Trees

Yesterday marked my 48^th year on this planet. I greatly appreciate all of the well wishes and birthday greetings I received from friends both near and far. Around here, no big party was planned, no expensive presents bought. In fact, most birthdays in our family are no big deal.  We save the big celebrations for the milestones.

Like the first year you can put “teen” at the end of your age… that’s a big deal. It marks the beginning of young adult hood and lets parents know that their child is about to enter a state of temporary insanity for the next 3 to 6 years.

In 1976 the movie “The Omen” scared the hell out me and the rest of the country, Punk Rock was born and the United States of America celebrated its 200^th birthday of independence from British Rule. It was also the year I turned 13, got my first noticeable chest hair and received my first real “Stereo” much to my parents dismay.  

16 is another big one. The most notable reason… it’s the year when you are eligible to get your drivers license. It’s a time when you are permitted to experience the world around you parent free. Even if it is on a limited basis, you’re still unrestricted.

Once acquired, that piece of plastic with your picture on it is your “Ticket to Ride”, you can go solo, do your own thing, be your own person. No longer do you have to endure your parent sitting in the passenger seat wide eyed and white knuckled… stomping on the imaginary break pedal and checking your speed every 10 seconds.  You can come and go as you please… as long as mom and dad say it’s OK.

For me, 16 meant freedom in the form of a 1974 Chevy Nova. I was playing basketball with my friends in the back yard of our house on Davis Dr. when my dad pulled into the driveway. He tossed me the keys and said “I don’t care if you take it out in the middle of the street and burn it… it’s the last car you’ll get from me.”  

The once bright blue paint was beginning to fade along the hood and rust was launching an attack on the metal around rear fenders and trunk lid. It sat atop 4 miss-matched tires and rims, none of which had a hubcap and all but one wheel was missing a lug nut. The in-car entertainment system boasted an AM radio with 4 speakers, with only one working. As for the luxurious interior, it was appointed with a front bench seat that had maybe 14 strands of tattered cloth desperately fighting a loosing battle to keep the foam from escaping its original factory position atop the seat coils. 

It was without a doubt the most beautiful thing I’d seen in all of my 16 years.

At some point in our countries history the great minds of our society gathered together and declared that at the age of “18” you are; old enough and smart enough to vote, strong enough and brave enough to join the military and fight for your country, mature enough and stable enough to move out of your parents home and get married. You can do this all in the same day if you like and without any ones permission but your own.  

On that day, the 18 year anniversary of the day the doctor pulled you red faced and screaming from your mother body and administered your first ass whipping, you are now and will forever be known as an adult. 

But, if you want to legally drink alcohol at your going away to war, kiss me I voted today wedding reception… you’ll have to wait 3 more years.

So that makes 21 “the” birthday. The day when the constraints of your youth are cast aside and the summation of your years of knowledge and experience brings you to this moment in your life. You, my friend, can now legally purchase and consume liquid intoxicants.  Yes, you too will learn first hand the meaning of such phrases as “coyote ugly”, “calling ralph”, “driving the porcelain bus”, “drunk dialing”, “I love you, man!” and “I’ll never drink again”.  

So with all of that being said, 48 was just another birthday. I think we’ll add “50” to the big event calendar… yea… that’s a good round number. We’ll save the big party for that one. After all, that’s half a century… most trees don’t live that long.

MoFo 

Holes...

To quote Joe Pesci’s character Nicky Santoro in the movie “Casino”…

“A lot of holes in the desert, and a lot of problems are buried in those holes. But you gotta do it right. I mean, you gotta have the hole already dug before you show up with a package in the trunk. Otherwise, you're talking about a half-hour to forty-five minutes worth of digging. And who knows who's gonna come along in that time? Pretty soon, you gotta dig a few more holes. You could be there all fuckin' night.”

Unlike Nicky, planning ahead is a concept that seems to be lost on my progeny… a fact that I have become keenly aware of these past few months as my daughters attempt to “Forrest Gump” their way through life.

This lack of forethought and action has spawned all manner of emotions… such as regret for waiting until after the 6 inches of snow has accumulated before you attempt to get your 2 wheel drive mini-van out of your driveway so you can go to the store to buy a snow shovel… or the embarrassment, anxiety and sorrow that is derived from failing to complete the required school assignments and the consequences that their inaction has on a semesters final grade, and the resulting punishment given for those substandard marks… Finally, we have surprise, anger and self-pity… For failing to check fluid levels and preform basic vehicle maintenance and the resulting damage that this neglect causes to your engine and your limited personal finances. In all instances, advice was given prior to the said events, warnings of the consequences for failing to heed said counsel issued… and ignored, and “I told you so’s” distributed.

Unfortunately, their affliction (I believe the medical term is known as “Thick Headedness”) appears to be somewhat genetic. Much like myself when I was their age… My father’s advice almost always feel on deaf ears. I can recall the heated conversations I had with my father when I was a teenager. Many a time I conveyed to my dear old dad how absurd he and his antiquated views on life sounded and how unwelcomed his opinions and advice were.

“You don’t know shit” was my go-to response when he began his incessant rambling about integrity, personal responsibility and pride of a job well done. On occasion I would also use the ever popular “I heard you the first 100 times you gave me this speech”… not out loud, mind you… I happen to enjoy solid food and like my teeth in their natural and unaltered state… but in my head. Inside the steel trap that was my mind...  I really told him what a dumb ass he really was.  

Fortunately for him, over the years I gradually bent him to my will and point of view, until we finally have come to see most things “eye to eye”.  

So I’ll continue to spew my unsolicited sagely advice in the direction of my four daughters, using overtly foreign words like planning, integrity, preparation, effort, commitment, obligation, responsibility, and initiative… receiving in return looks of wonderment and confusion, knowing full well of the tongue lashing I’m getting inside their wise and all-knowing young adult grey matter. After all, what subjects other than lawn care, vehicle maintenance, and electronic gadgetry could a father possibly have any knowledge or experience in?

So remember, the next time advice, solicited or not, is given to you, consider the source. If it’s from someone who has a vested interest in your development as a human being…  then there’s a very good chance that their wisdom was gained from experience... both good and bad.

As for me, I’ll patiently sit here and wait for warmer weather, bluer waters and prepare for the upcoming Zombie apocalypse… So for now, one last word of advice… “You gotta have the hole already dug before you show up with a package in the trunk.”

MoFo