Big Questions

Last night, after brushing her teeth and using the toilet, Shea was ready for bed.  She called to me as she moved down the hallway, signaling it was time to put on her pajamas and tuck her in.  Tracy was picking up a few stray things in Shea's room as I entered and we set about the end-of-day routine.  Diaper, check.  Pajamas, check.  Blankets, check.  I leaned in to kiss her good night, but she wanted mommy to go first.  I backed away from the edge of the bed and patiently waited my turn to say, "Good night."

As Tracy leaned over Shea's tiny frame in the bed, Shea mumbled something under her breath.  Neither Tracy or I quite understood so we asked her to say it again.  She looked at us and said, "When are we going to die?"

You're never quite prepared for these moments, when the scope of your child's understanding widens and takes in things that even we are unsettled about.  There was an odd pause in the room as Tracy and I tried to get our wits about us. 

"Not for a long time, honey," I said.

"Not for a really long time," Tracy backed me up.

"Do you know what that means?" I asked.

Shea got real quiet, pulling the blankets up to her chin and her face furrowed as if she was scared, or unsure.  After a moment she said, "Nuh uh."

Okay, I thought.  Now what?

"Well, honey, it means that you don't have a body anymore," I said.  Tracy added something to the conversation, but I can't remember now what it was. 

"Will we all be together in heaven?" she asked.

"Of course we will," I said, "You'll be able to see everyone you love."

"Will I see Jesus?"

"Yes, dear.  And Nona and Grandpa, Noni, and Papa."

"My cousins?"

"Yes."

Tracy piped in, "But that's not going to happen for a long, long time.  Okay?"

"Okay," Shea said and snuggled deep under the covers of her bed.

"We love you," I said.

"I love you," she said.

"I love you to the moon, back, and then some," Tracy said.  The same thing she says every night.

"I love you to Pluto, back, and then some," she said.  Then, she closed her eyes and went to sleep.

As I sat downstairs later that night, I was haunted by her questions.  I don't know the answers to these things and this is one of the first times that Shea's asked me questions that I find deeply unsettling.  In the future, when she asks me a whole new brand of hard question, I wonder what I'll do.  Will I lie?  Tell a half-truth?  Candy coat things?  Be brutally honest?  Rely on the things that I was told as a child?

There are times when our children amaze us, when their capacities exceed what we expect.  There are times when they work as mirrors, showing us our own ignorance and simplicity, where we are forced to realize our own ignorance on matters. 

Most days, I feel like I have built my life on solid ground, that I have a decent comprehension of my life and its purpose.  On days like yesterday, those structures I've built?  They appear to be built on sand.

Let It Begin.

Today marks the first event in the string of events that will lead up to my brother's wedding.  Tracy and I are co-hosting the event with my other brother and his wife.  It makes me both joyous and a little sad that may brother is getting married.  Not because of him and her, but of what it means.  It means that all three of us Lang boys have crossed that threshold. 

I've been asked to officiate the ceremony and I'm having a hard time coming up with stuff to write.  It isn't that I don't have material, it's that I have too much.  This is my brother and his lovely fiance, Amy, we're talking about.  There are too many things to say, too many wonderful connections/threads I could follow that would honor them in one way or another. 

I'm hoping that tonight will find me surrounded by friends and family and something will click, the beginning of a theme or trope that will help me unite their ceremony into a singular expression of love and adoration.  Both them for each other, but also all of us for the both of them. 

Let's get this party started!

The Benefits of Reading

A friend of mine came to town last weekend and it was decided that first night that we would spend the day in Powell's Bookstore on Burnside.  I had two boxes of books to sell and $50 worth of gift cards to use.  I was ecstatic.  I hadn't been to Powell's in a long time.

Well, this same friend of mine had recently written a series of stories that had to do with war.  She had read a bunch of material on the places, on the military, etc, in order to make her stories more believable.  I liked this idea.  I've slowly been working on a novel about a Marine, and I've always felt inadequately prepared for this task.  I don't know the first thing about the Marines, so what makes me think I could possibly be qualified to write about one?  The short answer is, "I don't know."  The longer answer is that my character, John, is a Marine.  I can't do anything about that.  It's who he is.  Okay, so I'm getting off track.  The point of the matter is that I needed to do more research.

I found myself in the "War" section of Powell's browsing through the "Gulf War" shelves.  These shelves cover all the wars fought in the area.  I was able to find a ton of material on our current war, but there was very little covering Desert Shield and Desert Storm (which is when John would have served).  I found three books that I think will prove useful.  The first is titled "How to Defeat Saddam Hussein: Scenarios and Strategies for the Gulf War" by Col. Trevor N. Dupuy, U.S. Army (Ret.).  It has a banner across the top of the book that reads "As Featured on CNN".  It moves through all kinds of strategies and options for the war.  I'll use it to get an idea of how they thought about the situation strategically. 

The other is called "Desert Warrior" by Richard Kay.  It's a reporter's first person account of time spent with the 4th Armoured Brigade.  It's a British book which might add a different angle on the whole affair, but it is in first person and should give me some necessary voices for working in such foreign terrain.

The final book is "Jarhead" by Anthony Swofford.  It was turned into a movie recently, but I haven't seen it yet.  I'm about a quarter of the way through it right now and I already have two scenes that have been loosely inspired by Swofford's work.  It too is a first person account of the war, the fallout afterward and the run up to his time in the military.  It's nice to have because it gives me the broader perspective of a single solider, instead of only focusing on his time in Saudi Arabia.  The language is tight and specific and will help me get a sense of the cadence, abbreviations, and jargon used at that time. 

I remember a craft talk given by David Long when I was a graduate student.  It was on reading and the influence it has on writing.  I remember David making reference to the old saying You are what you eat and then putting his own spin on it.  I believe he said, "Remember.  You are what you read, but you are also what you don't read."  It was a lesson in searching, reaching, getting outside the box of canonical, contemporary literature.  He was asking us to push a little outside ourselves to find books and inspiration where we might not expect it.  I never thought I would find myself in the "War" section of Powell's, but it was one of the most natural and beneficial journeys I've made in a bookstore in a really long time.

Those Willing to Seek - A Joy Narrative.

I had three individual student conferences yesterday.  Two were awesome from the giddy-up, but one took a while to get going.  The difference between the appointments became obvious to me today. 

When a student makes an appointment with me, I always ask them what they would like to address in the first moments after we get seated.  I want them to articulate their concerns before I hit them with any I may have.  The two immediately positive appointments I had were students who were meeting with me BEFORE an assignment was due.  They had their ideas down on paper, a rough draft in hand, and we were able to mold and shape their work proactively.  I always finish appointments by asking them if they have any additional questions and if the appointment was helpful.  In both of these cases, the answer was a resounding, "Yes!"

In the other appointment, the student was meeting with me AFTER an assignment had been passed back.  She was disappointed with her grade and wanted me to address those concerns.  I have no problem walking through my justifications for grading, but this particular student was on the serious defensive.  As I worked through the introduction and the thesis statement with her, she kept saying, "I still would have kept that." 

"Okay," I said, "that's fair.  I'm simply telling you what I see in the paper.  You're the writer, the piece is yours."

"My peer reviewer said it was fine." 

"I understand that.  I think peer review is important, but you have to understand that they are student writers too." 

"Okay," the student said with a sigh.  Arms crossed across her chest, she was a picture of defensive posture.  I felt bad for the girl.  She had worked really hard on the essay.  She went to the Writing Lab twice in an effort to hone the paper, but it still needed work.  By the end of the appointment, she was a little more open to feedback and she promised she would rewrite it.  I promised I would regrade it. 

The difference between the first two students and the last is a simple one.  The first two are actively seeking their knowledge and the last student is working for a grade.  The first set of students brightens my day.  I love working with them on brainstorming, thesis generation, honing their thoughts and ideas, giving them form and structure.  They love to see their work evolve.  They are still working for the grade, but the energy is on the front end.  They know they have to work for it and that kind of enthusiasm is contagious.  If they want to succeed, all students need is a willingness to seek it out for themselves.

Another Joy Narrative

I stayed home this weekend.  So did Tracy.  So did Shea.  We stayed home all weekend.  We watched movies, played Candyland, snuggled, napped, relaxed, and simply talked to each other.  It was great.

Oftentimes, I feel like I'm missing out on things.  I feel like my life keeps me sequestered behind closed doors and my friends and acquaintances are all out doing things that are exciting and important.  What I fail to see a lot of the time, I think, is that these moments in my house are important and exciting.

Shea is growing more and more everyday.  She's developing a real storytellers gift.  Most of the time we spend together nowadays is playing make believe.  We play princesses, horsey, superheroes, ninjas, etc.  She sets up elaborate scenarios that must be overcome and her narratives must be followed precisely.  This is not improv, people.  She'll set all the players on the stage.  "Mommy, you go here.  You're Miss Martian.  Daddy, you go here.  You're Superboy."  Then, when she's ready, the action begins and we all launch out into our predetermined roles.  Most often so that she can play the hero herself.

While I used to think that I was locked in my house, locked away from the excitement of the world, I think I need to start thinking of the rest of the world as being locked out.  They don't get the chance to save Miss Martian from Ursula the Sea Witch with a mighty karate chop.  The lines between reality blur inside the walls of our house and if you look just right, you might just glimpse a technicolor reality that trumps our own.

The Joy Narratives Resurrected

For those of you who have been following the blog for a while, you might remember a period a while back where I dedicated writing about the things I love.  I was in a lull, a low point, and I find myself in a similar place now.  The same people who remember the Joy Narratives will also be the ones who have noted that I haven't posted in a while.  For me, these silences are usually a sign of something else.  So, in an effort to restart the engine, I bring you day 1 of the Joy Narratives Resurrected.

I was at the beach last weekend.  It was a promised getaway for my mother.  My brothers and I had promised her a weekend away last year and we finally delivered.  We packed up our families, picked up our mom, and made our way to Pacific City.  The whole weekend was a wonder, but there was one segment of the whole weekend that really made me feel good.

It was Saturday, late morning.  Kevin and his family had already gone down to the beach.  Kerry had made his way as well.  My mother and I walked Shea down the steep dunes until we found them all playing in the sand in front of the housing development where we were staying.  My nephew Connor was on the phone with his girlfriend, writing "Cassie loves Connor" in the sand.  Nicole, his little sister, rolled her eyes at him as I walked by. 

Kevin, Kerry, and Kay were throwing the Frisbee along the flats of the beach.  Shea and Nicole set about digging a hole in the sand dune with my mother.  Shea was over the moon to be playing with Nicole.  She worships her older cousin.  My mother nestled down in the sand next to the girls and helped them dig.  From where she was sitting, she could see her grandkids and all her boys. 

We played Frisbee.  That's it.  That's my joyful moment.  I played Frisbee on the beach with my brothers.  The sun was out and I wound up dropping my fleece in the sand because it was so warm.  My daughter was happy and content with her cousins and her grandma, and I was happy and content to be playing a game with my brothers.

The whole weekend carried on like that.  We worked on a puzzle, we played cards, we sat at the same casino table and played Blackjack together.  We ate meals together and played Apples to Apples.  There was no drama or excitement beyond the fact that we were together.  I relaxed, laughed, ate, drank, and was really and truly happy.

Addiction

I recently had an experience that brought up a bunch of questions surrounding alcoholism and addiction.  I don't want to get into too many details about it for the sake of the individual, but this external experience led me to an internal one.

As a result of the problematic actions of this individual, Tracy and I talked at length about alcohol, drugs, addiction, etc.  At one point, she said she was asked about her take on addiction.  Her response, "Well, Kyle's addicted to cigarettes, that's for sure."  I cringed at this statement.  It wasn't that Tracy said it.  That part is true.  I can't deny my addiction to cigarettes.

The part that bothered me was that the term "addict" applied to me.  This sent me on a verbal downhill slide where I passed through "addict" and into "junkie."  It may seem harsh, but the truth is still there.  I'm addicted to cigarettes and it results in a loss of control, much like a junkie.  I recoiled from the term, but I also embraced it.

For the first time in my life, I've accepted the term and its application to me.  I am an addict.  I'm addicted to cigarettes and nicotine. 

I haven't had a cigarette since Saturday night.