I was seven years old when the Detroit Tigers last won the World Series. I was 10 when they last won a divisional crown. Back in 1987, it was the AL East that the Tigers claimed as their own before falling to the underdog Twins in five games in the ALCS. (There were only two divisions back then and no wild cards, so no ALDS existed. Man, I feel old having to explain that.)
Nineteen years passed between playoff appearances for my beloved Tigers before they claimed a wild card spot and ran all the way to the World Series in 2006. I was thrilled, of course, but I had to enjoy the games from the comfort of home instead at at the park. I couldn't land tickets.
Tomorrow night, the Tigers will host the Yankees in Game Four of the ALDS and I will be there. I managed to land a single ticket; an obstructed view seat, no less, for what could be the clinching game.
I figure since the game doesn't even start until after 8:30, it won't end before midnight. By the time I filter out of the stadium and back to the car, it will be well past 3 am before I get home. I have no idea how much it will cost to park, either. Regular season games cost me $10, so I think I can safely assume at least three times that amount for the playoffs. I heard they were charging $45 for parking in New York.
Regardless of the cost and regardless of the hour, I will be there to see my Tigers play in the playoffs. The anticipation is overwhelming. I think I can safely say that this will be one of the top two or three coolest things to happen to me in my lifetime, not counting my wedding and the birth of my kids.
The only thing that would make it better is if I could have gotten two tickets. Valerie and I had a pair of seats to what would have been Game 5, but the Tigers didn't secure home field, so Game 5 won't exist in Detroit. Sorry about that, baby, but I had to pull rank on you here. I've got about 27 years of Tigers fan seniority on you. But I promise that the next time the Tigers get back to the postseason, you'll be with me to take in all the action.
Monday, October 3, 2011
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Less is More
Two weeks ago tomorrow I made a significant change in my online writing career. Starting in 2008, I had been blogging about the Tigers virtually every day. As of September 14, I officially stepped down as Senior Editor of my beloved Motor City Bengals.
This wasn't an easy decision at all and I worried that I might immediately regret it. I worried that my replacement wouldn't bring the same passion, the same drive, or the same vision that I had for the site. What we did at MCB was special, that much I am sure of. When I took the reigns of the site in early 2009, I declared that I wanted it to become the biggest and best Tigers site on the net. We were starting essentially from scratch and I was actually losing ground a bit (in terms of traffic) from my independent site. At that time, there were several sites that were bigger than mine. The Detroit Tigers Weblog had been around since 2002, Bless You Boys was a giant and indy sites like the Daily Fungo, Mack Avenue Tigers, Tiger Tales, and even the Spot Starters had larger followings. There were, undoubtedly, others as well.
A shift in the Tigersphere happened very soon after that, however. Billfer stopped writing at the Weblog, Kurt left MAT to take over for Ian at BYB, suddenly two of my three biggest obstacles were essentially eliminated. Throw in the demise of the Spot Starters and Mike's extended breaks at the Fungo and all of a sudden there was a void that we could fill. We worked tirelessly over the next year or so, posting at least once everyday and often more than that. I added two writers, then another, then another, in hopes of growing the site. Everything we did was bringing MCB to the forefront of Tigers coverage.
I began thinking about stepping down some time ago. Last August, I had accepted the position of Director of Development for FanSided MLB. Between the writing that I had to be dedicated to and the duties the network needed my to perform, the strain was more than I could effectively manage. My first responsibility should have been to my site, I felt, but I had such a good staff around me that I could afford to spare some time for the network as well. When Matt Snyder left my site to become an editor at a site created just for him, I was forced to recruit for MCB.
With a bevy of new writers, I had to re-dedicate myself to producing a high volume of quality posts. The success we had at MCB was outstanding and I was having a blast focusing on my writing again. Unfortunately, the recruiting I needed to be doing at the network level suffered. It was the second week of September and we were rolling out new staff levels, complete with a new, higher, post quota. We knew this would cause some amount of turnover. I had no idea how I would be able to keep it all together. It was at that time that opportunity came knocking.
There was a relatively young site within the Tigersphere, but they were gaining attention. They had a solid staff of writers and the site's founder, Mickey Brignall, contacted me with an interesting idea. What if the two sites, mine and his, were to merge? Mickey had a longing to cover the entire baseball landscape and his top writer, John Verburg, was a veritable machine when it came to writing. Throw in Garret Craig, a talented young writer, and we would have a staff fully ten writers deep. While it might not have been Mickey's vision when he approached me, I quickly saw the chance to move forward.
In the end of our negotiations, we agreed that Mickey would join our general site and John would take over as editor at MCB. This would allow me the freedom of time I needed to get more highly involved in the network. I worried a lot about the decision I was making; I was voluntarily handing my site over to another writer, one who was from outside the FanSided family. Ultimately I decided that if things went south, I could step in again and reclaim my site. Even though I would stay on his staff, I would still be his boss as the director after all.
Now almost two weeks in, this situation could not have gone better. The network still has some holes I need to fill, but I've been able to attract and land a few new editors. MCB, meanwhile, has seen success I never imagined.Our numbers are up across the board and we re already talking about more ways to drive traffic. john has been more than i could have hoped for as the site's editor. And I have been relaxed and able to enjoy the Tigers' run to the division crown.
I don't know how far I can take my involvement in the network. I hope that someday, when we get the funding we need, I'll be able to turn this into a decent part-time job. In the meantime, I'll make a few posts on MCB when I get the urge to write and I'll keep plugging holes within the network. So far, so good.
This wasn't an easy decision at all and I worried that I might immediately regret it. I worried that my replacement wouldn't bring the same passion, the same drive, or the same vision that I had for the site. What we did at MCB was special, that much I am sure of. When I took the reigns of the site in early 2009, I declared that I wanted it to become the biggest and best Tigers site on the net. We were starting essentially from scratch and I was actually losing ground a bit (in terms of traffic) from my independent site. At that time, there were several sites that were bigger than mine. The Detroit Tigers Weblog had been around since 2002, Bless You Boys was a giant and indy sites like the Daily Fungo, Mack Avenue Tigers, Tiger Tales, and even the Spot Starters had larger followings. There were, undoubtedly, others as well.
A shift in the Tigersphere happened very soon after that, however. Billfer stopped writing at the Weblog, Kurt left MAT to take over for Ian at BYB, suddenly two of my three biggest obstacles were essentially eliminated. Throw in the demise of the Spot Starters and Mike's extended breaks at the Fungo and all of a sudden there was a void that we could fill. We worked tirelessly over the next year or so, posting at least once everyday and often more than that. I added two writers, then another, then another, in hopes of growing the site. Everything we did was bringing MCB to the forefront of Tigers coverage.
I began thinking about stepping down some time ago. Last August, I had accepted the position of Director of Development for FanSided MLB. Between the writing that I had to be dedicated to and the duties the network needed my to perform, the strain was more than I could effectively manage. My first responsibility should have been to my site, I felt, but I had such a good staff around me that I could afford to spare some time for the network as well. When Matt Snyder left my site to become an editor at a site created just for him, I was forced to recruit for MCB.
With a bevy of new writers, I had to re-dedicate myself to producing a high volume of quality posts. The success we had at MCB was outstanding and I was having a blast focusing on my writing again. Unfortunately, the recruiting I needed to be doing at the network level suffered. It was the second week of September and we were rolling out new staff levels, complete with a new, higher, post quota. We knew this would cause some amount of turnover. I had no idea how I would be able to keep it all together. It was at that time that opportunity came knocking.
There was a relatively young site within the Tigersphere, but they were gaining attention. They had a solid staff of writers and the site's founder, Mickey Brignall, contacted me with an interesting idea. What if the two sites, mine and his, were to merge? Mickey had a longing to cover the entire baseball landscape and his top writer, John Verburg, was a veritable machine when it came to writing. Throw in Garret Craig, a talented young writer, and we would have a staff fully ten writers deep. While it might not have been Mickey's vision when he approached me, I quickly saw the chance to move forward.
In the end of our negotiations, we agreed that Mickey would join our general site and John would take over as editor at MCB. This would allow me the freedom of time I needed to get more highly involved in the network. I worried a lot about the decision I was making; I was voluntarily handing my site over to another writer, one who was from outside the FanSided family. Ultimately I decided that if things went south, I could step in again and reclaim my site. Even though I would stay on his staff, I would still be his boss as the director after all.
Now almost two weeks in, this situation could not have gone better. The network still has some holes I need to fill, but I've been able to attract and land a few new editors. MCB, meanwhile, has seen success I never imagined.Our numbers are up across the board and we re already talking about more ways to drive traffic. john has been more than i could have hoped for as the site's editor. And I have been relaxed and able to enjoy the Tigers' run to the division crown.
I don't know how far I can take my involvement in the network. I hope that someday, when we get the funding we need, I'll be able to turn this into a decent part-time job. In the meantime, I'll make a few posts on MCB when I get the urge to write and I'll keep plugging holes within the network. So far, so good.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
The worst thing I have ever seen
This morning, as I laid on the couch passing the time with four little ones scurrying around the house, a feature began on Sportscenter about a young man who saved many lives in the September 11 attacks. My oldest daughter, Lillian, is just six years old. She was sitting on the adjacent couch reading a spy kids book. The feature had been going on for a few minutes when she put the book down and shooed her brother away. "I want to watch this," she said.
The feature, about the young man named Welles and his red bandanna, was moving. It recounted, via those who survived, those who were there in the second tower, how Welles helped others get to safety, only to go back into the building to find and help others once again. Welles lost his own life when the tower collapsed.
When the feature ended, Lillian, who had since been joined by Sebastian on the couch, began asking questions. "How did he die?" "Why did he keep going back in?" She's only six, how much of this do I want her to know, I wondered. My mind kept turning back to that Tuesday morning in 2001, ten years ago next week, and the horrible events that transpired. I wondered at what point would her teachers tell her the tale of that day, what the textbooks would say. I made a decision; I would do my best to explain the unexplainable to these two young children. I hadn't meant for them to be exposed to such terror, but now that they had been, I felt I owed them as many answers as I could give.
I was working, at that time, as a restaurant manager at Fricker's in Bowing Green, Ohio. Our establishment was not unlike a BW3 in the menu or the clientele. We stayed open until 2:30am each day and on September 10, 2001, I had been the closing manager. Once the place is closed and I have finished counting the drawers and whatnot, I would usually get home at about 4 in the morning. After that, it would take me an hour or so to get to sleep.
The next morning, my roommate, Ed, came into my room just after 8 am. Ed knew I had worked the night before and that I would sleep until early afternoon on most days. This was obviously important. "Turn on the TV," he said. I could see the look on his face; something was going on. When the television warmed up and gained a picture, I was about to ask him what channel, then I saw that it didn't matter. ESPN wasn't showing their normal programming; it had been taken over by an ABC News feed. There was a static picture of the World Trade Center towers, but you could hear the folks on the broadcast talking about how a plane had crashed into the tower. Smoke and flames was pouring from the side of the tower, nearly three-quarters of the way up. Minutes went by as I tried to comprehend what was going on, as i tried to wrap my head around the picture I was seeing and the words I was hearing. Was this some horrible tragedy where a pilot lost control of his plane? An unfortunate accident that would cost hundreds of lives?
Then, as the picture remained still and the news guys spoke, I saw another lane enter the picture. It was headed in the direction of the towers again. The voices on the TV didn't notice it; they kept on talking, not mentioning the second plane. My mind raced; Why aren't they saying something about this? Are they even looking at the picture? The second plane struck the second tower, erupting in smoke and fire. It wasn't until many second after the impact that the voices on the TV took notice and began to contemplate what was going on. This was no accident, that much was clear.
The feed remained static, but you began to see small things falling from the towers. Those things, it turned out, were people. First one tower collapsed, then the other. Thousands of people who had gone to work that morning were gone. A great sadness wrapped our nation and myself. This was an attack like we had never seen in this country and we witnessed it live on television. Word came down about a third plane hitting the Pentagon and a fourth that crash in a field in Pennsylvania. I spent the next several hours learning about the terrorists and their plan of attack. I talked with friends and family, sharing in the disbelief, the shock, the horror.
Tuesdays were always our busiest night at the restaurant and by the time I was to report to work at six pm, many other businesses had closed in the wake of the attacks. We stayed open and the place was full when I walked in, just as it always was on Tuesdays. President Bush was scheduled to address the nation that evening and when it happened, the restaurant became silent. There were probably 200 people inside our walls, between customers, waitstaff and kitchen help. During the address, however, not one order was taken, not one drink was poured, not one chicken wing was cooked. Customers sat silently, eyes glued to the TV waiting for answers. The staff at Frickers stood behind the bar, themselves staring at the dozens of big screen televisions. I have been in that building many times by myself, hours after the place has closed. I have never been anywhere so eerily quiet. It truly was surreal.
It's hard to imagine the tragedy that took place that morning, or the heartache felt by so many in the loss of their friends and family. It's difficult, now, to remember a time before those people took it upon themselves to murder American citizen. What have become accepted inconveniences in our lives (ecpecially the increased airport security and having to have a passport to come back from Canada) were once nowhere near our conscientiousness. If there is a sliver lining in all of this, it's that the lives of those who were there are not forgotten, nor are the sacrifices made by the first responders who gave their lives in an attempt to save others.
There are parts of the above narrative that I left out when I told the kids of the events of that day. They're still so young, they don't need the details. Sebastian couldn't understand why these people would purposely drive a plane into a building and my answer was unfulfilling for him. "I don't know, buddy. I don't understand it, either."
I can only hope that my children never have to witness such an incident, and that our textbooks can tell the story of those who died and the men and women who gave their lives in an attempt to save others. One thing I know, however, is that no matter how well the books tell the story, their will never be a good enough answer as to why it happened in the first place.
The feature, about the young man named Welles and his red bandanna, was moving. It recounted, via those who survived, those who were there in the second tower, how Welles helped others get to safety, only to go back into the building to find and help others once again. Welles lost his own life when the tower collapsed.
When the feature ended, Lillian, who had since been joined by Sebastian on the couch, began asking questions. "How did he die?" "Why did he keep going back in?" She's only six, how much of this do I want her to know, I wondered. My mind kept turning back to that Tuesday morning in 2001, ten years ago next week, and the horrible events that transpired. I wondered at what point would her teachers tell her the tale of that day, what the textbooks would say. I made a decision; I would do my best to explain the unexplainable to these two young children. I hadn't meant for them to be exposed to such terror, but now that they had been, I felt I owed them as many answers as I could give.
I was working, at that time, as a restaurant manager at Fricker's in Bowing Green, Ohio. Our establishment was not unlike a BW3 in the menu or the clientele. We stayed open until 2:30am each day and on September 10, 2001, I had been the closing manager. Once the place is closed and I have finished counting the drawers and whatnot, I would usually get home at about 4 in the morning. After that, it would take me an hour or so to get to sleep.
The next morning, my roommate, Ed, came into my room just after 8 am. Ed knew I had worked the night before and that I would sleep until early afternoon on most days. This was obviously important. "Turn on the TV," he said. I could see the look on his face; something was going on. When the television warmed up and gained a picture, I was about to ask him what channel, then I saw that it didn't matter. ESPN wasn't showing their normal programming; it had been taken over by an ABC News feed. There was a static picture of the World Trade Center towers, but you could hear the folks on the broadcast talking about how a plane had crashed into the tower. Smoke and flames was pouring from the side of the tower, nearly three-quarters of the way up. Minutes went by as I tried to comprehend what was going on, as i tried to wrap my head around the picture I was seeing and the words I was hearing. Was this some horrible tragedy where a pilot lost control of his plane? An unfortunate accident that would cost hundreds of lives?
Then, as the picture remained still and the news guys spoke, I saw another lane enter the picture. It was headed in the direction of the towers again. The voices on the TV didn't notice it; they kept on talking, not mentioning the second plane. My mind raced; Why aren't they saying something about this? Are they even looking at the picture? The second plane struck the second tower, erupting in smoke and fire. It wasn't until many second after the impact that the voices on the TV took notice and began to contemplate what was going on. This was no accident, that much was clear.
The feed remained static, but you began to see small things falling from the towers. Those things, it turned out, were people. First one tower collapsed, then the other. Thousands of people who had gone to work that morning were gone. A great sadness wrapped our nation and myself. This was an attack like we had never seen in this country and we witnessed it live on television. Word came down about a third plane hitting the Pentagon and a fourth that crash in a field in Pennsylvania. I spent the next several hours learning about the terrorists and their plan of attack. I talked with friends and family, sharing in the disbelief, the shock, the horror.
Tuesdays were always our busiest night at the restaurant and by the time I was to report to work at six pm, many other businesses had closed in the wake of the attacks. We stayed open and the place was full when I walked in, just as it always was on Tuesdays. President Bush was scheduled to address the nation that evening and when it happened, the restaurant became silent. There were probably 200 people inside our walls, between customers, waitstaff and kitchen help. During the address, however, not one order was taken, not one drink was poured, not one chicken wing was cooked. Customers sat silently, eyes glued to the TV waiting for answers. The staff at Frickers stood behind the bar, themselves staring at the dozens of big screen televisions. I have been in that building many times by myself, hours after the place has closed. I have never been anywhere so eerily quiet. It truly was surreal.
It's hard to imagine the tragedy that took place that morning, or the heartache felt by so many in the loss of their friends and family. It's difficult, now, to remember a time before those people took it upon themselves to murder American citizen. What have become accepted inconveniences in our lives (ecpecially the increased airport security and having to have a passport to come back from Canada) were once nowhere near our conscientiousness. If there is a sliver lining in all of this, it's that the lives of those who were there are not forgotten, nor are the sacrifices made by the first responders who gave their lives in an attempt to save others.
There are parts of the above narrative that I left out when I told the kids of the events of that day. They're still so young, they don't need the details. Sebastian couldn't understand why these people would purposely drive a plane into a building and my answer was unfulfilling for him. "I don't know, buddy. I don't understand it, either."
I can only hope that my children never have to witness such an incident, and that our textbooks can tell the story of those who died and the men and women who gave their lives in an attempt to save others. One thing I know, however, is that no matter how well the books tell the story, their will never be a good enough answer as to why it happened in the first place.
Friday, September 2, 2011
"See You Later" Feels Far Too Much Like "Goodbye"
Before I start, I should probably explain a little about my family. I was born in 1977 and my parents divorced in 1981, so the vast majority of my life consisted of my mom and older sister living in one house and my dad living in another. There were a couple of additions along the way; my mom re-married, had another baby, then re-divorced. My dad re-married a woman who had a son already (so I had a brother for a few years), then they got divorced. When I was nine or ten, my dad re-married again and he and my step-mother have been together ever since. This marriage brought another sister, Jennifer, into the mix, who came via Vickie's (my step-mother) first marriage. So I have one sister, one half sister, and one step-sister, plus a mom, a dad, and a step-mother. Now that I've laid it all out, please understand that those titles will no longer be used. As far as I'm concerned, I have three sisters and a dad, a mom, and Vickie (who has always been very much a second mom to me, but for whatever reason she never got that title; she's always just been Vickie).
Growing up through the 80s and 90s, most of my friends came from "traditional" households where their parents were still married. Nowadays I'm sure my unique family is more the norm than that of the people who have remained married and raised their children together. I don't know the exact reason that my parents ever divorced, but I honestly don't much care. It was always normal to me that mom lived here and dad lived there. Everything was fine and I assume that I'm fairly well-adjusted (whatever that means). Dad and Vickie have been married for something in the neighborhood of 25 years now and they have always, always been there whenever I needed anything.
Last night, Dad and Vickie met us in Lima to take us out to dinner; it's something that happens semi-regularly. They get to spend time with the kids, Valerie and I get to sort of "take a break" from being the only set of eyes on the four little ones. Plus, we get to eat for free, which is always nice.
Unfortunately, last night's gathering was very much bittersweet. About a year ago or so, they (Dad & Vickie) told us (my sisters and I) of their plan for the future. They were going to buy a travel trailer and spend time moving around the country, living in campgrounds, while Vickie worked as a traveling nurse. Dad's company, where he's spent 40 years, probably won't be around in a few years and in order to protect his stocks, it's best he gets out sooner rather than later. I don't think any of us actually expected them to leave.
About eight months ago, they bought that trailer and moved to a campground about 20 minutes away. Dad was still working, as was Vickie, as she was unable to land the job she desired. I would get occasional updates about why they hadn't left yet and a few weeks ago, Jennifer told me Dad and Vickie had made plans to move back into their house. It looked like they would be sticking around, at least through the winter.
Not two days later, I got the call I was dreading. Dad told me that Vickie had landed a position in Richmond, Virginia, and that they would be leaving in two weeks. Last night's dinner gathering was the last time we will see them for a minimum of 13 weeks. By that time, it will be early December and they will likely head further south to avoid the harsh Ohio winter.
The dinner was normal. There was no sense of dread or even a sense that this was the end of a life that I had considered normal for so long. That is, normal until we left the restaurant. We all stood in the parking lot for what must have been 10 minutes, just talking and whatnot. Finally, it was time to say goodbye. I swear, until I heard my dad, my hero, sobbing uncontrollably as he hugged the kids and hugged my wife, it didn't even occur to me that this really was "goodbye". I was holding our youngest daughter and Dad reached over Valerie's shoulder and put his hand on my back. He gave me a quick squeeze, without looking at me, and he turned and walked off, obviously trying to compose himself. That was his goodbye to me. It was all he could do. (It took me a very long time and at least a few tissues to write this paragraph)
After they left, we put the kids in the van and Valerie and I stayed at chatted with Jennifer for a while. Valerie was and is quite upset about their departure. My kids have several sets of grandparent, but Dad and Vickie were quite active in seeking out time to see the kids. My in-laws live in town and they watch the kids for a few hours each day before Valerie gets off work, but the other grandparents can't be bothered most of the time. Dad and Vickie were always there for these kids, just as they were always there for me.
Now, they're gone.
I get it, it's not like they've died or anything. They have raised their kids and now it's time for them. They want to travel and move around from place to place. They've certainly put in the time and paid the dues; they should enjoy life while they're still young enough and healthy enough to do so. But understanding why they're doing what they're doing doesn't make it any less difficult for me, or, I'm sure, for them. And it doesn't make any of the emotions that Valerie and I are feeling any less valid.
It really didn't hit me until this morning and while I understand what's going on, I don't like it. I'm happy for them but at the same time I'm a little bit angry and a lot sad. Growing up, I had a very close relationship with my grandparents and I credit those relationships with building much of who I am as a person. I worry now that my children won't get the same benefits I had. Even though I understand the motivations, they just got these grandchildren, their only grandchildren, less than four years ago and the youngest is not yet two. No matter how often you skype with someone, it's not the same as being there. You can't attend a soccer game or take the family out to dinner, or have us over for a cookout, or come to birthday parties from a telephone. You just can't replace the personal contact that enriches lives.
If things go well for Dad and Vickie, if they stick to their plan, they'll come back to Ohio every once in a while. The kids will see them at Christmas, I hope, and maybe once more each year. That's not enough for the kids. And it's not enough for me. Will Amity even know who they are when they come home?
I know this is sounding more angry than I intended it to, but I always try to be as honest as possible on this site. I'm in no way trying to guilt them into changing their plans or anything like that. I have accepted what's happening, but I wish it wasn't happening. The kids need them in their lives. I need them in my life. But I'm also proud that they have the courage to start something new.
Hurry home you two. I already miss you too much for you to be away, and you haven't even left the state yet. I know we don't ever say it, that it's simply understood, but I love you both very much and you are missed greatly. Godspeed.
Growing up through the 80s and 90s, most of my friends came from "traditional" households where their parents were still married. Nowadays I'm sure my unique family is more the norm than that of the people who have remained married and raised their children together. I don't know the exact reason that my parents ever divorced, but I honestly don't much care. It was always normal to me that mom lived here and dad lived there. Everything was fine and I assume that I'm fairly well-adjusted (whatever that means). Dad and Vickie have been married for something in the neighborhood of 25 years now and they have always, always been there whenever I needed anything.
Last night, Dad and Vickie met us in Lima to take us out to dinner; it's something that happens semi-regularly. They get to spend time with the kids, Valerie and I get to sort of "take a break" from being the only set of eyes on the four little ones. Plus, we get to eat for free, which is always nice.
Unfortunately, last night's gathering was very much bittersweet. About a year ago or so, they (Dad & Vickie) told us (my sisters and I) of their plan for the future. They were going to buy a travel trailer and spend time moving around the country, living in campgrounds, while Vickie worked as a traveling nurse. Dad's company, where he's spent 40 years, probably won't be around in a few years and in order to protect his stocks, it's best he gets out sooner rather than later. I don't think any of us actually expected them to leave.
About eight months ago, they bought that trailer and moved to a campground about 20 minutes away. Dad was still working, as was Vickie, as she was unable to land the job she desired. I would get occasional updates about why they hadn't left yet and a few weeks ago, Jennifer told me Dad and Vickie had made plans to move back into their house. It looked like they would be sticking around, at least through the winter.
Not two days later, I got the call I was dreading. Dad told me that Vickie had landed a position in Richmond, Virginia, and that they would be leaving in two weeks. Last night's dinner gathering was the last time we will see them for a minimum of 13 weeks. By that time, it will be early December and they will likely head further south to avoid the harsh Ohio winter.
The dinner was normal. There was no sense of dread or even a sense that this was the end of a life that I had considered normal for so long. That is, normal until we left the restaurant. We all stood in the parking lot for what must have been 10 minutes, just talking and whatnot. Finally, it was time to say goodbye. I swear, until I heard my dad, my hero, sobbing uncontrollably as he hugged the kids and hugged my wife, it didn't even occur to me that this really was "goodbye". I was holding our youngest daughter and Dad reached over Valerie's shoulder and put his hand on my back. He gave me a quick squeeze, without looking at me, and he turned and walked off, obviously trying to compose himself. That was his goodbye to me. It was all he could do. (It took me a very long time and at least a few tissues to write this paragraph)
After they left, we put the kids in the van and Valerie and I stayed at chatted with Jennifer for a while. Valerie was and is quite upset about their departure. My kids have several sets of grandparent, but Dad and Vickie were quite active in seeking out time to see the kids. My in-laws live in town and they watch the kids for a few hours each day before Valerie gets off work, but the other grandparents can't be bothered most of the time. Dad and Vickie were always there for these kids, just as they were always there for me.
Now, they're gone.
I get it, it's not like they've died or anything. They have raised their kids and now it's time for them. They want to travel and move around from place to place. They've certainly put in the time and paid the dues; they should enjoy life while they're still young enough and healthy enough to do so. But understanding why they're doing what they're doing doesn't make it any less difficult for me, or, I'm sure, for them. And it doesn't make any of the emotions that Valerie and I are feeling any less valid.
It really didn't hit me until this morning and while I understand what's going on, I don't like it. I'm happy for them but at the same time I'm a little bit angry and a lot sad. Growing up, I had a very close relationship with my grandparents and I credit those relationships with building much of who I am as a person. I worry now that my children won't get the same benefits I had. Even though I understand the motivations, they just got these grandchildren, their only grandchildren, less than four years ago and the youngest is not yet two. No matter how often you skype with someone, it's not the same as being there. You can't attend a soccer game or take the family out to dinner, or have us over for a cookout, or come to birthday parties from a telephone. You just can't replace the personal contact that enriches lives.
If things go well for Dad and Vickie, if they stick to their plan, they'll come back to Ohio every once in a while. The kids will see them at Christmas, I hope, and maybe once more each year. That's not enough for the kids. And it's not enough for me. Will Amity even know who they are when they come home?
I know this is sounding more angry than I intended it to, but I always try to be as honest as possible on this site. I'm in no way trying to guilt them into changing their plans or anything like that. I have accepted what's happening, but I wish it wasn't happening. The kids need them in their lives. I need them in my life. But I'm also proud that they have the courage to start something new.
Hurry home you two. I already miss you too much for you to be away, and you haven't even left the state yet. I know we don't ever say it, that it's simply understood, but I love you both very much and you are missed greatly. Godspeed.
Monday, August 22, 2011
Early Scouting Report of Sebastian the Soccer Star
This weekend marked Sebastian's first foray into organized athletics. Well, as organized as five and six year olds can be while playing soccer, anyway. He and Lillian play on the same team, but she played last season as well.
The game ended in a tie, but that really isn't the point here, is it? The point is that for a kid who is slender and quite strong, Sebastian looks terribly uncoordinated when he runs. Throughout the game, he appeared to be limping, but when we asked him afterwards, he said his shoes fit just fine and that he wasn't at all hurt. It was as if he just doesn't know how to run.
Earlier in the week at practice, the coaches had the kids running sprints. I wasn't surprised to see Lillian pulling up the rear, but what shocked me is that Sebastian was right there with her each time. We had assumed that maybe he was waiting for her. The two have been inseparable since the day he was born, so it would make sense. He won't even go play outside unless Lillian is willing to go too.
But in the game, Sebastian was slow as well. It wasn't that he wasn't trying (he actually appeared to be giving it his all), but he just couldn't keep up with the other kids on the field. Part of this, I'm sure, can be chalked up to not really understanding what it was that he was supposed to do. Uncertainty will cause any athlete to play slower than he should. But I worry that the larger part is that for whatever reason, maybe speed just isn't something he's blessed with. Like I said, he's strong and he's adventurous. There's not a swingset he can't climb and swing from like an ape. And he's not at all stocky. In fact, you'd be hard pressed to find an ounce of fat on him. Knowing this, I had just assumed he'd be faster.
Now, obviously the key here really should be that they kids were out there running around and having fun. I know this. I'm not one of those dads that will be demanding my kid play better. Sports, especially at this age, are supposed to be fun and by all accounts both he and Lillian had fun. But I also have an eye on their futures in sports. What baseball-loving dad doesn't?
Unfortunately for him, speed is something I'd have a lot of trouble giving him pointers with, so hopefully he takes a liking to pitching. Pitchers don't generally need to be all that fast anyway. Maybe neither of my boys will turn out to love baseball as I have. That's okay. The world needs doctors and engineers and scientists a lot more than it needs ballplayers, anyway. So long as they become good people, I'll be happy.
The game ended in a tie, but that really isn't the point here, is it? The point is that for a kid who is slender and quite strong, Sebastian looks terribly uncoordinated when he runs. Throughout the game, he appeared to be limping, but when we asked him afterwards, he said his shoes fit just fine and that he wasn't at all hurt. It was as if he just doesn't know how to run.
Earlier in the week at practice, the coaches had the kids running sprints. I wasn't surprised to see Lillian pulling up the rear, but what shocked me is that Sebastian was right there with her each time. We had assumed that maybe he was waiting for her. The two have been inseparable since the day he was born, so it would make sense. He won't even go play outside unless Lillian is willing to go too.
But in the game, Sebastian was slow as well. It wasn't that he wasn't trying (he actually appeared to be giving it his all), but he just couldn't keep up with the other kids on the field. Part of this, I'm sure, can be chalked up to not really understanding what it was that he was supposed to do. Uncertainty will cause any athlete to play slower than he should. But I worry that the larger part is that for whatever reason, maybe speed just isn't something he's blessed with. Like I said, he's strong and he's adventurous. There's not a swingset he can't climb and swing from like an ape. And he's not at all stocky. In fact, you'd be hard pressed to find an ounce of fat on him. Knowing this, I had just assumed he'd be faster.
Now, obviously the key here really should be that they kids were out there running around and having fun. I know this. I'm not one of those dads that will be demanding my kid play better. Sports, especially at this age, are supposed to be fun and by all accounts both he and Lillian had fun. But I also have an eye on their futures in sports. What baseball-loving dad doesn't?
Unfortunately for him, speed is something I'd have a lot of trouble giving him pointers with, so hopefully he takes a liking to pitching. Pitchers don't generally need to be all that fast anyway. Maybe neither of my boys will turn out to love baseball as I have. That's okay. The world needs doctors and engineers and scientists a lot more than it needs ballplayers, anyway. So long as they become good people, I'll be happy.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Those Vows You Spoke are Supposed to Mean Something
I saw a tweet today that made me think. And it made me sad. The tweet said "I swear driving away is the hardest thing I do. Daddy loves you." Now, I don't know the context here, nor do I know why this person would tweet this thought to the masses instead of simply telling his children these words. It could be that this "Daddy" is a salesman or a truck driver or does something else that requires he leaves his family to travel to earn his living. It could be that he counts down the hours until he gets home. I'd like to think that's the case. It's sad that a family should have to be split up that way, but it happens if that's the only job the guy can get.
The other possibility is that the tweeter is a divorced father, or maybe he and the mother were never married. Either way, those two are no longer together. The kids live with their mom and the father sees them sparingly, like every other weekend or something like that. This doesn't make me sad for the father so much as it does for the kids. This, maybe much more so that the first scenario, is avoidable.
I understand that we aren't always thinking about the consequences of our actions. Sometimes we do things and maybe we get away with it. Maybe you went out last weekend and had a few too many and then you decided you were okay and drove yourself home. It seemed like a good idea at the time. You made it home without getting caught and without hitting anyone or anything. You got away with it. The next day maybe you realize how dumb you were to try something like that and hopefully you learn a harmless lesson.
Other times, we don't get away with it and then it's time to own your actions and take responsibility for the situation. If you are married, you are making a lifelong commitment to that person. This is something that far too many people take far too lightly. Those vows that you recite, those aren't just words. They mean something. They say that for better or for worse, no matter the scenario, through thick and thin, you will stand by your partner's side. It's a commitment to honor, to love, and to cherish. And to do so for as long as you both shall live.
The divorce rate in this country is sky high. I don't know the precise number, but I believe it's north of fifty percent. We live in a modern world that puts instant gratification at our fingertips. If something is difficult, we generally give up quickly and find something else to do. The problem is that there is no real happiness in jumping from one quick and easy thing to the next; the only true gratification comes from seeing a difficult process through to the end. Marriage is difficult, fatherhood is difficult, but there will be no happiness is giving up and moving on.
Look, I understand that there are extreme cases where a partner is abusive to another or to the children, where for safety's sake, a marriage must end. But you cannot tell me that this alone accounts for the failure rate of marriages in this country. I am not some holy roller who thinks you'll go to hell for getting a divorce, but I do believe that when you give someone your word, you should do everything possible to honor that commitment. As strongly as I believe in marriage, I feel much more strongly that as soon as kids are involved, the stakes are raised significantly.
Now, I assume most of you are thinking that I grew up in some perfect household with a mom and a dad that never fought, with two siblings, with a dog, and a white picket fence.That's far from the truth. My parents were divorced when I was four years old and I spent the rest of my childhood visiting my dad on Tuesday evenings and then spending the night with him on Friday. I saw him much more often that that, though, as he lived just down the road from me for the majority of my childhood. I honestly don't know the reasons that my parents' marriage ended. I've never asked and don't intend to. My dad was always there and my mom did a tremendous job with my two sisters and I. I was young enough when it happened that I actually don't remember a time where my parents lived together. I suppose that made it easier for me. I know it was a lot harder on my older sister.
Now that I am married with kids of my own, I'm learning so much about myself and about my belief system. Things I thought were important before generally don't mean all that much to me now. Likewise, things I never gave thought to before have become quite meaningful these days.
I didn't get married until I was 30 years old. I married a woman who had two very young children from her first marriage. I was set up for failure. I had no idea how to put the needs of others before my own; I had never had to do that before. I had no idea how to raise a child, especially a 2 year old boy that I had just met.
More than anything I think, I learned what it means to be a father by seeing how my wife's ex-husband has handled things. I see the way he disappoints the kids by not showing up when he says he will, by telling them he'll keep them overnight only to bring them home two hours later so he can go out with his drinking buddies. I see the looks on their faces on Saturday afternoon, when their bio-dad had told them he'd pick them up first thing that morning, and they realize he's not coming. I learned that actions, and words, mean something and they have consequences. Unfortunately, it's the kids that suffer those consequences in this case.
Like I said, I'm not saying there is never a reason to end a marriage. What I'm saying is that there are ways to avoid getting to that point. It comes from both partners and has to be done together and always. First, don't abuse your partner or the kids. I shouldn't have to say that, should I? Secondly, don't cheat on your spouse. Thirdly, understand that you and your spouse will argue, you will fight, and you will get angry. Don't immediately assume that the other one hates you and don't do something stupid that escalates the situation.
You and your wife have a big fight and you leave the house. You decide you'll get back at her by heading to the bar. Two hours later you wind up cheating on her. Now the marriage is in big, big trouble because you felt the selfish need to get even. Three years later, there's some other guy tucking your kids into bed, some other guy they're calling "dad" and your left tweeting about how hard it is to drive away. Tell me, was it worth it?
It's about honoring your spouse, about putting the needs of others before yours, and about having the courage to stick it out and see it through. More than that, more than anything, it's about never putting yourself into a position to have to drive away and allow someone else to raise your children.
The other possibility is that the tweeter is a divorced father, or maybe he and the mother were never married. Either way, those two are no longer together. The kids live with their mom and the father sees them sparingly, like every other weekend or something like that. This doesn't make me sad for the father so much as it does for the kids. This, maybe much more so that the first scenario, is avoidable.
I understand that we aren't always thinking about the consequences of our actions. Sometimes we do things and maybe we get away with it. Maybe you went out last weekend and had a few too many and then you decided you were okay and drove yourself home. It seemed like a good idea at the time. You made it home without getting caught and without hitting anyone or anything. You got away with it. The next day maybe you realize how dumb you were to try something like that and hopefully you learn a harmless lesson.
Other times, we don't get away with it and then it's time to own your actions and take responsibility for the situation. If you are married, you are making a lifelong commitment to that person. This is something that far too many people take far too lightly. Those vows that you recite, those aren't just words. They mean something. They say that for better or for worse, no matter the scenario, through thick and thin, you will stand by your partner's side. It's a commitment to honor, to love, and to cherish. And to do so for as long as you both shall live.
The divorce rate in this country is sky high. I don't know the precise number, but I believe it's north of fifty percent. We live in a modern world that puts instant gratification at our fingertips. If something is difficult, we generally give up quickly and find something else to do. The problem is that there is no real happiness in jumping from one quick and easy thing to the next; the only true gratification comes from seeing a difficult process through to the end. Marriage is difficult, fatherhood is difficult, but there will be no happiness is giving up and moving on.
Look, I understand that there are extreme cases where a partner is abusive to another or to the children, where for safety's sake, a marriage must end. But you cannot tell me that this alone accounts for the failure rate of marriages in this country. I am not some holy roller who thinks you'll go to hell for getting a divorce, but I do believe that when you give someone your word, you should do everything possible to honor that commitment. As strongly as I believe in marriage, I feel much more strongly that as soon as kids are involved, the stakes are raised significantly.
Now, I assume most of you are thinking that I grew up in some perfect household with a mom and a dad that never fought, with two siblings, with a dog, and a white picket fence.That's far from the truth. My parents were divorced when I was four years old and I spent the rest of my childhood visiting my dad on Tuesday evenings and then spending the night with him on Friday. I saw him much more often that that, though, as he lived just down the road from me for the majority of my childhood. I honestly don't know the reasons that my parents' marriage ended. I've never asked and don't intend to. My dad was always there and my mom did a tremendous job with my two sisters and I. I was young enough when it happened that I actually don't remember a time where my parents lived together. I suppose that made it easier for me. I know it was a lot harder on my older sister.
Now that I am married with kids of my own, I'm learning so much about myself and about my belief system. Things I thought were important before generally don't mean all that much to me now. Likewise, things I never gave thought to before have become quite meaningful these days.
I didn't get married until I was 30 years old. I married a woman who had two very young children from her first marriage. I was set up for failure. I had no idea how to put the needs of others before my own; I had never had to do that before. I had no idea how to raise a child, especially a 2 year old boy that I had just met.
More than anything I think, I learned what it means to be a father by seeing how my wife's ex-husband has handled things. I see the way he disappoints the kids by not showing up when he says he will, by telling them he'll keep them overnight only to bring them home two hours later so he can go out with his drinking buddies. I see the looks on their faces on Saturday afternoon, when their bio-dad had told them he'd pick them up first thing that morning, and they realize he's not coming. I learned that actions, and words, mean something and they have consequences. Unfortunately, it's the kids that suffer those consequences in this case.
Like I said, I'm not saying there is never a reason to end a marriage. What I'm saying is that there are ways to avoid getting to that point. It comes from both partners and has to be done together and always. First, don't abuse your partner or the kids. I shouldn't have to say that, should I? Secondly, don't cheat on your spouse. Thirdly, understand that you and your spouse will argue, you will fight, and you will get angry. Don't immediately assume that the other one hates you and don't do something stupid that escalates the situation.
You and your wife have a big fight and you leave the house. You decide you'll get back at her by heading to the bar. Two hours later you wind up cheating on her. Now the marriage is in big, big trouble because you felt the selfish need to get even. Three years later, there's some other guy tucking your kids into bed, some other guy they're calling "dad" and your left tweeting about how hard it is to drive away. Tell me, was it worth it?
It's about honoring your spouse, about putting the needs of others before yours, and about having the courage to stick it out and see it through. More than that, more than anything, it's about never putting yourself into a position to have to drive away and allow someone else to raise your children.
Monday, August 15, 2011
The Story of Us
So I'm sitting at work perusing my twitter feed and the customer lounge in the next room has some show on the TV. I'm not sure what it is, but it's like Entertainment Tonight or TMZ or something that deals only with the lives of celebrities. So garbage, basically. Anyhow, the big news of the day is that actress Tara Reid (who was sooo hot in Van Wilder) reportedly got engaged and married all in the same day. And apparently she wasn't even drunk in Vegas when this happened.
Now, I don't give a rat's ass what Tara Reid has chosen to do with her life, so this post has nothing to do with her (but it does make me wan to watch Van Wilder again - tremendous film). Since the intent, or at least a large part of the intent, of this blog is to give my kids a place to get to know me and my inner-most thoughts, I think the Reid marriage gives me a good enough excuse to tell the story of my wife and I.
This is a long and complicated story, but whose marriage isn't? Ours is a story unlike anyone's I ever heard though. Stay with me, I think you'll enjoy...
I first met Valerie several months after my then-fiance (Jenn) and I moved back to Lima from Bowling Green. Jenn had taken a job at a laboratory doing pharmaceutical research. It was there that she met Valerie and the two became good friends. On occasion, Jenn and I would visit the local bars and one such evening we were joined by Valerie and her husband. I remember seeing her for the first time; she wasn't especially tall, but carried herself in a way that made her look taller than her 5'8" frame. She walked with a confidence about her. She had the most amazing eyes I've ever seen, a pure blue that can't be re-created by crayola. I liked her immediately. She was amazingly alluring, she was sexy. (Sorry kids, but there is no other way to put it)
Fast forward about a year. Valerie's marriage had long since ended and she had been dating a few people. Jenn and I would talk and I remember telling her how Valerie was better than this new guy or that one. I didn't see her often and no, there was never anything going on between us, but Valerie was someone I did like. I can't say the same for some of Jenn's other friends.
It was late January of 2008 when Jenn left the house on a Friday afternoon. She was driving back home to her parent's house for the weekend, or at least that's what she had told me. This wasn't all that unusual. I was watching Top Gun on AMC that night when my phone rang. It was my cousin, who asked if Jenn was home. I told him she wasn't, that she had gone back to Canton for the weekend. "No she didn't, dude" he said "she's at the movies with some guy and a 12-year-old kid." My heart immediately went to my throat.
I called Jenn, no answer. I texted her, she responded that she couldn't talk. I called again, finally she answered. I told her what my cousin had said, sure (or at least desperately hoping) that he was mistaken; that it wasn't Jenn he had seen. She laughed a bit, but said she had to go. She was at the movies, she told me, but in Canton, with her friend Terri. I asked what she was seeing (I have no idea why I asked this, but I did). Her response: National Treasure 2. I told her to have fun and we hung up. But something didn't sit right.
I racked my brain. Why would she go see National Treasure Two? A sequel to a movie that (to my knowledge) she had never seen? It didn't make sense. A Disney film? A sequel? Even for her, that wouldn't be one you would make a trip to a theater to see, especially if you'd never seen the first one. You would only do this if you were with a child that had seen the first one. This would be an excellent film to take a kid to see. Now I was fairly sure that my cousin had been right, but what to do?
I wound up doing the only thing I could think of in my panic. Five minutes before, my life was good, now with one phone call from my cousin, my whole world was shattered. I called Valerie. I had never even spoken with her on the phone before. I was a mess as I explained what was happening. She couldn't tell me anything, of course, even if she knew. She was Jenn's friend, not mine. I knew that, but I didn't know what else to do. She stayed on the phone with me for a long time, eventually she broke and told me I should go to the theater.
I caught my fiance coming out of the movies with another man and his child. I confronted her in the parking lot. She returned home that night, but things were very much over at that point. I wasn't sure I wanted to try to fix things, but she was sure she really liked this guy, a divorced 37-year-old Marine.
Two days later, I spent an evening with Valerie (with Jenn's blessing). From that day forward, Valerie and I spent almost every day together. It wasn't long before Valentine's Day rolled around. Jenn even went with Valerie to pick out a gift for me. By the end of February, we were very much in love. As it turns out, we were also very much pregnant. To me, there was no choice to be made here. I was in love with this woman like I've never imagined love could be. I had been with Jenn for seven years and to be honest, the last five of those were more for comfort than anything else. I would learn later that Jenn had been seeing other men for the entirety of our relationship, but that didn't matter anymore. I had found the one I was supposed to be with. The pregnancy sped up the process, to be sure, but Valerie and I were of the same mind and same heart on this one. We went together and picked out our rings in mid-March. On April 4, 2008, we were married.
There have been more than a few bumps in the road from that day to this one, but each time we've struggled, we've grown closer together. That pregnancy turned out to be our son, Leyton. At our 20 week ultrasound, we were told that Leyton (who hadn't been named yet) had gastroschisis, which is a birth defect that causes the intestines to push through an unclosed hole in the umbilical cord. The next few months were filled with stress of not knowing whether or not our child would live, let alone what his condition might mean. We had weekly trips to Columbus for ultrasounds and my relationship with Valerie was strained at best. The fact is that were really didn't know each other when we got married, so that compounded with the normal pregnancy issues and the stress of this diagnosis made life hell. There was also, of course, the fact that Valerie's first marriage had produced two small children and I was having to adapt to being a dad for the first time, and without a chance to really get to know the kids, either.
I can't tell you whether or not Valerie and I would have made it without Leyton. I lean towards no. When he was born on October 9 of that year, he had to spend 24 days in Children's Hospital waiting for, then undergoing, then recovering from surgery. In that time, Valerie and I lived in the Ronald McDonald House across the street from the hospital. I drove almost two hours each way to work and back every day. Our room, like all those at RMH, had no television, so the time we spend there was in isolation, by and large. We were forced, thanks to Leyton, to get to know each other like we never had before.
Leyton's conception was at least in part responsible for the timing of our marriage. Leyton's defect, which was successfully corrected with no further issues at all, was very much responsible for our truly falling in love with each other.
Valerie and I have now been married over three years. I can't recall a time, without trying, that we were ever apart. She and I share a trust that I have never known before and she puts up with most of my abrasiveness as well. There have been other trying times along the way, but nothing like what we went through over the last 16 weeks of her pregnancy with Leyton. During that time, there was more than one day that I wondered if we would make it at all, let alone still be together three years later.
17 months ago, Valerie and I welcomed Amity to the mix and the family seems complete. Of course, you never know what might happen if you're not actively NOT trying to get pregnant again.
Nothing that happened with Jenn was what I had wanted, but it all added up to me meeting Valerie. Nothing that happened with Leyton's diagnosis was what anyone would want, but it lead to the strengthening of my marriage. It's funny how life throws you things that seem so terrible at first. I don't know how much I might have believed this before all the above took place, but I can say for certain right now that everything truly must happen for a reason. And I am so glad that everything that happened, happened exactly the way it did. I wouldn't have changed it for the world.
On our three-year anniversary, Valerie posted the following on her facebook status: "I'd like to tell you that three years ago today I married my best friend, but in reality, three years ago today I married a stranger who became my best friend." I don't think I'd be very happy at all if one of my kids winds up doing something as stupid as Valerie and I did, but who's to say it wouldn't work? It has been one strange trip, but the journey to here has been incredible. I might just be the luckiest man alive.
Now, I don't give a rat's ass what Tara Reid has chosen to do with her life, so this post has nothing to do with her (but it does make me wan to watch Van Wilder again - tremendous film). Since the intent, or at least a large part of the intent, of this blog is to give my kids a place to get to know me and my inner-most thoughts, I think the Reid marriage gives me a good enough excuse to tell the story of my wife and I.
This is a long and complicated story, but whose marriage isn't? Ours is a story unlike anyone's I ever heard though. Stay with me, I think you'll enjoy...
I first met Valerie several months after my then-fiance (Jenn) and I moved back to Lima from Bowling Green. Jenn had taken a job at a laboratory doing pharmaceutical research. It was there that she met Valerie and the two became good friends. On occasion, Jenn and I would visit the local bars and one such evening we were joined by Valerie and her husband. I remember seeing her for the first time; she wasn't especially tall, but carried herself in a way that made her look taller than her 5'8" frame. She walked with a confidence about her. She had the most amazing eyes I've ever seen, a pure blue that can't be re-created by crayola. I liked her immediately. She was amazingly alluring, she was sexy. (Sorry kids, but there is no other way to put it)
Fast forward about a year. Valerie's marriage had long since ended and she had been dating a few people. Jenn and I would talk and I remember telling her how Valerie was better than this new guy or that one. I didn't see her often and no, there was never anything going on between us, but Valerie was someone I did like. I can't say the same for some of Jenn's other friends.
It was late January of 2008 when Jenn left the house on a Friday afternoon. She was driving back home to her parent's house for the weekend, or at least that's what she had told me. This wasn't all that unusual. I was watching Top Gun on AMC that night when my phone rang. It was my cousin, who asked if Jenn was home. I told him she wasn't, that she had gone back to Canton for the weekend. "No she didn't, dude" he said "she's at the movies with some guy and a 12-year-old kid." My heart immediately went to my throat.
I called Jenn, no answer. I texted her, she responded that she couldn't talk. I called again, finally she answered. I told her what my cousin had said, sure (or at least desperately hoping) that he was mistaken; that it wasn't Jenn he had seen. She laughed a bit, but said she had to go. She was at the movies, she told me, but in Canton, with her friend Terri. I asked what she was seeing (I have no idea why I asked this, but I did). Her response: National Treasure 2. I told her to have fun and we hung up. But something didn't sit right.
I racked my brain. Why would she go see National Treasure Two? A sequel to a movie that (to my knowledge) she had never seen? It didn't make sense. A Disney film? A sequel? Even for her, that wouldn't be one you would make a trip to a theater to see, especially if you'd never seen the first one. You would only do this if you were with a child that had seen the first one. This would be an excellent film to take a kid to see. Now I was fairly sure that my cousin had been right, but what to do?
I wound up doing the only thing I could think of in my panic. Five minutes before, my life was good, now with one phone call from my cousin, my whole world was shattered. I called Valerie. I had never even spoken with her on the phone before. I was a mess as I explained what was happening. She couldn't tell me anything, of course, even if she knew. She was Jenn's friend, not mine. I knew that, but I didn't know what else to do. She stayed on the phone with me for a long time, eventually she broke and told me I should go to the theater.
I caught my fiance coming out of the movies with another man and his child. I confronted her in the parking lot. She returned home that night, but things were very much over at that point. I wasn't sure I wanted to try to fix things, but she was sure she really liked this guy, a divorced 37-year-old Marine.
Two days later, I spent an evening with Valerie (with Jenn's blessing). From that day forward, Valerie and I spent almost every day together. It wasn't long before Valentine's Day rolled around. Jenn even went with Valerie to pick out a gift for me. By the end of February, we were very much in love. As it turns out, we were also very much pregnant. To me, there was no choice to be made here. I was in love with this woman like I've never imagined love could be. I had been with Jenn for seven years and to be honest, the last five of those were more for comfort than anything else. I would learn later that Jenn had been seeing other men for the entirety of our relationship, but that didn't matter anymore. I had found the one I was supposed to be with. The pregnancy sped up the process, to be sure, but Valerie and I were of the same mind and same heart on this one. We went together and picked out our rings in mid-March. On April 4, 2008, we were married.
There have been more than a few bumps in the road from that day to this one, but each time we've struggled, we've grown closer together. That pregnancy turned out to be our son, Leyton. At our 20 week ultrasound, we were told that Leyton (who hadn't been named yet) had gastroschisis, which is a birth defect that causes the intestines to push through an unclosed hole in the umbilical cord. The next few months were filled with stress of not knowing whether or not our child would live, let alone what his condition might mean. We had weekly trips to Columbus for ultrasounds and my relationship with Valerie was strained at best. The fact is that were really didn't know each other when we got married, so that compounded with the normal pregnancy issues and the stress of this diagnosis made life hell. There was also, of course, the fact that Valerie's first marriage had produced two small children and I was having to adapt to being a dad for the first time, and without a chance to really get to know the kids, either.
I can't tell you whether or not Valerie and I would have made it without Leyton. I lean towards no. When he was born on October 9 of that year, he had to spend 24 days in Children's Hospital waiting for, then undergoing, then recovering from surgery. In that time, Valerie and I lived in the Ronald McDonald House across the street from the hospital. I drove almost two hours each way to work and back every day. Our room, like all those at RMH, had no television, so the time we spend there was in isolation, by and large. We were forced, thanks to Leyton, to get to know each other like we never had before.
Leyton's conception was at least in part responsible for the timing of our marriage. Leyton's defect, which was successfully corrected with no further issues at all, was very much responsible for our truly falling in love with each other.
Valerie and I have now been married over three years. I can't recall a time, without trying, that we were ever apart. She and I share a trust that I have never known before and she puts up with most of my abrasiveness as well. There have been other trying times along the way, but nothing like what we went through over the last 16 weeks of her pregnancy with Leyton. During that time, there was more than one day that I wondered if we would make it at all, let alone still be together three years later.
17 months ago, Valerie and I welcomed Amity to the mix and the family seems complete. Of course, you never know what might happen if you're not actively NOT trying to get pregnant again.
Nothing that happened with Jenn was what I had wanted, but it all added up to me meeting Valerie. Nothing that happened with Leyton's diagnosis was what anyone would want, but it lead to the strengthening of my marriage. It's funny how life throws you things that seem so terrible at first. I don't know how much I might have believed this before all the above took place, but I can say for certain right now that everything truly must happen for a reason. And I am so glad that everything that happened, happened exactly the way it did. I wouldn't have changed it for the world.
On our three-year anniversary, Valerie posted the following on her facebook status: "I'd like to tell you that three years ago today I married my best friend, but in reality, three years ago today I married a stranger who became my best friend." I don't think I'd be very happy at all if one of my kids winds up doing something as stupid as Valerie and I did, but who's to say it wouldn't work? It has been one strange trip, but the journey to here has been incredible. I might just be the luckiest man alive.
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