Bringing Geeky Back

Ok, it's been a while since I totally geeked out, so tonight, on the eve of one of the Mac tribe's high holidays, I issue a warning. Tomorrow afternoon expect a very geeked-out post.

The butterfly's are starting. Getting all a-twitter on what Uncle Steve, aka Santa Clause of Cupertino, will bring to the digital landscape.

For the uninitiated, tomorrow at 12:00 CST (where I'm at) is the Apple Keynote at WWDC--the world wide developer's conference. This has been historically where some of the heaviest stuff has been dropped over the past years, so I'm very much looking forward to seeing what will happen. As is half of the Internet. The other half, I think, are too busy texting their myspace buddies.

I'll be taking an extra long lunch break and trying to find the sites that are text messaging play by play to the web from the Keynote floor. Trying to find one that isn't crashing from all the people trying to get on at the same time.

I hope I can sleep tonight.

Update: I'm at a computer terminal right now watching the live blog of the keynote at http://www.macrumorslive.com/ ---it's very cool, they've got photos they are casting as well as the text so you can kind of see the presentation of new features on screen. They are previewing all the new fetures of OS X Leopard coming in October. It's going to be a totally different world when this stuff hits. You have got to watch the video of this to get the full impact. It'll probably be posted later.

Later Update: Ok, so the sound of one hand clapping is all the excitement after the Keynote. It had sort of that situation comedy flashback clip show feel to it. It was more just a rehash of stuff we've heard a lot before really. It kind of felt like they were treading water so not to take any of the focus away from the iPhone release in a couple weeks. Good call, I suppose. This is probably the most anticipated release since the original Macintosh. All the other revolutions they've started snuck up on people, but because they had to let the cat out of the bag when the filed with the FCC, they chose to pre-announce it rather than let the thunder dissipate. However, that left people with 6 months or so to salivate. With this much expectation, the pressure is worse than when the new Star Wars films released. And we saw what happened there. If this thing doesn't deliver, the critics will have a field day tearing this thing apart. They've been waiting for the chink in the armor of the all things iPod maker, and if they find one, they'll swarm like killer bees.

The carnage (either the iPhone gutting the cell phone industry or the haters destroying the iPhone) begins June 29th.

Less of me

We went again to see Dr. Connie this last Thursday, the Bear and I.

She's the behavioral psychologist who's helping us get our footing again. The wife and I originally went to Dr. Connie intending to get insight and direction on what we should do for the two youngest boys, but more and more it seems like the focus is on training the parents in the way that they should go, in the belief that then the children will follow.

There's a certain rationale there, I suppose. If the parents can do it 24/7 with the kid, that's more effective than having a doc do it for an hour a week.

My mother and I had a discussion about the nature of all these instructions, and when I say them out loud, they seem to simple to be useful. There is no outwardly apparent moment of understanding, and to read them on paper, they all seem to be things I felt I was doing all along--encouragement, praise, time-outs, touch. But they get specific. And picky. And arguments could be made that other methods may work just as well--that it doesn't have to be this rigid, so-sure-of-itself approach. I mean, look at my older two. I seemed to do ok with them without professional help.

But at the end of the day, we are seeing results there I just can argue with. Ones for which we've been looking for a very long time.

I do wrestle inside, though, with something I haven't been able put my finger on. But may have finally figured it out.

A while back I tried to save the world by taking in a young girl. That didn't go so well, and I went into a sort of depression over something when it was over. I was worried about the fate of this young girl I had come to care for, of course. But perhaps I was a bit in morning for myself, as well. There were unspoken things I held inside me for a long time that I felt gave me value in the world. But when put up against something like the needs of this girls, were completely insufficient. So that understanding of myself had to die, and I had to try and figure out who I was again.

Before that, I had a career identity that I devoted years of my life and mental energy toward in the theater, which, in the end, became a burden to heavy to carry, and so that also had to be purged.

Now again, here I am. Each time I feel that I have had my entire self stripped away, I find one more layer. The peeling begins again, tearing, and the pain is sharp.

This time I was the image of myself as natural father. I couldn't articulate what lead to "my successes", but I was happy that dumb luck had lead me to some sort of aptitude that served me well, and served my kids well.

And yet now I find myself sitting on the floor of this clinic, while I learn to play with my boy from scratch. Unlearning everything I thought I knew, and replacing it with. . . what?

Nothing.

This new approach pulls the focus off of me, makes me less in the equation and strives to put the focus on the behavior of the little man, because, after all, that is what we're wanting to shape and channel here, isn't it?

Not that I've ever wanted all the attention on me. I’ve never been one to seek the spotlight for it’s own sake. In fact, when I was doing mostly tech, if a show was well received and any aspect of my contribution played into the success, I was very happy to stand back and let it reflect well on the director or actors in the show. I was much more comfortable in the background. Let my work speak for itself.

This made my wife crazy. On several occasions she has pressed on me to go forward to self promote in these kind of circumstances. She felt I was due for all my hard work. I could never bring myself to do it.

If ever there was an occasion where I was the performer or director and people came forward to thank me for the evenings event, I did my best to be gracious while inside fighting the urge to flee.

But even so, I struggle. Not to feel like less. I feel like I bring nothing. Just a body, and a touch, and a smile, and an encouraging word. What makes me distinct in providing those things? All this stripping away has me feeling a bit diminished. If someone were to walk up to me off the street and ask me who I am, I’m not sure I’d have much to tell them any more. Nothing I think that could hold their interest, at any rate.

But to these two little men living in my house, I am their universe at the moment. So I must make sure my spiral arms turn in such a way that the gravity I create keeps their feet firmly planted, so that the first step of their thousand mile journey can find solid purchase.

I must decrease, so that they can increase. The seed must die so the tree can grow.

I love these little boys so much that I will do this, because it's like spring rain to them. They thrive under it.

It's not about me, it's about them.

Then perhaps years from now, maybe I can discover myself again in time to be exciting for my grandkids. And if my parents are any indication, it's going to be quite a ride. They are in Arkansas at a National Miata owners convention, tooling around in a little red sports car. So James Dean.

(But hopefully not to much like James Dean--I need them around).

Update: At lunch today my fortune was: "This year your highest priority will be your family."

woah

I'm not dead yet. . .

Waiting for Smore time!
Originally uploaded by CyberJazzDaddy.

So summer comes. And with it, expectations of free time and relaxation. Can’t say why we have these expectations because it never works out that way. I imagine it’s some toxic combination of amnesia and optimism.

Free time always seems to become more busy than the dictated schedule of work or school. Closer examination of this phenomenon has given me a passing appreciation of things like golf and fishing. Activities I could never understand the attraction for, and especially their televised versions. But with the surging rush of time moving forward ever faster, I can see how entertaining oneself with some activities that lapse into utter boredom can give the sensation of slowing things down a bit, making things last a bit longer. Allow one to catch one’s breath.

But here we are, none the less. In the part of the year that seems like a reward for sticking it out through the winter, just like the coolness of Fall will be like an apology for the fact that it’s coming again. But in the lingering evenings of small town summers, we breath deep, close our eyes and try to hold the kindness of these moments frozen in our lungs for as long as we can, before we have to release it as a memory we breathe out and gift back to the universe.

In days like these we small town folk sometimes take walks with our wives in the dusky hours after the kids are in bed. With our competent teen daughters on the sofa in front of a favorite T.V. show (and our cell phone in our pocket in case the other kids wake and revolt), we move down the porch steps and out into the evening air.

As we walk, we pass many who’ve had the same idea. So many at times it’s as if we’re on an invisible carnival causeway (but without the barkers yelling at you and without the faint tint of vomit smell in the air). We nod hello and smile to those we pass, picking up our conversations as soon as we’re out of earshot again.

Sometimes we give our wives back yard fire pits for Mother’s day. The fire pits they fell in love with when we borrowed one for the daughter’s 16th birthday party last October. And sometimes our wives are so excited when they see you carrying it around the house to the back yard that they come bursting out the back door, leaping at you and wrapping herself around you, letting you know that this time, you chose wisely.

After getting it put together, we get the pieces of tree limbs we’ve been chopping and saving up for just such an occasion since last fall, and make a small, enclosed fire. We gather the family and, prepared with graham crackers, marshmallows, chocolate bars and sticks, engage the obligatory fireside activity with cheery little faces and the comforting smell of burning wood.

Later we have the gutter repaired that this now burning limb took out when it crashed down during a fitful windstorm weeks before. Inside we’ve hung blinds to shut out the yard lights springing up around the neighborhood that is exacerbating our wife’s insomnia.

We watch the changes the new owners of the house next door make. The house so recently owned by the little old lady we knew since our arrival. Since her passing, we knew that, of course, this house would change hands and alterations would come. But it still produces mixed emotions.

Nice Hispanic gentlemen are renting it now. We’ve nodded cordial hellos to then in passing. They seem nice. We haven’t met them in a meaningful way yet though. They wake up early and are off to work, and come back late, and stay inside a great deal. We hope that soon we’ll be able to make introductions.

We watch as our red headed sons ransack our garages and use our tools without permission to take several old broken bikes and Frankenstein them into a new useful vehicle of summer freedom. We later hear how this first creation blew a tire coming over a curb and bent the rim.

Undaunted he rises up again, and with the permission of his friend’s parents, makes a second attempt at a creation using the scrap-cycles in their garage. This one also suffers an ill fated demise as the back axel locks up beyond repair mid trip somewhere.

It’s at this point we realize, with a touch of shame, that we are now compelled by paternal duty to buy him a new bike that will not dash his plans and hopes at every turn. And so we do. He is so pleased, that on several occasions, even after the original beaming hugs of appreciation, he still thanks us before snuggling down to sleep, still vibrating with the days excitement of his new independent journeys. His too long red locks seem always windblown now from his constant motion.

He is also pleased at the frequency this transport allows him to visit with the new little cutie that he has taken an affection for.

Sometimes, we also have to get a little extra help with our younger two. We see a professional and get tips that we originally scoff at, but when we implement are like magic beans tossed at first aside but which erupt with a vibrant new growth that we didn’t think was possible.

As per instruction, we take extra, specially structured play time with each of the boys each day, and they respond. For our 9 year olds it looks like simply playing ball before school everyday. But like a miracle, the rides to the last days of school transform. A short trip that was once a dark scribble because of all the nagging and scolding that it took to get us to the car.

A short trip that more often ended in a huffy little scuff up to the school, head low, shoulders high, and not even a look back. Suddenly, he’s singing during the ride, and looking around with bright eyes. And when I ask him what he’s singing, he sings out loud and strong the verses he’s just made up. On another day, once the car is stopped he pops up with a unsolicited hug and kiss and then skips off, throwing a smile and a wave back as he goes.

With our youngest we participate in a battery of friendly tests, that to him feel like play. But we are actually participating in an evaluation to determine recommendations for school in the fall. They determine what we knew, that he is developmentally delayed, but because of his progress with the new help we’re getting, they don’t feel he should be classified as autistic any longer.

He’ll participate in a pre-readiness class this summer, and then in August we’ll re-assess what extra classroom helps he’ll need for the Fall. He smiles and charms everyone he interacts with. We look at him and are charmed too, that is, of course, until he becomes Godzilla again coming in for the attack and signaling that the wrestling on the floor must begin.

At times, we even hold our daughters, our grown daughters, as their eyes glisten with the disappointment of a boy who has graduated and now breaks promises to call or visit because he has gotten distracted and gone off with his guy friends. We hold her, too, because she is worried about what the fall will bring when he goes off to college. She is wise and understands much, but the heart has to walk each step of the journey on it’s own, and understanding often doesn’t help. But the boy is kind and gentle and they talk much. He doesn’t want to see her hurt and is good with an apology (and a special ice cream outing).

He’s a good kid, and he is good for her, and to her. We father’s comment to our daughters on how it’s best to learn to have these talks about misunderstandings now, because she’ll be having them for the rest of her life. Her parents still do.

We do all this, and it isn’t even June yet. We breathe in another deep breath and hold it . . .hold it. . .trying not to let it slip away. . .