Black, White or Gray. Which would you choose?

Throughout my life I have always been worried when I don’t know what’s coming next. However, in raising the two of you I have become more comfortable with that because kids are about the most unpredictable things in the world.

And puppies…puppies are unpredictable too.  Your new puppy Remi has reminded me of that. You go 16 years without a puppy and you completely forget how hard they are to deal with. Thankfully your mom is about as good as they get when it comes to dog whisperers.

People refer to things being black and white when they are clear. People, including me, love clarity. A clear direction, clear steps on how to get where you’re going, clear plans to how to overcome obstacles that might come up and a clear finishing point. However, life only has one ultimate finish, death. Even death to some is just another journey’s beginning.

When things are not black and white, people refer to them being gray. The definition of gray is a color between black and white. While I enjoy black and white I know that things truly move forward and I have been happiest in my life in the gray.

The two of you make me happier than anything else in this world. You are the grayest of the gray. I have no idea what you are going to do next much less in your lives. What I know you have is potential.

Gray while uncomfortable is where all potential lies. This is true in almost every aspect of life. I not only hope for you that you become comfortable with the gray, but learn to embrace it and seek it out. Expand your horizons and never embrace clarity.

Seek adventure. Seek to always be better. Be better than you are today, tomorrow and ever day.


 

 

 

I Learned Everything I Need to Know From Caesar – Love Changes Things

While we would have loved to bring Caesar home with us that first night we saw him, he was too young to take from his beagle mom yet.  It broke my heart leaving him know that his brothers and sisters would probably continue to get the best of him in the weeks to come. However, we knew that we would be back to rescue him.

In the weeks to come your Mom and I had lots of discussions about what was going to happen and how we were going to take care of Caesar. However, when you love someone as much as we loved Caesar a lot of those plans and rules that we made got bent or broke.  They started with the car ride home.

We had decided we were going to crate train and that Caesar would ride in the car in a crate because that was supposed to be the safest way to do it.  Almost before we even got out of Litchfield on the hour ride home Caesar was on your Mom’s lap in the passengers seat because it broke our hearts to listen to him cry inside the crate.

He would rarely ride in the crate in the car and he definitely spent more time in our laps in the front seats or buckled in his harness in the back seat than he spent in a crate in the car.

We had also decided that when we got home Caesar’s crate would be downstairs in the living room because we knew he would cry and we knew it was best for his house training to stay in the crate.  The first night he was in the house the crate made its way up to our bedroom.

In fact while he was in his crate being trained, until he fell asleep or whenever he would wake up one of us would lay on the floor next to his crate with our fingers inside the crate to keep him from crying and comfort him.

We had decided when Caesar was trained that he would lay on the dog bed next to our bed because their was no way he was sleeping in our bed.  He not only slept in our bed, but he created the standard H position and created a whole other set of challenges.

He not only slept in bed in between your Mom and I.  He slept under the covers, but only until he got overheated and would come huffing and puffing out from under the covers.  That would last until he was ready to go back under where he required one of us to lift up the covers so he could go back under the covers until he got overheated……Wash, rinse, repeat.

We broke a lot of the rules and plans when it came to Caesar and we did the same for both of you.  Because when you love something as much as we loved Caesar and as much as we love you it does not always lead to logic.

Cold Feet – Maybe You’re the Problem

(Now that this is a blog for both kids I apologize in advance for the dual pronoun usage.  Get used to it folks :))

So the expression of getting cold feet is usually associated with brides and grooms before a wedding.  Which I never had with your mother, have I ever mentioned she is AWESOME!!!!

However, this post has nothing to do with it.  This is a lesson in humility, really listening, trust and evidence that I am not perfect.  Not that I really needed more evidence that I am not perfect, because no one and I really mean no one is.

So it’s been three years since big brother / you started hockey, and for three years I have been tying his skates.  For the last six months however, I had been listening to him complain about having cold feet to the point where at times he came off the ice and had to sit out of practice.  It wasn’t consistent so I just kept blowing it off as him / you being tired and he / you always has had a tendency to be more sensitive when tired.

Well as luck would have it one person says to me, “His skates are probably too small.”  We go through the process of trying to figure that out, finally taking the sole out of the skate and realizing that his / your toes were at least a half an inch over the sides of the sole on the front and the sides.  A trip to Total Hockey (Note to Self: I should be an investor there.), a brand new pair of wide width and heat moldable skates and fast forward to the next practice.

He / you were tired from a long weekend, were not paying attention, came off the ice almost crying complaining about cold feet.  It got to the point that he / you were just picking fights on the ice and were so not paying attention that he / you almost knocked your coach, who was on the ice wearing shorts, on his butt.

Another trip to Total Hockey and $45 in neoprene and insulated skates later, he / you go two or three practices without complaining about cold feet.  Problem finally solved, but then all of a sudden one more practice with cold feet when he / you are tired, but he / you powers through.

Fast forward to a practice session at Total Hockey of Minnesota (not the same as Total Hockey) and thinking I am helping one of your friends put on his skates, but he comes off the ice almost crying about how cold his feet are and he / you do the same.  Enter Google.

I Googled, “Why are my sons feet cold when he wears his hockey skates.”  Interestingly, more than one article mentions tying skates too tight as the issue.  Enter next practice and I don’t crank the laces on your skates and his / your feet have hockey stink (that is an actual aroma and not something you want to smell, but at this point it was great.) After a few practices with the fancy socks he / you revert back to wearing whatever kind of socks you have on your feet and there have not been any cold feet issues for over a month.

At the end of the day, why didn’t I listen sooner and why did it take me tying another kids skates to tight and cutting off the circulation in his feet to do a simple Internet search.  I had made up my mind on what the problem was and determined the problem was not me but him / you and I was wrong.

It’s a hard lesson for people, including myself, to learn; but sometimes you are the problem.  Sometimes you have to look at yourself first and ask, “Is it something I am doing wrong that is causing this to happen?,” and some would say that is always the first thing you should do.  I don’t know about that, but I hope I do more often moving forward.

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Balance

“At the end of your life no one that matters will care how well you managed a balance sheet, but the balance you managed to maintain in your life will have mattered to them.”

The Garden of Eden: More Hometown Memories

I remember two welcome signs from the town where I grew up.

The first said, “Welcome to the home town of baseball star Jim Gantner.” Most people say, “Jim who?”

The second said, “Welcome to the Garden of Eden.” A biblical reference to some, but for me the bible is not exactly where my first thought goes when I think of good ole, Eden, WI.

I have already chronicled some of the outstanding moments and my most trafficked post to date, A Kick to the Nuts.

But when I think of Eden as I do every once in a while, the first memory that comes to mind is the canning company on the other side of the tracks from where I lived.

(As a side bar, I still don’t know if I grew up on the right or wrong side of the tracks.)

I think of how during the canning season I would race my friends on our bikes through the canning factory as the machines were running and the workers were working. Some of the workers got a kick out of it and others would be yelling four letter words which I was very familiar with by the age of…….well, since I can remember.

I think of how sometimes I would use those race routes to ride away from bullies and my absolute favorite time when I took to the railroad tracks coming out of the canning company and got going as fast as I could, hopped the rail with my bike and came to a complete stop with a bully in tow.

He tried to stop and hit the rail and went skidding on the tracks between the two rails. The chase ended at that moment and he never bothered me again, I also never told the story to anyone until now.

The other things I think of are:

  • Collecting cans and literally hanging out after the evening softball games so that when the players finished their beers they would throw them to all of us kids that were collecting cans and watch us scramble to get them. It probably was fun for them, but for us it was our weekly allowance they were toying with as almost every Friday Dad took us to the Golden Goat, automated recycling machine, to turn the aluminum cans into quarters.
  • Being an altar boy at the local church and having the responsibility after the last mass on Sunday to get the priest his whiskey and water after he polished off the jug of wine for the day. The priest was a great guy, but boy did he like his alcohol.
  • Having the local Sheriff come to our house after someone reported that I was running around town with a gun pretending to shoot it. I was actually doing it and it was a toy gun.
  • Not having a football team so having to have at first, my Grandpa Feyen pick me up and drive me 10 miles to practice everyday the first year I played.
  • Playing baseball, kickball, tetherball and basketball all in our own driveway and yard.  I especially remember playing basketball and how no one would want to play against me in our driveway because I had the slope and the height of that driveway mastered.
  • Sledding, ice skating, snowmobiling down at Fireman’s park. Where I also started the trash in the bathroom on fire and proceeded to get busted by the fire chief who was one of your Pappa Jim’s friends and a fellow firefighter. .
  • Driving the snowmobile during the winter and getting it stuck once when I wasn’t supposed to have it out. Someone helped me get it unstuck so I thought I had gotten away with it. Unfortunately that person knew Pappa Jim too and I was grounded from the snowmobile for a couple of weeks.

There’s more and I’ll probably come back to them again, but the last couple lead me to a lesson I kind of learned living in Eden.

Everyone knew everyone and there really was not any getting away with anything. You might actually think you got away with something, but it would come back around eventually.

I think that has stuck with me a bit. A little over two years ago I took you to your first football game to watch one of my friend’s sons play. I snapped a picture of you watching, a picture that is mostly of your head, but you can still see him on the field.

I gave him that picture as a graduation present with a note that said something like:

Whether you know it or not someone is always watching you, so you should always act like you care that they do.

In My Humble Opinion

So another thing that my Grandpa B once told me, but not nearly as often as his lesson on learning, is, “Anyone who gives you a humble opinion is full of shit.”

I didn’t quite understand that until one day I got a three page message from an engineer stating that he disagreed with a direction that we were taking a product and ended the message IMHO followed by his name.

IMHO = In My Humble Opinion

At that point I got it.

My opinion is that everyone is entitled to their opinion.

I also have the opinion that everyone should be required to hear everyone else’s opinion out.

Finally, I hold the opinion that every heard opinion does not necessarily get qualified as having value.

In conclusion, I firmly believe (an internally held opinion) anyone who has an opinion by definition is not humble.

At least that was Grandpa’s opinion and I share it with him. No humility involved.

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