It’s odd when you arrive at the anniversaries of events that were so pivotal in your life, and you realize that they happened over a decade ago. I say this because my breakfast today somehow feels farther away than how I felt on this morning back in 2004.
For those who don’t know, which I imagine is quite a few of you, my best friend was shot and killed outside of his apartment 12 years ago today. We worked together, we hung out together nearly every weekend, I saw him every day. And then, suddenly, he was gone.
And it left a hole in my life, in the rough silhouette of someone that I loved very much.
This commie-lookin’ sucka right here.
I don’t talk about him very often. And I don’t because, long ago, I came to the sad realization that there’s nothing anyone can say or do that will ever make me feel better. Nothing that will cause it to make sense . Nothing that would fill the void where he used to be.
Nothing can ever make it okay that he’s gone.
But I think about him almost every day.
Wrecked on the slopes of Park City. (In more ways than one.)
But once you’re a decade removed from the death of someone close to you, mourning them takes on a totally different kind of weight. Droplets of “I wonder what this would be like if they were still here…” trickle around in your mind. But those are dangerous waters to swim in. Because once you start it’s very hard to stop imagining what such beautiful shores would look like.
They’d look this kind of beautiful.
But today? Today I allow myself to become awash in those thoughts. Today I sit here and wish that you would’ve gotten the chance to meet my wife. I wish that you could’ve met my daughter.
I know she would’ve loved you every bit as much as her daddy does.
I just wish you were here, mate.
I really miss you.
j.s.
{Follow-Up}
I just came across this, so I thought I’d repost it. Some people at my office printed this out and put it on the company refrigerator shortly after Russell died.
Change of Address Notice
I want to let you know that I have moved. I received a call for God, the Chief Architect who informed me that my new home is ready and that I could move in immediately. You all know that I have been sending my timber and packing up ready to go. There were some minor finishing touches that only the Chief Carpenter Jesus Christ could do. Some of the timber was too broad, thick or not long enough. Now that my new home is finished, it is a beautiful sight to behold. It is located in an exclusive estate area, just off a serene celestial shore and sits behind a beautiful pearly white gate. Of course, the streets are paved with gold and everyday is Sunday here, I’ve been told. I have lived in many places before, but none can compare to my new home. There is peace, joy and happiness and no pain to bear. There is no strife or discontent: there is only sweet serenity everywhere. I can go on and on about my new home, but I must get fitted for my wings. we all know I’m very picky.
Let me give you my new address:
Russell E. Reagan
24 Jesus Way
Godstaown, Heaven 31680
Love always,
Russell
And while the sentiment was very nice and I did appreciate the thought, they got my boy entirely wrong. So I rewrote it. And I taped the following right on top of the other page.
Change of Change of Address Notice
Having gotten quickly bored of my palatial estate here in Heaven, and the serenity and peace located therein, I have moved again. The pearly white gates and exclusivity of the place were way too haughty for me, so I’ve commandeered (“commandeer,” nautical term), a celestial schooner and am sailing the celestial seas in search of celestial booty. (Heh, heh…)
God has let me know, in a stern yet fatherly fashion, that He disapproves of my sailing His shores, my plundering of His seas, and my carousing at all hours of the night. It would appear that He has already gotten several complaint calls about my renditions of “It’s Not Unusual” and “Drink Up Me Hearties, Yo Ho!” in the middle of the night.
He also seemed terribly surprised that I had attempted to trim my wings myself, in such a fashion as to make them appear more, you know…imposing. I kinda messed ’em up though, so I had to shave off all the feathers and I am now waiting for them to grow back. (These bone wings look friggin’ awesome though, man.) Still, He smiled at me when I started to protest about His “commanding” me to do anything. He just covered His eyes with one hand and shooed me out the door.
I heard him giggling as I left though, and He didn’t make me take off the bandana, so it’s all good.
However, despite my being out sailing the vast oceans of the hereafter, I am still very easy to get a hold of. You have just to think of me or to tell stories about the things I did and said. And when you do, I’ll be there with you.
Go on about your lives and loves. And whenever important moments come for you, weddings, childbirths, deaths, parties, ho-downs, bar mitzvahs, etc, I’ll be right there next to you.
Besides, that’s much easier than answering any mail you might’ve sent to my address. I always sucked at that anyway.
So until then, fair winds, take care of one another, don’t trust whitey, and if you got it, go to the doctor and get rid of it.
This is the exit.
This is the Russell.
Posted: July 5, 2016 · Leave a Comment
Liberty Fail
All right, let’s get this out of the way. I didn’t take a single picture of Daphne for the 4th of July.
I know. I have no excuse. I just didn’t take any.
And she was doing all sorts of adorable things at my brother’s house, too.
Tromping around the backyard grass in her festive star-spangled sundress.
Belly laughing at the dog playing fetch.
Absconding with other children’s toys.
Trying to open all the cabinets.
Mashing all the buttons on their oven.
Yep, full-on Bumblefail.
I’m sorry.
I did, however, get some pictures of her very first intake of red meat, which her mother cleverly camouflaged with marinara sauce.
That’s pretty American, right?
j.s.
Posted: July 1, 2016 · Leave a Comment
The Voolburglah
It’s odd when you arrive at the anniversaries of events that were so pivotal in your life, and you realize that they happened over a decade ago. I say this because my breakfast today somehow feels farther away than how I felt on this morning back in 2004.
For those who don’t know, which I imagine is quite a few of you, my best friend was shot and killed outside of his apartment 12 years ago today. We worked together, we hung out together nearly every weekend, I saw him every day. And then, suddenly, he was gone.
And it left a hole in my life, in the rough silhouette of someone that I loved very much.
I don’t talk about him very often. And I don’t because, long ago, I came to the sad realization that there’s nothing anyone can say or do that will ever make me feel better. Nothing that will cause it to make sense . Nothing that would fill the void where he used to be.
Nothing can ever make it okay that he’s gone.
But I think about him almost every day.
But once you’re a decade removed from the death of someone close to you, mourning them takes on a totally different kind of weight. Droplets of “I wonder what this would be like if they were still here…” trickle around in your mind. But those are dangerous waters to swim in. Because once you start it’s very hard to stop imagining what such beautiful shores would look like.
But today? Today I allow myself to become awash in those thoughts. Today I sit here and wish that you would’ve gotten the chance to meet my wife. I wish that you could’ve met my daughter.
I know she would’ve loved you every bit as much as her daddy does.
I just wish you were here, mate.
I really miss you.
j.s.
{Follow-Up}
I just came across this, so I thought I’d repost it. Some people at my office printed this out and put it on the company refrigerator shortly after Russell died.
Change of Address Notice
I want to let you know that I have moved. I received a call for God, the Chief Architect who informed me that my new home is ready and that I could move in immediately. You all know that I have been sending my timber and packing up ready to go. There were some minor finishing touches that only the Chief Carpenter Jesus Christ could do. Some of the timber was too broad, thick or not long enough. Now that my new home is finished, it is a beautiful sight to behold. It is located in an exclusive estate area, just off a serene celestial shore and sits behind a beautiful pearly white gate. Of course, the streets are paved with gold and everyday is Sunday here, I’ve been told. I have lived in many places before, but none can compare to my new home. There is peace, joy and happiness and no pain to bear. There is no strife or discontent: there is only sweet serenity everywhere. I can go on and on about my new home, but I must get fitted for my wings. we all know I’m very picky.
Let me give you my new address:
Russell E. Reagan
24 Jesus Way
Godstaown, Heaven 31680
Love always,
Russell
And while the sentiment was very nice and I did appreciate the thought, they got my boy entirely wrong. So I rewrote it. And I taped the following right on top of the other page.
Change of Change of Address Notice
Having gotten quickly bored of my palatial estate here in Heaven, and the serenity and peace located therein, I have moved again. The pearly white gates and exclusivity of the place were way too haughty for me, so I’ve commandeered (“commandeer,” nautical term), a celestial schooner and am sailing the celestial seas in search of celestial booty. (Heh, heh…)
God has let me know, in a stern yet fatherly fashion, that He disapproves of my sailing His shores, my plundering of His seas, and my carousing at all hours of the night. It would appear that He has already gotten several complaint calls about my renditions of “It’s Not Unusual” and “Drink Up Me Hearties, Yo Ho!” in the middle of the night.
He also seemed terribly surprised that I had attempted to trim my wings myself, in such a fashion as to make them appear more, you know…imposing. I kinda messed ’em up though, so I had to shave off all the feathers and I am now waiting for them to grow back. (These bone wings look friggin’ awesome though, man.) Still, He smiled at me when I started to protest about His “commanding” me to do anything. He just covered His eyes with one hand and shooed me out the door.
I heard him giggling as I left though, and He didn’t make me take off the bandana, so it’s all good.
However, despite my being out sailing the vast oceans of the hereafter, I am still very easy to get a hold of. You have just to think of me or to tell stories about the things I did and said. And when you do, I’ll be there with you.
Go on about your lives and loves. And whenever important moments come for you, weddings, childbirths, deaths, parties, ho-downs, bar mitzvahs, etc, I’ll be right there next to you.
Besides, that’s much easier than answering any mail you might’ve sent to my address. I always sucked at that anyway.
So until then, fair winds, take care of one another, don’t trust whitey, and if you got it, go to the doctor and get rid of it.
This is the exit.
This is the Russell.
Posted: June 30, 2016 · 1 Comment
Bookin’ It
Have I mentioned, maybe once or twice, that my daughter loves reading?
Because seriously…this little girl is book berserk.
She’s loony for lexicons.
Wacky for words.
Coo-coo for codices.
Okay, I’ll stop.
We easily go through around 30 books per day with her. And that’s on a slow day.
No, that is not hyperbole.
So about a month ago, in a stroke of paternal brilliance (they do hit me on rare occasions), I relocated my copies of Chapman’s, Sailing Alone Around the World, and various America’s Cup tomes to our bedroom, and replaced them with a line of Daphne’s books on the small table behind our couch.
And since that day, the best game on Earth is to stand up on the couch and rifle through those books, looking for just the right title. And woe betide any book she doesn’t feel like reading in that moment, for a solid flinging is in its immediate future.
Naturally she’s not actually reading these things. And she’ll often flip through the pages too quickly for us to even read them to her. Although she does, on occasion, babble while turning the pages…which is unbelievably adorable.
And it doesn’t stop there. She has a bookshelf in her room that is regularly emptied of each title. And she has another in her playroom.
That’s right.
An entire room filled with toys and what does she inevitably gravitate toward?
This little girl and her mother are planning to meet me for lunch at the office today. So I’ve got to get going.
Hopefully I’ll have some pics of that exodus for you tomorrow.
See you then.
j.s.
Posted: June 29, 2016 · Leave a Comment
Sparking Creativity
[BumbleNote: The SEQUENCES link is at the bottom. Hold tight.]
So I’m going to go from a high concept parenting post to one that will seem like it’s even higher concept.
But I assure you, this one is quite easy.
And before we get started you should know that I have NOT been compensated by Adobe in any way for this. I just wanted you guys to know about Something Kind of Wonderful. (Empirical fact: that’s one of the top 5 kisses in Hollywood history.)
So! Everyone here has a social media account, right? Good.
Well then I have an app that you might be interested in downloading. It’s called “Spark” by Adobe, and it’s an exceptionally easy thing to work with. I’m talking PowerPoint kinds of easy. Yes, you can totally do it.
The beer pictures in my Father’s Day, Redux post last week were edited with it, right on my cell phone. (There’s a mobile app as well as a desktop program.)
You can create static images with text, like this:
Or you can take a picture and animate some text to go along with it, then upload it directly to YouTube.
Or, you can create entire webpages, like I did with today’s SEQUENCES:
But the best thing about Adobe Spark? It’s totally free.
Well, at least for the time being… You might want to get in on it now, before they start charging for it.
See you tomorrow.
j.s.
Posted: June 28, 2016 · 1 Comment
Rubber Banding
I’ve noticed a strange thing about being a dad.
This is probably attributable to parenting in general, but fatherhood is the only aspect of that I’m qualified to speak about. You moms out there are welcome to disagree.
There’s an ebb and flow between wishing for a particularly difficult phase to be over, and simultaneously trying to be “present” in every precious moment as it passes.
My life fluctuates between grinding through “survival mode,” and basking in blissful, easy, and all too fleeting moments of pure love.
You grit your teeth through calamities while acting as a disaster response team of one, yet this is tempered with the satisfaction of having remedied whatever issue your child might have been suffering.
And, now that you’re being drawn in two directions at once, let’s dump a cold bucket of guilt into the mix.
Guilt over wishing to go back to whatever it was you were doing before the problem arose. Guilt about wanting a little extra sleep. Guilt over spending money on yourself rather than saving every penny for your kid’s future. Guilt over wanting one uninterrupted hour to watch Game of Thrones. Or, specific to me this week, guilt over a little Oculus time so I can to courier data to distant planetary outposts for credits in Elite: Dangerous.
Another example: there were some very long nights back when Daphne was an infant that I, like most parents, completely lost my ability to revel in the present. All I wanted in the world was for her to go back to sleep so I could do the same. Yet I was holding my little girl and gently rocking her back to sleep in a quiet room, which was a comforting and lovely place to be.
See? Torn.
Now am I saying that I miss those days? Well, that’s a loaded question too, isn’t it?
If I say “no” then I’m insensitive. Sure it might’ve been 3am, and sure I’d probably been up reading until midnight because my circadian rhythm is 120 bpm breakbeat, but my little girl needed me and I was there for her. What is a father’s purpose, if not that?
And if I say “yes,” then I’m showing that appalling parental propensity for shellacking days gone by with rose-colored lacquer. I mean, condensing the reasons for an infant’s displeasure from a vaporous activity like crying can be (and was), an incredibly frustrating activity.
This sounds like I’m dogging on fatherhood again, doesn’t it?
I’m not.
None of these are “bad things,” per se.
In fact, it’s quite the opposite.
There’s strength that comes with things pulling you in different directions at once. It creates an odd balance. Sure your life veers and sways from time to time, yet there’s always something important (your child, your spouse, your job), that resets you and pulls everything back to center. As such, you tend to refrain from tilting too far in one unhealthy direction.
I guess that’s where fatherhood lives. That median between being a steadfast prow for your family, while silently wishing things were a little easier. Adoring the time you get spend with your child, despite lamenting the loss of your autonomy. Hoping tonight will be easier than last night, while feeling ashamed you didn’t realize how good you had it the night before.
It’s a balancing act.
And it’s worth every second.
j.s.
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