Testing.... 1-2-3

Two weeks ago we moved in with my brother-in-law and sister-in-law.

And ever since we got here, they’ve been trying to kill me.

Literally.

A few days ago I went with Jim on his four-and-a-half mile run through the dirt trails around his neighborhood.

He likes to take the two dogs with him to tire them out.

I’m not much of a runner, so I followed on my bike.

About ten seconds in, I was gasping for air.

I don’t know if it was the unpaved roads.

Or the altitude.

Or the extra 10 pounds I put on in New York.

But I was lucky to escape that ride with my life.

Not to mention a very sore rear end.

But they weren’t done there.

Next came Cindy’s invitation to try a Cardio Kickboxing class at her local gym.

She’s been talking about the class since we got here.

So we tried it.

Me, my wife, my 13-year old daughter and Cindy.

I’m not sure if it was the house music or the actual exercise, but two-and-a-half songs in, I was huffing and puffing like the big bad wolf.

But I tough’d it out.

The best that I could.

There was some chart on the wall at the front of the class talking about an Anaerobic Threshold.

All I knew is that I could barely breathe.

With about 15 minutes to go, we got our final water break.

I joked to the guy next to me, if I called the paramedics now, they’d be there by the end of the class.

Actually, I’m not sure I was joking.

But somehow I passed that test too.

The fact that I was still standing must’ve been killing my in-laws.

I’m sure they thought the bike would get rid of me.

Or the kickboxing.

But even though I was wobbling like a weeble, I still wouldn’t fall down.

Since they were not able to destroy me physically, the next test was going straight for my self-confidence.

Enter Zumba.

Before today I thought Zumba was a small country in Western Africa where all the marathon runners came from.

Clearly geometry was never my strength.

Actually Zumba is what you get when you mix Jane Fonda’s workout video with Salsa Dancing.

And unfortunately for me I had no idea what the class was all about until after it started.

But it didn’t take me long to figure out that I was in the wrong place.

At the wrong time.

I stood out like a sore thumb at a gardening convention.

And to make it worse I was wearing my bright orange workout shirt.

And to make it worserer, I was the ONLY guy there.

60 girls, 1 guy.

Me.

In college, that might’ve been a dream.

But today, this was a nightmare.

So I positioned myself in the back of the room, right in the middle, trying to stay out of sight.

Because I was clearly out of my mind.

That strategy worked well, until the highly-caffeinated instructor had us all do one of those 360 degree moves.

You know the one, where all 60 women rotate their hips all the way around.

So they can get a good look at the clumsy guy with the bright orange shirt in the back of the room.

The first time they did the 360 move, I was embarrassed.

The seventh time, I was ready to cry.

But I kept a stiff upper lip, which blended well with my flabby midsection.

And with just a few minutes left in class, I could clearly see the finish line.

Unfortunately what I couldn’t see was the finale.

Proud Mary.

Cool, I thought.

I love that song.

Not anymore.

After today, I hope I never hear that song again.

Before I heard Tina, or Ike, I heard the instructor cut the room in half.

And then she asked us to rotate a half turn to our right.

In other words, my secret hiding place in the back of the room had now left me right next to Bob Uecker.

In the front row.

The only thing missing was an actual spotlight.

But between my bright orange short and my brighter red face, you couldn’t miss me.

And for the next three minutes and seven seconds, Proud Mary became the longest song I had ever heard in my life.

Longer than Freebird.

But I twisted and turned my way through the song.

Rollin on a river.

The best that I could.

When it was over, I was ready to crawl in a hole.

But I survived.

Again.

Thankfully, the class ended five minutes later after a cool down.

And somehow, for the first time since 3rd grade, I had passed three tests in a row.

I can only imagine what is next.

The Parent Trap

Friday night was date night in my part of the world.

It started off with a little dinner.

Carls Jr.

Then we moved across the parking lot to the movie theater.

Tangled.

And that was followed up by some dessert.

Dairy Queen.

During the movie we held hands.

Exchanged a kiss or two.

On the cheek, of course.

What kind of weirdo do you think I am?

And I held her drink whenever she was thirsty.

It was a perfect night for dad and daughter.

The seven-year old.

With my son at a sleepover and my wife and oldest daughter at a dance recital, this was the opening I was looking for.

My youngest and I have a great relationship, but it’s not everyday that we get to hang out.

As a couple.

There’s a lot of love between us, but it doesn’t take very long to see that she’s a momma’s girl.

And I have no problem with that.

My daughter confirmed the other day that I am not at the top of her list.

But it wasn’t my wife who was taking the prize.

“I love God more than I love you,” she told me.

“Well, I love you, but in a different way,” she added.

Considering our touristy trip to the St. Patrick’s Cathedral was her first footstep inside a church.

And she can’t remember the last time she was in a synagogue.

And she thinks a mosque is the way a New Englander pronounces what you wear on your face on Halloween.

I’m really not sure where this sudden burst of religion came from.

My wife and I contemplated having another child.

If contemplated meant trying without success.

We tried for quite a while, but unfortunately it didn’t work out.

So the little one is our final chance to get this right.

We are so thankful for what we have.

A 13-year old girl.

An 11-year old boy.

And that seven-year old gift.

All healthy.

All amazing.

All the reason I need to get up in the morning.

I can remember being a dad for the first time and having absolutely no clue.

And I can remember being a little better the second time around.

But it was the third time that I was expecting perfection.

From me.

And guess what, I didn’t get it.

All-in-all, I would say I’m a pretty good dad.

Sometimes spectacular.

But perfect, I am not.

I really try hard to be patient.

I really try hard to be loving.

I really try hard to be... perfect.

But there is rarely an hour that goes by with the kids that I don’t say to myself -- “why in the world did you just do that?”

Take this morning for example.

My son was pushing my buttons like it was a game of Battleship.

And unfortunately for him -- and unfortunately for me -- he hit the wrong button.

As a 43-year old man, I’m pretty sure I was once an 11-year old boy.

And I’m guessing when I was 11-year old boy I was NO different than this 11-year old boy.

So I would be The Time Magazine Hypocritical Man of the Year to say that my 11-year old should act different than I did when I was his age.

But somehow all of that analysis didn’t amount to anything when I lost my temper.

Sure, I can blame my lack of patience on a wide variety of stressful ingredients in my pantry of life.

But the bottom line is I should know better.

And I should’ve acted better.

But I didn’t.

And it ruined a good portion of my day.

And it ruined a good portion of his day too.

Being a parent is the toughest job I’ve ever held.

But unlike my last two real jobs, I’m hoping my kids won’t ever tell me that my services are no longer needed.

The nice thing about my kids -- probably most kids -- is that tomorrow is a brand new day.

If I can have a bowl of Cocoa Krispies waiting for them when they get up, we’ll be off and running.

Like Paul and John, I believe in yesterday.

But that’s only so I can make tomorrow a little better.

One Missed Call

As I reflect back on my three months in New York, one of the highlights was reconnecting with an old friend.

Actually, he’s not old.

He’s 64.

And he isn't really my friend.  

He was my dad's friend.

But ever since my father died of a sudden heart attack nearly nine years ago, Joel became my friend.

We started talking on a somewhat regular basis last year as I was knee deep in my journey through unemployment.

And not only did he offer support, but he also offered answers.

Joel had worked in my industry for all of his adult life.

And he had more connections than an Apple computer.

I tried for a year and a half to get my name in front of a company in my hometown.

With no success.

Joel got my resume on the desk of the President of that company after one phone call.

While I didn’t get that job, I did end up getting a job in New York.

Joel’s hometown.

And I was barely there five minutes when I got a call from him.

“Where are you going to live?”

“Do you need me to take you around?”

“When is your family coming back?”

A week later, we spent a couple of hours driving around Long Island, as he took me from town-to-town.

Babylon to Syosset.

And everything in the middle.

When my family came out to visit, we made it a priority to get everyone together.

The first time it was at their house.

Plus a stop at Jones Beach.

The next time we all met in Chinatown.

If anyone was more excited than me about our move to the Big Apple, it had to be Joel.

He loved my dad as much as I did.

And I guess I came as a bonus.

When I got the sudden news of my job ending, Joel was one of the first people I told.

He was heartbroken.

For me.

For him.

For all of us.

But even before the ink was dry on my departure, Joel had come up with a handful of ways to move forward in my career.

And my life.

Unfortunately, that was a lot easier for him than for me.

This broken down roller-coaster ride has really hit me hard.

Much harder than I’ve ever let on in the blog.

In case you just joined my life in progress, here’s the shorthand version of the last few months:

I was unemployed.

I took a job in New York.

We sold our house.

A few days later, my wife quit her job.

The next day I was told my job was no longer needed.

That afternoon, my wife got her job back.

We moved into my sister-in-law’s basement.

My mom is currently in the midst of a bipolar episode.

I may be next.

With all that has happened, I have made it my priority to get my feet back on solid ground before doing anything else.

And goal number one is getting my family settled.

Back in the same city where we were settled before any of this happened.

Like Cher, I’m trying to turn back time.

At some point, thinking about relocating again may become a possibility.

At the moment, it’s just a line at the end of my To Do list.

The thought of pursuing another job, in another city, is really not something that I can process at the moment.

So when I got a voice mail from Joel on December 6, I pushed it aside.

It ran 20 seconds and sounded like this:

Hey it’s Joel.  I hope all’s well.  Give me a call when you get a chance.   Have you ever thought about a job with (Company X on the East Coast)?   I may have an in for you.   Give me a buzz.

That was 12 days ago.

And I still haven’t called back.

I planned to.   And I wanted to.   I just couldn’t do it.

I just didn’t do it.

It’s too late now.

In the middle of my daughter’s dance recital today, I got a call from an unknown number.

When the show ended I checked my voice mail.

It was from Jill, Joel’s wife.

Actually, Joel’s widow.

Yesterday he was riding the Long Island Railroad into the city when he had a massive heart attack.

Just as my dad did.

And like my dad, Joel was gone.

Just like that.

When my father passed away I never had a chance to say goodbye.

With Joel, I had 12 days.

And beating myself up isn’t going to change anything.

But it’s all I've been able to do for the last few hours.

I did speak with Jill tonight.   Briefly.

We promised to speak again in a couple of weeks when things settle down.

That is one call I can’t wait to make.

Say hi to my dad Joel.

I miss you both.

Hot For Teacher

My wife and I spent last Friday night at her school’s annual holiday party.

A bunch of teachers stuffed inside a Mexican Restaurant enjoying fajitas.

And time away from the kids.

Their kids, my kids, any kids.

This was the big night out.

My wife was in her element.

Jumping from table to table, making teachers laugh.

Not an easy job.

And she doesn’t drink.

At all.

It was really good to see her enjoy herself.

The last few months have been borderline torture for her, even if she won’t admit it.

Working full-time.

Selling a house.

Raising three kids.

And a dog.

All by herself.

Unfortunately the last part is nothing new.

Ever since that Saturday afternoon in the fall of 1994, when she walked down that hotel aisle, my wife has ALWAYS put my career ahead of hers.

Without any hesitation.

Two days after we got married, she moved 3000 miles away.

Away from her job.

Away from her family.

Away from In n’ Out Burger.

Oh, the sacrifice.

For six years, this California girl lived in the northeast watching the snow pile up.

And watching ME pursue MY dream.

She did it, without any hesitation.

But she didn’t do it sitting on the couch eating Bon-Bons.

She did it from a classroom, teaching underprivileged inner-city first grade students.

She loved it.

And she did it for six years.

Until we moved back west.

For MY career.

And once again, she left her job.

One of the benefits of being a teacher is that there are schools everywhere.

And all schools need underpaid, over-educated people to work there.

Of course landing that job is not as easy as 1, 2, 3.

Or A, B, C.

But fortunately when we got back to the Golden State, she landed a Golden Job.

The dream job of her teaching life.

Right around the corner from our house.

Right down the street from her family.

Right where she wanted to be.

But she was living there as a single mom.

Sure she had the ring, but she didn’t always have the husband.

My job was consuming at least 12 of the 24 hours in a day.

So she raised two kids, had another and worked full-time.

All while I was building MY career.

Five years later later I got promoted.

And with that promotion came another move.

And this move was made again without any hesitation.

Even though it meant leaving her family.

Again.

And leaving her job.

Again.

And yes, leaving In n’ Out Burger.

Again.

But we were doing it for all the right reasons, right?

Well four years into all of those right reasons, I was told my job was no longer needed.

By this point, she had landed another great job.

And she had created another great life for the kids.

So when the opportunity to move to New York came up, it wasn’t as simple as saying yes.

Well, it wasn’t that simple for me.

But it was for her.

Without any hesitation, she once again put her life and her career on the back-burner, right next to the Sloppy Joes.

We created a plan for me to go to New York, focus on MY job, find a place for us to live and get the family ready for their new life.

No hesitation.

No second thoughts.

And that’s what we were doing.

For three months.

And for three months, she was a single mom.

Again.

Working full-time, successfully selling that house and taking the kids to all of the activities they had grown to love.

By herself.

All while I was living in Manhattan, re-starting MY career.

And eating everything in sight.

(Maybe it’s a good thing she doesn’t have the time to read the blog.)

On a Thursday in October she walked into her Principal’s office and notified him that we were moving to the big apple.

And that she was leaving a job that she loved.

The next day I was informed my job was no longer needed.

How’s that for timing?

Fortunately the school has lots of erasers and even more fortunate, she was able to get a quick mulligan from the Principal.

Only George Burns knows what is ahead for me and my career.

But what I do know is after all I’ve put my wife through, this teacher has taught me a helluva lesson about life.

And I thank her.

Without any hesitation.