And the award goes to...

As a parent you are always watching your kids to try and identify what future profession they may be good at.  The goal is certainly not altruistic – you want them to be productive and leave your house so you can remember them more fondly then they actually are.  Once my kids reached teenager years I started to identify some skills that made me envision them on stage at an awards show receiving their Oscar or Emmy or whatever for best performance.  I envision it going like this – as a nod to my expertise and mastery in parenting, I am given the opportunity to present this prestigious honor.  The famous words leap forth from my proud lips - “the envelope please, for outstanding performance in the category of overacting in the face of looming punishment, Junior Raad!”  Some B roll footage plays in the background of alligator tears and multiple scenes of my offspring on bent knee, tearing at their outer garments as if on fire.  My pride and joy takes the stage triumphantly and we embrace.  The music swells and as we release from our moment I ask, when are you moving out?

You see I have noticed that whenever I confront a child of mine with potential wrong doing, the normally reserved and understated youth will immediately turn up the hysterics to 11 – either choosing for adamant denial, something akin to Jack Nicholson on the stand in a Few Good Men; or self loathing from shame and guilt as if they are Jim Caviezel playing Jesus getting flogged.  Neither of these reactions do anything other than confirm my suspicion of guilt on their part.  I don’t think my desire is any different than any other parent, I just want whatever behavior that is unacceptable to stop.  Punishments are not fun to hand out, speeches are not fun to make, and receiving the death stares that we too delivered to our parents are not pleasant.  They do not bring joy and further reinforce every parents fear that I am indeed no cooler than my own parents were.  In many cases I have less grace and wisdom and in all actuality am just making this shit up as I go. 

In the meantime, I am always on the lookout for potential skill sets to affirm in my kids because I do love them and cherish them.  And of course look forward to remembering them even more fondly, as I hope they will also do regarding my lackluster parenting.  

I like cars – faster the better.  That fact is abundantly clear to most people that know me.  Fast cars, quick cars, good handling cars, loud cars, pretty cars, I am a fan.  I have come to accept that as much fun as they can be for me, not everyone enjoys them.  Also, not everyone believes in enjoying them responsibly.  I am a huge advocate in training and finding safe environments to explore the limits.  That is not to say I have never acted irresponsibly with a vehicle somewhere that I should not have.  And I know of some very tragic instances where irresponsible behavior of others has resulted in great harm or even death.  However, at the end of the day it is my belief that cars and the enjoyment of them is a worthwhile hobby for me and others.

I do not like guns.  On a few occasions I have fired them, whether it be hunting or just target practice.  It is just not my thing.  Several family members and quite a few friends of the social media variety do seem to enjoy them.  I do not have a problem with this.  Golf is also something I do not like, I am not here to judge anyone else’s hobbies.  Lately due to all of the coverage regarding prolific gun violence, not only in my area but nationwide, there has been a lot of commenting about gun rights and laws.  Notice I did not say discussion.  My frustration is that when it comes to guns there doesn’t seem to be much discussion – just statements, declarations, and of course Clint Eastwood meme’s.  It is like the opposing sides just dig in and refuse to work towards a solution.  All guns are evil and should be banned, or it’s my God given Constitutional right and pry them from my cold dead hands. 

My exact landing point on that continuum is probably closer to the evil banning side if I am honest, but then I consider my hobby.  A case could certainly be made that a car that can exceed any posted speed limit several times over, or accelerate to illegal speeds in a few mere seconds is dangerous, unnecessary, and evil.  Sometimes they are enjoyed responsibly though, in fact the majority of the time they are.  The ownership and operation of the vehicles is legally registered and qualification licensed.  Penalties exist for misuse or recklessness.  Clubs and venues operate to provide safe and responsible usage.  Training at many different levels is available and encouraged for maximum utilization.  Some may even say that transportation is a basic need and right of humanity.

Clearly we have the ability and skill to figure out complex problems and at least attempt to regulate responsible behavior without completely depriving people of their rights and needs.  Am I over simplifying it?  Am I making an unfair comparison between a vehicle and a firearm?  Maybe.  Probably.  My point is we should at least try to solve this.  This is all of our issue, it is all of our concern, and it is all of our responsibility.  We owe it to one another to have the hard conversations; and discuss the balance of personal freedom and rights against safeguards that can prevent some of the violence.  We cannot ever stop all gun violence, because we cannot stop all violence.  Cain used a rock as one wise meme once informed me.  But surely there is some middle ground between Obama is going to take away all our guns, and let the criminals run wild since they clearly don’t respect the laws we already have, let alone any new ones.

Don't stand up, sit down & shut up

Why do people justify passing judgement on others as standing up for God?  Twice this week reading news articles on different events I have seen this tactic used.  The county clerk denying homosexual couples marriage licenses in defiance of all legal decisions, says it is a “heaven and hell issue” for her.  She is holding herself accountable to “God’s” law as a higher authority than the Supreme Court.  Now I understand that often people have moral dilemmas that juxtapose their religious beliefs with legal requirements or decisions.  The uniqueness of this situation is that she is a publicly elected official who has sworn an oath to uphold the laws of her county.  In the midst of this she has deemed it her responsibility to choose heaven or hell for her fellow residents.  This certainly clears some things up for me – no longer do I need to worry about an Almighty God judging my heart and the content of my days efforts here on earth to determine my entrance into, or rejection from, paradise.  I can just go to Kentucky and see the county clerk – I wonder what form I need to ask for?  Not a marriage license application clearly since she has stopped handing those out. 

The other example of the fallen immortal presuming responsibility for deity, was a family member condemning a disgraced member of said family, and explaining his need to speak up because he felt he needed to “stand up for God”.  I know I was waiting for the in-laws of another Duggar bride to weigh in on the moral failure and hypocrisy of a boy not married to their daughter.  To me it kind of felt like saying no offense, and then saying something genuinely offensive.  Let me bash not only my fellow man, but my fellow extended family member, and somehow I will make it less of an attack because I am actually doing it on God’s behalf.  With friends & family like that…  I guess my issue with all of this is - are we so arrogant as to assume that a higher power capable of creating our existence could possibly need us to take some of the load off of His plate?  Or, and this is my strong suspicion, is our faith so flimsy and weak that we cannot trust things to happen beyond our control or understanding?  We have to step in, or lash out, or take whatever steps necessary to frame the situation we find ourselves into a box we can comprehend.  I say we because as much as this behavior disgusts me, I am as guilty of it as anyone.  I am just tired of this fight for the moral high ground that only demonstrates how much of a valley dweller we all are.  We don’t care about our fellow man or woman – I don’t even think we care about God at those moments, even though we invoke His name.  All we care about in those moments is ourselves and our own self-righteousness.  Maybe I am only correct in condemning myself, but I don’t think I am.  It’s ugly, it’s hurtful, and I believe it totally fails to represent a loving Creator when we “stand up” for Him.  How about we just stop tearing each other down and start letting God show Himself through our love for one another?  And that goes double for me

Of dads and daughters

Number 1 daughter and I went out for a dinner to celebrate the beginning of her senior year of high school. These “daddy-daughter dates” are something I always enjoy, but never do as often as I intend. All the more reason to recognize her increasing independence that comes with the home stretch of high school. There were 2 things on my mind as we went about our evening of dining and conversation. First, she is an accomplishment fiend much like I am. She sets goals and achieves them like a sharpened machete cutting through the thickest jungle. As a parent I fall into the trap of praising her for success, but maybe not at other times. The thing I have noticed in my own journey is when your self-worth or significance is tied to the praise you receive for achievement, it becomes the proverbial hamster wheel of self-motivation. So, I wanted my daughter to know I celebrate her hard work and succeeding at a goal, but more importantly I celebrate her as a person separate from the accomplishment. Things will be strived for in life, and at times we will have success, and others we will not. Occasionally we will find something better on the journey to a destination we will never reach. And certainly we will be bitterly disappointed or fail in ways that hurt. But at the end of the day those things are not who we are, but a byproduct of our character. The courage to run the race and try hard and make goals and accept shortcomings is what I admire and appreciate. I love her for her – and not what she amasses in her life’s trophy cases.

The second topic of conversation was my decision to stop something that I have come to realize was shaming. It was not intended as being such, but through discussions with people I respect and opinions I have read, I have realized I was bought into an unhealthy rut of thought. As a dad, my mental age image of my daughter is usually a few years behind reality, and nearly a decade behind her mental image of her own age. This I suspect is as normal as normal can be. However, it gave me license to comment on clothing choices or styles in what may appear a benign way on the surface, but at a deeper level feeds into the misogynistic message that a girls appearance is currency, or that it is her responsibility to control someone else’s morality with her clothing choices. It is a guarantee that some of the styles and quantity of clothing she chooses I will not like, just as my parents did not like some of my styles. I remember wanting a necklace to wear when I was a teen and the response from my father. My discussions with my daughter will not include anything that implies her purity is measured by the apparel she chooses – and that her purity is a commodity to me, as if someday I am going to trade her for 12 goats and a parcel of land. The language I use will also not include the argument that her style choices should be made due to the expectation that members of the opposite sex cannot take responsibility for their own actions, language, and behavior. Her safety and well-being are of my outmost concern and I reserve the right to coach awareness of surroundings and the appropriateness of environment. At the same time I fully expect her to continue to become her own woman and radiate the confidence she should have. She has the right to wear what is comfortable to her within the limits of the law, just as I have the right to risk incarceration for my response to members of my gender who cannot make wise decisions regarding my daughter.

The buffalo steak was a disappointment, but the time spent with an incredible young woman who continues to challenge me is always a delight. I just can’t believe that little bundle of colic rage turned into a senior in high school so fast.

Why do we always hurt the ones we love?

Why do we always hurt the ones we love? It is a classic cliché question and the basis for many a good rom com. My grandmother fell this week and broke her leg, rather badly actually. Truthfully she did not fall as much as she was pushed down by my grandfather, who had managed to fall in “balance class”. The irony would be hilarious if it were not so tragic. I could not understand how in a balance class for wobbly senior citizens that they could be close enough to each other to collide. When I asked my grandmother she said they were the only 2 close because they wanted to be together. A lovely part of the depressive personality is that whenever I am emotionally overwhelmed or upset I have the instinctive reflex to retreat and be alone. There are multiple layers or aspects of this instinct, but a part of it is that I don’t want to be hurt or hurt anyone in those moments of rawness. Upon hearing my grandmother’s story I could not help but feel that it was a perfect example of the danger of emotional proximity. We always hurt the ones we love, and get hurt by them. My dark recessive side seeks affirmation that alone is safer – for me, and for the ones I would harm. And alone isn’t just the absence of people – it is more significantly the absence of connection. Intellectually I can rationalize and see the fallacy in isolating as a protection mechanism, and so I make a conscious decision to not live that way (albeit not as frequently as I probably I should). I wonder if the overwhelming instinct to isolate will ever lessen or go away. My suspicion is it is like a substance addiction and it will be the “thorn” I wrestle against always. If there is a conclusion or moral to this story, I would suggest that it is this – life is like a balance class for tipsy pensioners. Often we are ill prepared or are not equipped to handle the shakiness of life, and when we get sent stumbling sometimes it is into the people we care most about. But at the end of the day isn’t it nice to have people to stand next to in class, even if we knock heads and crash knees together? Today anyway, I choose my answer to be yes.

My 80’s hairband youth may come out a bit here, but there was a song by Poison called “Something to Believe In” that always struck a chord with me – musical pun not intended. The reason the song always resonated with me was it spoke to the disappointment of life – when experiences fail to meet expectations. I suspect that this is something I have always struggled with and may always battle against. In my latest bout of therapy, my counselor’s words of wisdom were to “expect less”. Initially my reaction was irritation that I was paying for this advice to be more pessimistic, as if that were even possible. But as we unpacked the layers of expecting less (and I continue to unpack it quite honestly) it became abundantly clear that I am someone who feels disappointment at a very fundamental and personal level. I load the expectation of how I hope things will go or how people will treat me like a fatigued pack animal. And when the burro stumbles and the load falls to the ground, I am so deeply disappointed that often I struggle to go on. The ah-ha moment came when I realized a couple of things - first, I am an ass. I am the overloaded beast of burden, because I have placed impossibly high expectations for comfort, prosperity, personal fulfillment, success in whatever mythological way I have defined it, etc - and that expectation is placed squarely on my own shoulders. The irony is I have not only placed an incredible weight on my own back, but I have also created my own stumbling block by creating a need for an impossible outcome. So, it all comes crashing down, thus affirming whatever suspicion I had about my own inadequacy or how little I am cared about. I don’t reserve this expectation to any one person, thing, or event. Nothing from God, to the relationships in my life, to the weather, or the lottery drawing are immune to my unobtainable expectations. “Sometimes I wish I didn’t know now, the things I didn’t know then” – meaning to me I wish I didn’t have a long resume of disappointment to strengthen my bitterness every time something else doesn’t go my way. Thus I need to expect less. And I need to be happy more - with what I have, or have not, with where I am, or where I am on the way towards (or honestly will never get, like physically fit). I still like the song, because it’s got a catchy tune and 80’s Bret Michael was the shiz, but I no longer am looking for “something” to believe in. Instead I believe in lots of little somethings along the way, some good and some not as much, but all a part of the journey.

Economy Parking review of a Miata

I am introducing a new segment to The Apex that I am calling Economy Parking review. Basically my clever way of saying the view from the cheap seats. Economy Parking review will be my reviews of cars I drive and sometimes even own. Kicking it off will be my fairly new to me 2005 Mazda Miata. Now I have read that the answer to any question is Miata, and that may be true as long as no one asks how to best depict masculinity and virility. But that being said, there are many things I like about this car. It is my 4th Miata after all. Coming from a vehicle with throttle by wire and electric power assisted steering, there is something very analog and wonderfully connected about the Miata. Feedback through the steering wheel is lively, and speaking of the steering wheel, the factory unit is the perfect size and texture to make turning a delight – then add to that the enthusiastic response from the suspension. Although with nearly 95,000 miles traveled, the suspension has probably degenerated from compliant to slightly flaccid. However, the car is still like a playful puppy, bounding from corner to corner, leaning way over, then taking a set and changing direction with ease. I look forward to getting Miata number 4 out to an autocross course at some point to really give it what for. Its current set up of all-season tires has discouraged me from trying it out yet, since when pushed hard they squeal louder than a witch whistler fire cracker on a hot summer night. One of my favorite things about the car is the Roadster Sport 3 exhaust from Goodwin Racing. It has a sonorous wail under heavy throttle when warm without sounding flatulent or boomy. The auditory horsepower gain is at least 300hp, even if the actual performance gain is minimal. Overall it has been a delightful addition to the rotating used car lot I maintain. Certainly it is not without its issues. I choose to consider the random blinking warning lights less as an indication of trouble, and more an electronic patina. Hell, I am a check engine light away from being the next Icon motors Derelict model – electrically speaking. If you don’t know what that means may I suggest the Google. Another less successful aftermarket mod is the stainless steel-esque shift knob which becomes a branding iron in the summer and a triple dog dare adventure in the winter. But it looks sporty so I keep it. The stereo which is a Pioneer unit and on its second vehicle, plays music rave light style by alternating the speaker output at random which is exciting – guess where and how loud the music will be is sure to be the next hot road trip car game! The clutch stutters when hot, and not in the charming Mel Tillis Cannonball Run way. It also makes shifts more like a dead fish hand shake then a confident fist bump, but hey it’s not a race car, yet. So, that’s my Economy Parking review of a well worn Miata.