Mini Machiavelli

What a beautiful morning. I finished my run and came home to a pretty quiet house. Everyone in bed, they have all taken advantage of our free Sunday morning.  After cleaning up, I crawled back into bed, lying there in my shorts with the fan blowing on my face and the rest of my body enjoying the breeze from the window.

As I laid down, Jennie took that as her cue to get moving. She left the room and soon after Maddie entered. Dressed in her black One Direction pj's and her bedtime Swiss Miss braids looking rough after a night's sleep, the girl crawled into mom's vacated spot on the bed. I looked over to watch her cuddle in under the comforter and bury her head into the pillow. She looked over and said, "I love you, Daddy."

I reached my arm over across the king size bed. Maddie put her hand out and our palms come together. Holding hands, eventually both of us curled our fingers, hooking them like inverted 'J's'.

I rubbed my thumb across her hand and fingers. Maddie does the same for a moment, but her caress seemed to evolve into a tapping. Tapping from one side to the other, back and forth. I did the same. Time with my little girl, kicking back listening to birds outside and watching the curtains puff in from the breeze. A soft relaxing Sunday morning, I drift closer to sleep.

Then she strikes. Her thumb stomps mine. One, two, three four. She declared a thumb war.

I lost. Then to Maddie, with her evil laugh, go the spoils.

Steps to a More Manly Thom

One of my favorite stories about myself comes from my time working at a law firm in Syracuse. Two female attorneys got on the elevator with me. One literally hiked up her skirt and began adjusting her panty hose. The other whacked her arm and gestured to me. Ms. Upskirt blew it off. “It’s just Thom.”  She finished her business, ironed out her skirt with her hands just as the doors opened on the first floor, and walked off.

So maybe I should have seen this coming. But I didn't.

I tend to think a lot of myself because, well…I’m me. So, when a single woman I know expressed her disappointment that I had no brothers and said, “I’d love to marry someone like you” I was quite flattered.  Self esteem points to spare!

But just a short breath later she says, “I’d like to have a nice gay man around to do my laundry and cuddle when I need it.”

Self esteem points gone.

Now, I don’t want to disparage anyone’s God given sexual orientation.  I’m not insulted that she’d say that. But I am just as aghast as some gay man might be if a female friend compared him to a 46 year old, overweight, heterosexual.  I don’t fit any of the gay criteria made famous in a Seinfeld episode 20 years ago. I’m not neat, thin, or single. So, what kind of vibe am I giving off?

Sure, I forgo a lot of going out because I spend time with my family. I do laundry. I love my yoga. The women at work do sometimes feel comfortable enough around me to refer to me as "one of the girls." That can't help. It appears that maybe I don't do enough manly things.

But that isn't true, I tell you! I do manly stuff. Why just the other day at Wegman's some fine looking ladies on this magazine cover caught my eye and I went over to take a look. Have you seen the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue this year? Well it was there, right next to this magazine with Erin Burnett and Sen. Kirsten Gillibrand on the cover. A little more brains and a little more clothes than the SI cover, but I was checking out women, anyway.

Maybe she's right. I guess I should do more to project myself as a 21st Century heterosexual male. A little brainstorming and I've come up with a some changes that can move me in that direction.

1. More insensitivity  and obliviousness to women's feelings.

2. Flee the room at any mention of menstruation, feminine hygiene, or even the word 'period', even if it is a discussion of punctuation. You can't be too safe.

3. Play golf.....NOT PUTT-PUTT!

4. Understand and talk at length on the intricacies of a football offense.

5. Spend more time outdoors with no shirt, oblivious to the fact that no one wants to see my nipples.

6. Continue with my current clothing choices.

7. Have a deep fascination with any conversation involving cars, grilling, or lawn mowers.

8. Get a barbed wire tattoo around my massive biceps.

9. Call time spent with my own children 'babysitting'.

     Last but not least....

10. Less showers, more cologne!

Yeesh. None of those choices really appeal to me. I guess I'll be happy with the way I am. I'll hang out with women. They smell better than men anyway. And a minivan is way better than a red sports car as a symbol of my manhood.

 I really don't have time for this. I have laundry to do.


 

 

 

The Kids are Alright

Music is one of my ‘things’. I listen to music as often as possible. Without question there will be music going when I drive, work, or run. Just about all the time. The music that I prefer, naturally is MY music. It is predominately the music I grew up with. My idea of new music is hearing a song on the classic rock station that had been long lost and I'm inspired to dig an old cd out of the attic. The familiarity, the style, and the sounds of that music speak to me. They sooth me and they fire my passion. This is the soundtrack of my life, the sounds of my youth, and the sounds that put me at ease as I age and move on to unfamiliar worlds.  

One morning I found myself driving I-90 West with tired eyes and Hotel California came on the radio. That long mystical guitar intro to The Eagles’ Hotel California was the perfect ambiance as I’m watching the sunrise in my rear view mirror. On the way home later that night, tired eyes on the other side, The Eagles came to me again with Take it to the Limit. These melodies & arrangements framed these moments perfectly while echoing so many other moments. They were there when I was an 8 year old sitting on the vinyl back seats in my parents old LTD with the window down and hot summer air blowing in my face. They were a part of my high school transition to California and followed me to Texas, Germany, South Carolina, and New York, back to California, and to New York again. It is these sounds, and others that do the mental stirring of my memories whipping up all the big moments, the mundane moments, every single road trip, every run, and every feeling in which songs and others like them played a part. My life.

I can be open. I pick up some new sounds here and there. They tend to come from my kids, students, or various sources unknown to me.  Some Train, Katy Perry, & even a taste of One Direction have penetrated the sanctity of my playlist. That is how I found myself listening to International by Pitbull and Chris Brown. I allowed Zachary to choose the radio station and all I could think is, "This is what my kids are growing up with? Total crap." But hope is not lost.

If Zachary's iPod music queue was a salad, 'my' music would certainly be the lettuce. Definitely the base and making a solid presence. Madeline heard Tainted Love on the radio recently and blew a gasket. "Who is this? Can we get it on iTunes?" The girl could not believe it was an 'old' song. She has also developed a love for the song Breakfast at Tiffany's.  

Honestly, that has a lot to do with her adoration of Audrey Hepburn and her trademark black dress & pearls from the movie of the same name. But a good choice, nonetheless. 

Thomas also scores major points in his love for The Beatles. My favorite is his favorite, but his interest does seem to be genuine. He's become skilled at identifying lead vocalists by their voice. Then the other day, over lunch at Panera, Thomas initiated a game of Beatle trivia and 'what is your favorite..'  I asked him what would be his favorite album cover. He took a spoonful of his mac and cheese, his eyes rolled up and to the right as he pondered the question. "Revolver. Definitely Revolver." Good answer, grasshopper! And I didn't even know that he knew that. (His favorite albums are Help! and Rubber Soul, so I was certain he'd go with one of those). 

So, I think musically, they'll be alright. Each of those kids has brought new music to me. Jen & I have made sure that they appreciate the old stuff the same way my parents' Leon Redbone, Leon Russell, and Crosby, Stills, & Nash have solidified their presence in my mental (and physical) playlist.