not old! But the longer he thinks about it, the more agitated he'll get.  He...Superman...will feel betrayed.  No one, and I mean no one, ever told him that life would be like this.
  No one told Superman that when he got older, his kids would drive him nuts and it would be harder to find a minute alone with his wife than it would be to get an auto insurance quote.  No one told him that he'd have to watch friends lose spouses and parents to terminal illnesses...watch his friends lose jobs...watch his friends' marriages spiral out of control.  No one told him that he might let his job consume him from time to time...that his desire to "do the right thing" would seem counter intuitive to some of his coworkers. No one told him that a large majority of the adult population refuses to play by the rules and expects to be treated better than they treat others.
  And...maybe that's a good thing.  If someone had told him all of those things, he might have said, "To hell with it all," and become an alcoholic stoner by age 10.  Instead, he just grows up doing his Superman thing...then one day, he realizes that he is utterly exhausted.  He admits that he's tired, and he realizes two very important things:  Just like no one told him about all the crappy things that were going to happen to him,  no one ever told him that he'd grow up and have friends who would feel like family, and no one certainly ever told him that he'd have a wife who would love him so deeply.
  So, who saves Superman?  My guess is whoever he lets do the job.

Life's about choices...right?

Life's about choices...or at least that's what I always say.  I can't tell you how many times I've used that line with students in my office who are trying to choose a major, trying to talk through potential jobs, and sometimes even trying to explain away a crazy decision that ended in a "less than desirable" grade.  But, it's not just some "stock" quote I use with students.  It's true...right?  Life really is about choices.  I mean...we're not just agents of some master plan...right?  We do have free will.  Well, at least that's what I believe.  My life has been a series of choices...some I made...some made by others.

I've struggled with this entry for two weeks or so now, trying to find the right words...find the best way to say how I'm feeling without being vicious.   Vicious is easy,and it actually feels like "something."  Introspective and forgiving are actions, too...they just feel like something else entirely!

Two weeks ago, I stood in front of one of the toughest decisions I think I've ever had to make: be honest about my feelings or continue clinging to a hope that things might change.  And, if you've ever been faced with giving up hope, you know what a gut wrenching feeling it can be.  It's scary; it's unsettling; it's more than uncomfortable; but, I'm told that somewhere on the other side, it can also be liberating.  We live in a "feel good" world where we are told that everyone can be whatever they dream to be...that we can "name it and claim it."  Telling someone to give up hope, especially when the someone is yourself, seems counter intuitive...at least it does for me.  Giving up hope feels like quitting, and, well..."We don't do that."  (Ask my boys...they'll tell you quickly that we don't quit.)  I guess that's partly why this has all been so hard.

I suppose, though, that there comes a time in everyone's life when he must take inventory of all that constitutes who he is...everything from whom he's married; how he raises his children; where he works; whom his friends are; to all the other types of relationships he seeks and attempts to maintain.  He stares into the mirror and decides...does he self care and choose to cut things from his life as though they were lifeless appendages, or does he continue pumping energy into defunct relationships.  If I were tending a garden, the choice would be obvious:  I'd cut off the dead parts to allow nutrients and energy to be used appropriately.  If I were back in my classroom, I'd easily stop doing whatever it was that wasn't working.  And, if I were at work, I'd release the person who was no longer effective.

Severing ties (loose as they may be) with someone in your personal life feels just a bit harder.  I think we often feel compelled to hold out hope that a relationship can be repaired...that the other person will come around and see how much we are worth.  We don't want to give up...to quit, or at least I can say that's true about me.  It's not something to be taken lightly.  After all, there are some things that can't be taken back.  And, I believe that if I'm willing to say that "I'm done," I should make sure I mean it.  Life's about choices...and if I choose to end a relationship, then I have to live with the consequences.  Right?

Ultimately, I realized a few things that made my decision make sense.  First, I believe the worst thing a person can do to another is to make him feel as though he's insignificant...that he doesn't matter.  You may say that taking a life would be worse, but at least there's some finality in that.  There's rarely finality in living with the thought that you don't matter.  Second, I believe it is possible for a person to lie so often that the lies become his reality.  Convincing that person that his reality is false is nearly impossible.  And third, sometimes people just don't deserve the time and energy it takes to have a relationship.  

So, since life's about choices, I chose to do the healthy thing and move on.  I chose to be thankful for the wife I have...the boys I have...the friends I have...the life I have...instead of dwelling on what never was and what certainly was never going to be. As I understand it, now I have another choice to make...to forgive. Forgiveness is not forgetting.  It's working through feelings and letting go of the anger.  It's actually not about the other person...it's about me.

That one, though, is going to take some time.

Just Busy Being Me...

Have you ever had one of those days where you can't even count on both hands the number of things you'd like to forget because it would take several hands?  You know the ones I'm talking about...when you don't really feel all that great and all you can do is imagine that somewhere in this world, a fool has stumbled onto Pandora's box...and opened it.  Only what escapes from the box is not a natural disaster; instead, every type of annoying person imaginable files out of the box to the tune of "The Ants Go Marching." Or, if it helps, imagine them walking into your workplace like all those Eminem lookalikes did when he performed "Will the Real Slim Shady Please Stand Up?" live for the MTV Awards.  You drown in a sea of stupid before the end of the day, and it's almost as if no one cares enough to throw you a life preserver because they're sinking just as swiftly as you!  Well...today was pretty darn close to that for me.

I caught myself more than once today shaking my head, wondering, "How do these people come up with this stuff?"  I was so worn down by the end of the day that I came close to posting this as my Facebook status:

You know what?  Yeah...me either. 

I don't like not knowing things...I make it my business to know as much as I can about as much as I can, so when I can't figure out what in the world is going on with people, I go into some kind of system overload.  I imagine the look on my face is pretty close to what you'd expect a robot to look like if his circuits were short circuiting...smoke coming from his ears...fully dilated pupils...mouth slightly ajar.  Ever stopped to think about how so many people who have little to no common sense seem to function?  They must move through their day like you do when you're really tired and you get in your car to drive home...and before you know it, you're in your driveway and you can't remember how in the world you got home.  Scary.  They're out there, though, y'all...and they're handling our money, teaching our kids, making our food, etc.  Really, I could go on and on about how difficult they make this world, but I'd rather talk about a pleasant surprise from the later half of my day.

We're all in a world of shrinking paychecks and ever dwindling funding sources, and it's positively futile to expect raises or any other monetary recognition for a job well done.  You can get all preachy on me and say that you're not in it for the money, and I'd agree.  I'm not either...in fact, the resources I'd love to have have nothing to do with my paycheck (by the way, find me a teacher who says s/he's in it for the money, and I'll show you a fool!).  It's frustrating to be in a profession where it's not even realistic to expect increased funding...I'm not talking raises...I'm talking money to increase the resources needed to do our jobs well.  Surely you can imagine how beat down I can get by the end of the day when I've pretty much had to spend all of it telling people that I think their ideas are great...we just don't have the money to make them happen...that I know they want to do something new and innovative, but we'll have to figure out how to make it happen using what we already have.   It's not fun being the bad guy...really, sometimes being fiscally responsible just sucks! 

And then...almost like it's divinely scripted, someone walks into my office and says something nice to me...something that others might even perceive as a dig but it makes sense to me.  That's precisely what happened near the end of my day.  I was deeply engrossed in a conversation with a colleague; we were discussing the state of education, what we need to do to "make things better," and how hard it is to convince some other people that what we really need has very little to do with what's "hot, new, or trendy!"  Just like that he says something about how nice it would be to be me and just say what I feel without caring if people like me or like what I have to say.  I know what people say about me...the good and the bad.  The good makes me smile, and the bad stings a bit: I hear them say that I'm super opinionated; I'm pushy and demanding; I'm not afraid to hurt feelings; I don't mind telling someone when their opinion is pretty worthless; and my personal favorite: I'm a master manipulator.  On the surface, I can see how all of those things sound bad...on the surface.  But, I just don't have it in me to even offer a fake apology for caring enough to do what's right in spite of what's easy or popular.

I don't mind being honest about how I feel, and quite honestly...it's nice to know that someone noticed!

They're Nasty...but I Love Them!

As odd as it may sound, I knew in my early twenties...I mean very early twenties (like when most people that age were partying hard) that I wanted to be married and have kids.  I met Susan; we made plans...and BOOM: we had kids.  I won't go into details about how insanely quickly we learned that she was pregnant after we were married (don't start the rumor mill...we've been married over 11 years, and Harrison just turned 10), but it was soon.  So, fast forward 11 years (12 years in May...I don't forget), and here we are with two boys, and I love them despite what I'm about to say about them.  They are hilarious...sarcastic like me...sweet like Susan...and distinctly different from one another.  And, as much as I love them, I'm just gonna put this out there:  They are nasty!

While I could dedicate this entire blog to either the endless pile of dirty clothes that ALWAYS manages to be anywhere but the laundry room or hamper (with shirts inside out and pants with one leg tucked inside and socks buried within) or the incessant eruptions of truly "natural" gas that seem to be wherever they are, but this blog post is all about what it's like to try to exist with them AND their germs! 

I had a relatively sickness-free childhood.  There was one year where I battled strep throat, but for the most part, I was fine. I didn't have ear aches, hardly ever missed school for being sick, usually got over the common cold pretty quickly, and really never had the flu or anything rough like that.  However, since these little germ monsters entered my life, I feel like I've been turned into some sort of walking CDC test subject.  Seriously...I'm sure I've spent more in co-pays for myself in the 10 years we've had kids than anyone spent on me in the 20+ years before I had kids. 

If you ask my boys what I obsess about when we're trying to leave the house, they'll tell you that I can't stand dirty fingernails...their clothes have to match and be clean...and their hair can't make them look like "that" kid...uh huh...you know the one that was always in your class.  So, even though they usually look clean, they're pretty much little carriers.  They're walking runny noses...living breathing nasty factories.  As I sit here typing this entry, my throat is killing me, my eyes are watering, and my ears hurt...most likely because Jack has coughed all over me ALL DAY LONG!  And yet, they still kissed me good night, and I wouldn't have it any other way! 

They're nasty, but I love them!

I had an Affair!

Holidays are about love...right?  I tried to be a good person.  I tried to focus on my family and the real reason for the season, but when she walked through  my front door, I knew I would succumb.  I put her in the kitchen thinking that if she just stayed in there, I wouldn't want her.  That's what affairs are about, right...wants and not needs.  I didn't need her; I had everything I needed before she ever came to visit.  But, what are you gonna do when old friends show up for the holidays?  Should I have left her out on the front doorstep like the trash that some say she is.  She's just as guilty as I am...at least I think so.  So here's how it all happened.  OR..."see, what had happened was!"

I was cleaning house just before Christmas (yeah, I'm a dude who gets an extended holiday break...and I like to have a clean house before people come over...sue me!) and the doorbell rang.  I dropped the vacuum (ok, I didn't drop it because it's a pretty expensive machine and does more work than either of my kids) and headed to the door.  When I saw her, I knew she was trouble.  I mean, who shows up at your front door for the holidays draped in plastic wrap...or any day like that for that matter?  She was trouble and I knew it.  Oh, she didn't come alone; she brought two friends with her, but they at least had the decency to cover up.  I ushered the three of them into the house before my neighbors could see my scantily clad front door visitors.  Being a good host, I settled them in and made them comfortable.  I figured the one dressed in only plastic wrap might get cold, so I found her a warm place to rest.  I made my apologies and left them to finish cleaning house.  But, I knew as soon as I had turned the vacuum back on that I was in trouble. 

I vacuumed, mopped, dusted, folded laundry...I even cleaned a toilet trying to forget her, but I couldn't.  She was there in the deepest, darkest recesses of my mind.  Each time I closed my eyes or found myself lost in thought (lol...if you find yourself lost in though, are you really lost any longer?), she was there.  I know I sound weak, but man...I could see right through what she was wearing.  She was perfect: beautiful light brown in hue, firm where it mattered...in fact, I marveled at her symmetry.  Still, I'm a strong man, so I resisted the urge to "visit" with her.  I knew it would be wrong...she wouldn't be good for me...she would only lead to other bad things.  I should have sent her to stay with other relatives or friends; I should have put her right back in her car when she arrived.  But, I didn't...and I was weak. 

Alas, one night during my holiday break, I didn't eat dinner with the rest of my family...no, I gave in to her wanting glances.  I walked into my kitchen...the kitchen my wife and I share, and I...I ripped off her plastic wrap excuse for a covering.  It was the beginning of the end for me...I just couldn't help myself.  She looked too good...smelled too good.  So, I cut myself a larger-than-I-needed piece of pecan pie and gave in. 

She was good...real good.  But now she's gone, and all I'm left with is a painful reminder of her every time I step on the scale. 

Hello...my name is Jordan, and I love pecan pie..especially when Becky Bates makes it!

Merry Christmas!

  My last blog post was about a month ago, and it dealt with being "holiday challenged."  Like it or not, it's here.  Christmas is upon us.  In fact, according to my iPhone app, Santa should be at my house in less than two hours.  Susan is in bed with Harrison and Jack, trying to get them to be still enough to fall asleep.  I'm alone in the living room with a pretty spectacular tree surrounded by mountains of presents.  So, I'm sitting here thinking about Christmas spirit.  I've seen lots of posts about Christmas and the holidays on Facebook, and it seems as though people are really "loving" Christmas, or they're "just trying to make it through" the holiday.  While it's not my favorite holiday, it has been fun to try and remember the best Christmases I've ever had!
  Tonight, I listened to my boys talk about where Santa is as they checked in on him with their iPods, and I was taken back to a Christmas 25 or so years ago.  We were on our way home from our big Christmas get together at my Aunt Doris's house, and "Feliz Navidad" came on 104.3 WZYP and then a radio announcer broke in with an update that Santa had been sighted.  All I could think was that I hoped my mom got us home in time to get in the bed before he tried to stop at our house...he wouldn't leave us anything if we weren't at home in the bed.  So, tonight, Jack and Harrison have tracked Santa from countries throughout the African continent to South America, and then on to Canada before being rushed off to bed.  God, I love that they still believe.  I love that they are innocent enough to see things in such a black and white/naughty and nice way.  I love that they are probably lying in there right now wondering if that noise they just heard was Santa...if that tinkling was a sleigh bell...what it will sound like when a deer lands on the house...how Santa can eat so many cookies without getting a stomach ache...etc. 
  Tomorrow morning, Susan and I will probably have to wake up our boys and coax them out of the bed...they have to be primed like a cold engine!  We'll watch as they tear through packages, and we'll offer up our own presents when they've run out of things to open.  As nice as it is to get gifts, it's even better to watch your child's face as he opens one.  And, once we've demolished our living room, we'll sack up the paper and boxes to be burned when we return (burning in our family is the next best thing to opening!).  Our car is packed and ready to head to Huntsville; we'll stop at Waffle House for our annual Christmas road trip breakfast, and we'll do Christmas three more times!  It's the "going home" part that's always hardest for me, but I wouldn't have it any other way.  I guess the only thing worse that being haunted by memories of Christmases with people you've loved and lost is not having any Christmas memories at all! 
  Tomorrow I'll head back down memory lane, and memories of Christmases past will flood my mind.  Old ornaments will make me smile and empty chairs will make me sad.  I'll miss seeing chocolate covered cherries (never cared for them, but my Grandpa Bill always had them), and somewhere...at someone's house, there will be some damn cashews, and they'll make me cry (my grandmother always...always gave me cashews at Christmas time).  I'll see my brother and sister with their families and wish we could all see each other more often (unless my brother decides to act like a turd...then I'll be glad I live 2 hours away!).  I'll see my mom and notice that she still looks good for her age...but she is getting older.  I'll sit at my dad's house and probably roast.  He'll smile the same mustached smile he always does when kids are around.  I'll hug my remaining grandmother and notice how small she's gotten.  I'll trek from house to house and do Christmas.  And then...at some point...I'll turn and see Susan, Harrison, and Jack, and my mind will fast forward...we'll be old, and they'll be married with families of their own.  That's when it will hit me...that's when it always hits me...it's not really Christmas or holidays that I don't like...it's what they do to me.  It's that they force me to consider for a moment how quickly time passes. 
  I suppose there are much worse ways to mark the passing of time than with family filled holidays.  Truth be told, I wouldn't trade what I have with my little family in my little house here in Weaver for anything in the world! 

Merry Christmas Everybody!

Holiday Challenged!

This morning, we spent some time in Sunday School talking about appropriate and inappropriate ways to talk with others about their faith or spirituality.  It seems pretty natural that berating another person because he/she doesn't believe exactly as we do is an asinine way to share your faith.  Nothing screams, "Hey, stop listening to me!" like, "Let me tell you why your religion is wrong and you're going to hell!"  It stands to reason, then, that the same premise can be applied to talking with others about the holiday season.  Here we are...that odd moment in time between Thanksgiving and the beginning of December.  It's not Christmas, but it's close enough that holiday music has invaded the airwaves, and everything at Walmart has snowflakes, snowmen, Christmas trees, etc slathered on it.  And, in the hustle and bustle of putting up decorations, holiday shopping, and even attending Christmas functions disguised as the politically correct "holiday parties," I wonder how many people ever stop and consider that holidays don't mean the same thing for everyone.

For the first eight or so years of our marriage, I would declare, "I just don't really care for Christmas."  I don't mean in a "Bah Humbug" sort of way, and don't go all, "Ooh...he must be a modern day Grinch," on me.  I just don't care for the holiday.  While I'm sure all Christians can agree that the holiday is supposed to be about celebrating the birth of Christ (never mind December 25th is most likely not His actual birthday), my disdain for the holiday has nothing to do with religion.  In fact, I think that if we're all honest with ourselves, Christmas probably means lots of things to us.  For some, it is about celebrating the birth of Christ and nothing else...and if you think that's you, then make sure you don't have one of those pagan Christmas trees up in your house...the only way for the holiday to "just" be about Christ is to void it of everything else.  And...that's crazy.  In our house, for example, we celebrate Christ's birth, but we also splurge and buy things that people most likely don't need, don't want, and/or don't think they can live without.  My boys know that we don't put Jesus in the manger until Christmas morning...that's just my way of reminding everyone who sees it that He's not there until his birthday!  My boys also know that there will be a mountain of presents for each of them Christmas morning.  Right now, they love Christmas, and I think seeing their faces on Christmas morning is one of the highlights of my year.

But, I'm still not a huge fan of the holiday.  While some become overly giddy this time of year and display fits where garland, lights, ribbon, and all things "Christmasy" seem to be the symptoms to their holiday infection, others of us are just sad.  I'm not saying you can't be both.  In fact, I can put up a pretty awesome tree, and I love to cook during the holiday season, but it's always tempered by a bit of sadness.  Surely that's not just my problem.  I'm guessing others struggle through the holidays as well. For me, Christmas is an annual reminder of people I miss.  Each one of them speaks to me through decorations, music, movies, etc.  And before I know it, I'm a mess in the middle of a store, in a crowd of people, or in the car on the way to work.

When Susan finally got tired of my "I just don't like Christmas" attitude, she reminded me that while I may not enjoy the holiday, we are raising two very impressionable little boys who don't need their Christmases "blahed" by my attitude.  So...to quote my friend Sherri Jones, "I fake it until I make it!" each year.  I'm not sure I'll ever love the holiday, but I am sure that I can find ways to enjoy the time I spend with my family and friends during the holiday season. So, when you're out and about, and you just can't figure out how someone could be so depressed, angry, uncomfortable, or even just plain crochety this time of year, here's a piece of advice:  an ounce of understanding will go a long way.  If you're okay with seeming like a complete jerk, then just go ahead and dismiss the person as a miserable miser or scrooge....If, however, you're up for a more meaningful experience, maybe should ask why someone doesn't care for the holiday.  To quote one of my favorite books, To Kill a Mockingbird, "You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view...until you climb into his skin and walk around in it." 

Starting December 1st, my friend Cindy Pair and I plan to start a new little daily thing on Facebook...I'm hoping it will help me through the holiday season.  I guess we'll just see how it goes!