Category: Parenting

  • Good Old Kurt Vonnegut

    It was a slightly strange weekend. First of all, I was a horrible father, and showed my child a movie, which I thought she would find entertaining, but actually just gave her nightmares. I speak of 1999’s The Mummy, which I thought she’d find fun, and not scary. I mean, this is the same kid that had no issues with any of the Indiana Jones movies’ and their face melting, heart removing, and weird aging/dusting thing. Nope, total miscalculation – Mummies are very scary to seven-year olds.

    So, I’m a shitty dad, or at least that’s how I felt Friday/Saturday night.

    The kid couldn’t sleep in her room alone, so I stayed up with her on the pullout sofa. I was looking for something to watch that would put the kid asleep, but still keep me engaged, and I found a documentary about Kurt Vonnegut on HULU (This is not a movie review) that fit the bill. Though Vonnegut is one of my favorite writers, I really didn’t know anything about his life other that he sold cars at one point, and got divorced.

    After watching the documentary, I had two questions I wished were answered; first, why did Vonnegut choose to move to Barnstable, MA from Schenectady, NY? I get that living on Cape Cod is cool, but did he know someone there, did he vacation in the Cape first, did he read an article about the place? I mean, what was it? Second, how did Vonnegut, who by his own admission was just getting by selling short stories at this time, afford a home on Cape Cod? I am assuming that Cape Cod has always been Cape Cod, which means it has always been in demand, but back in the 50’s, were homes really that big AND inexpensive that an infrequently published, and modestly monetarily successful writer could afford a home? Was his wife supporting him?

    I really feel these questions need to be answered, as I think this is the failure of most biographies; they never explain how an artist paid their bills when they had no money, and still found a way to create.

  • Selfish with My Time

    This past Friday, I mentioned that I had seen a listing for a theatre job that I was interested in, but wasn’t sure if I should apply for. I was going to take the weekend and think about it, but most likely, I was going to submit a resume no matter what, because what do I have to lose.

    Well… I totally forgot about the job. I mean, we did have a busy weekend with Friday movie night, and a birthday party on Saturday afternoon, and then there was the Super Bowl, and by the time Monday came around, we were back in the swing of the week.

    Then this morning, as the wife and I were walking back from the gym (you read that right) she asked me if I sent in my resume for that job. Thus, why I can say I forgot about the job as that was the first time I had thought about it in three days. First, I might not be real “into” the job if I forgot about it. Second, and I told my wife this, I really don’t want to give up my time with our daughter. I don’t like being in debt and feeling stuck, but I’m only going to get one chance have this time with her, and I don’t want to give it away to people who don’t deserve it.

  • Feeling Off Today (Unedited)

    The day feels off. In fact, it felt a little off right before I went to bed.  Then in the middle of the night, the kid woke me up, which was right after midnight, so it was like the day did in fact start with an issue. I think the kid needed to blow her nose. That was the problem I was tasked with solving. Which I did, and then put her back to sleep.

    And since then, it’s really been off.

    I got back to sleep but never really fell into a deep sleep; I was always aware that I was just barely asleep.

    So, this morning has felt off. And I have felt frustrated.

    I rewrote my cover letter for submitting, but I haven’t been able to shake the nagging voice which keeps telling me that this is a big waste of time, and nothing will come of it.

    And as I was researching literary, again the thought of failure keep coming at me. That, again this is a futile exercise. That I don’t know enough. That I don’t belong. That That That…

    It’s exhausting constantly fighting with myself.

    I know being tired doesn’t help, but I think I need to admit that I am a little afraid too. I’m afraid to fail. I’m also afraid to be laughed at. I’m afraid too because I have nowhere to hide. In theatre, I had a character or a puppet to hide behind. With my stories, it’s all me, and that’s putting the fear in me. I feel exposed.

    But, I don’t like feeling worthless either. Not having a goal, something to work towards, is a pretty awful feeling as well.

    Gotta push through it.

  • Nothing Particular

    The domesticity of my life has taken precedence today. Meaning that I had to make a meal plan for the family, and then go grocery shopping. The chores that need to be accomplished for the stay at home parent. I’m not complaining about these tasks, but I was bad at planning them this week. Normally I make the plan and shopping list the night before, so that I can go take care of it as soon as I get done dropping the kid off at school. Thus, freeing up the rest of the day for things I want to do.

    So, I got a late start today, and as such, I am writing later than I was planning. Some days are like that. Some days are just go go go, and I don’t get what I want. It has to be delayed, because I’m a grown up, and that’s what life is sometimes like for a grown up.

    And as I ran my errands, walking through the Upper West Side to get to the Trader Joe’s, the pang of missing my mother hit me. Not crushing, but just that a pang because out of nowhere, I thought about her stuffed peppers that she used to make, and home the smell of those peppers cooking would permeate the entire house, and how I hated that smell as it informed me of a meal that I wouldn’t enjoy, but there was no sense in complaining. The rest of the family loved it, and I was the odd man out that would have to put up with it. And even if my mother magically came back and made stuffed peppers for me, I still would not eat it. That meal sucked.  

  • Walking in the Snow, Trying to be a Good Dad

    There’s five inches of snow on the ground. Me and the kid could barely contain ourselves as we walked to school. We both wanted to bounce through the snow and step in the places where no one had walked yet so we could make footprints and hear the crunch of the snow under our boots. We were late to school.

    I told the kid we had to hurry up, and she asked me is it her fault that she’s late? And that question made me feel sad and pitiful for her. Had I said something earlier to make her feel guilty? Had I been saying things to her this week that make her feel like she was to blame? I thought I had been doing good job of not transferring the Catholic Guilt I grew up with to her. But the way that she asked me that question, is it her fault, made me think that I hadn’t accomplished my goal.

    I had promised myself that I would raise a confidant and self-assured kid. I didn’t want her growing up like I did; afraid, worrying, low self-esteem, and neurotic. I feel like I have talked myself out of so many things that I wanted because of my lack of confidence. I still have trouble believing in me.

    Last night, I woke up at 3am, and I couldn’t get back to sleep. As I lay in bed, mind racing, that nagging voice in the back of my head kept poking at me – “You don’t have a career, you’re too old to start a new one, you aren’t that creative, you don’t know the right people, you don’t have any real friends, what create is boring and pedestrian.” I’m 45 years old, and sometimes I still feel like that 12-year-old on the first day of junior high; scared that they will all laugh at me and beat me up.

    I don’t want my daughter to think of herself that way. I want her to like who she is, and be confidant in who she is, and not be afraid. I’m doing what all parents do – I want me kid to be better than me. And most days I don’t know how to do that. But I keep trying, because we’re going sledding after school, and that’s going to be a lot of fun.