Category: Life in these United States

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A Boy's Life Dad Blogs Family Life in these United States

The Family (You Don’t Remember) Resemblance

 Weekend in PAI returned Sunday from a trip to Pennsylvania—Honesdale, PA to be exact—where I was visiting my maternal mother and my sister (oh ok, half-sister). Honesdale, in case it sounds familiar, is the sight of the parade at the beginning of the Gina Davis, Samuel L. Jackson flick titled “The Long Kiss Goodnight,” where Gina Davis plays a lowly-housewife jolted out of her hum-drum life only to find that she’s really a top-notch assassin with repressed memories. I give it two thumbs up.

At any rate, I made the distinction that this is my maternal mom because as many of you know (as if there were many of you) I’m adopted and have a caravan of family pieces scattered around the U.S. like goldfish crackers are scattered around the backseat of my truck. My maternal mom, lovingly self-referred to as “Bio-mom,” is a 50-ish aged woman enjoying a rebirth now that she and her husband (also father of my two half-sisters) have gone separate ways. She has a new boyfriend, a new hair-do, and has lost a number of pounds and has apparently sent them packing down here to Atlanta where they were delighted to find a DNA match for a new home around my waistline.

I did a lot of face studying while I was there this time, which is what one does when one looks nothing like anyone in their immediate family. And as one restauranteur my Bio-mom knew remarked upon meeting my sister and me, “Her…I see the resemblance, him, not so much. Must take after his father.” After which I simply sat and enjoyed the momentary noise of the crickets chirping outside until my Bio-mom filled the silence with, “He does.” Said restauranteur felt suitably embarrassed and beat a hasty retreat.

But it’s true, I don’t really look like my mother. I mean, perhaps there is some resemblance, but nothing like there is between my full brother or my two half-sisters so I really have no one to compare myself to.  Which I suppose is kind of good, unless I ever want to know what my hair will do by the time I’m 50 (I’m already going silver so I have a pretty good idea).

The weather turned nice and fallish just as I arrived and my mother and I suited up and took the bikes out on about a 15-mile jaunt. We kept up a pretty good clip actually, stopping a couple of times for a scenic break (the picture at the top is one break we took). I also got a couple of good workouts in at my sister’s house where her husband has set up a gym fancy enough to rival most hotels I’ve stayed at. So all in all, I felt good about all the wine and cheese I ate while I was there.

Monday morning I dropped by an old bosses’ office to say hi and I mentioned my weekend to him. Knowing that he is a recreational biker, I also mentioned that I rode about 15 miles this weekend. Then, as a courtesy, I asked how his weekend went and then I listened with increasing agitation as he explained how he did a 100-mile cross-mountain bike race up in the North Georgia mountains. Ah well, I guess I did ask.

I wonder what time the gym opens in the morning…

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A Boy's Life Dad Blogs Life in these United States

Childhood Memories and Zillow

I recently found an interesting Web tool called “Zillow.” It’s billed as a Real Estate tool that both agents and home buyers can use to sell and compare houses in a given market. It’s pretty neat in that it lets you, as a homeowner, see what your neighbor’s houses are assessed for, along with square footage, etc. So, if you think your house is bigger than your neighbors, but you weren’t sure enough to go crowing about it…well, now you can.

Another interesting feature is that it uses other freely available aerial photographs to show the houses. Granted most of the pictures aren’t detailed enough to see what color paint is on the house, but you can see the top of the house and the surrounding land.

I thought it’d be fun to look up some of my old stomping grounds from my childhood and sure enough, I was able to find them. For instance, our first house in Mobile, AL is now selling for about 95K, which in Atlanta prices, would get you a hovel in an undesirable part of town. So, I then looked up our second house, the one my family built with our bare hands, and while there was no value listed, I was able to see the general layout:

My house

When I lived there, we owned five acres on the NW side of a huge tract of wooded land owned by a great uncle-in-law. It appears that it now has been junked up a little bit and more trees cleared off, but it’s still clearly my old house. And boy does that bring up some memories…some bad, some good, some just plain old indifferent. It’s funny though how nostalgic seeing the place makes me.

For instance, that bare spot to the SE of the house…I cleared that out myself over the course of a couple of summers. Mind you, this was in the heat of Alabama summer. I remember working out there during the day (because my dad made me) and being completely soaked in sweat; then going inside the a/c and drinking gallons of sweet tea. I remember our Dobermans running around in the woods as I worked, chasing after who knows what. I remember the girls who used to drop by…well….never mind about that. Suffice it to say that there is apparently something to be said for a sweaty, slightly overweight teen-age boy holding an axe and a pair of lopping shears in the middle of a sweltering Alabama summer. Ah…the memories.

And oh the fishing. Fly fishing, bass fishing or just sitting on the banks with a cane pole in one hand and my faithful dog lying next to me hoping I’ll throw her a piece of my PB&J. It’s almost enough to make a guy get all choked up.

I never really had any desire to go back and visit my old home, until now. Now, I just need a good excuse. Hey, only four more years till my 20th high school reunion.

Man…now that’s depressing.

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Dad Blogs Family Fatherhood Life in these United States

The Family Tree

Family TreePrior to having children of my own, I scoffed at the idea of “It takes a village” to raise a child. My abhorrence might partly stem from the fact that the so-named book was released by Hillary Clinton (I say “released” because you know she had a ghostwriter), a person I have a particular dislike for.

Now that I have two children of my own, I find myself drawn to this idea of a village approach to child-rearing, especially when I talk to other parents who have willing grandparents that frequently offer to help watch the children while the parents take some free time. So my idea of a village you see, differs quite significantly from one Democratic hopeful in that I don’t want the “state” raising my children; I’d quite rather prefer it be people I know and love rather than some underpaid, sullen worker-bee who is only there because the public school system wasn’t hiring anymore lunch-room workers.

The only problem is, we don’t have a village support structure within arm’s reach. Oh, we have neighbors and we have co-workers, but in my mind, a village is full of people you grew up with-your family-and that’s what we don’t have. But not for a lack of sheer numbers mind you…we have that a’plenty. We have what you might call a “geographically challenged support system.” Let me explain.

On my side of the family, I have one dad, one maternal mother, one legal mother who adopted me along with my dad and who has been divorced from said dad for nigh on 28 years now. I also have an additional mother to whom I am very close. But guess what? None of the aforementioend tree branches live in even the same state. So even if they wanted to help out with the kids (which is questionable as far as at least half of them are concerned) they cannot.

On my wife’s side of the family, we have a traditional mother and father, along with six other siblings. Her mom and dad both work. After being a SAHM to seven kids, and immediately after my wife got pregnant with our first child, her mom announced she wanted to be a teacher. Additionally, between the seven kids, they now have 14 grandchildren. So, by the time the evening or weekend rolls around, they are in the same boat we working parents are in; they want their own free time and the very thought of taking care of two rambunctious children is about as savory an idea as taking a long road trip with the kids strapped into car seats for hours on end (see blog entry titled: “You gotta know when ta hold em…Know when ta fold ’em“).

So yeah, I’m a little bitter when my wife and I want to go out and have a date and it costs us an extra $40 on top of the date just to get someone to watch our kids…and that’s usually my wife’s little sister. I’m envious when friends tell me their kids are no longer allowed to go visit the in-laws for various, hygenic reasons. And yes, it’s annoying to have to take a vacation day off of work just so I can have the free time to catch up on yard work and maintenance chores that need doing around the house (ok, I occasionally work a round of golf into my vacation day too).

I don’t know…I’m just burned out I guess, and while I have a very promising, but short vacation coming up–sans family–I know that it will only be a matter of a a few days upon returning that I’ll be back in the doldrums again wishing for some time away.

So Mrs. Bill, I find myself swayed by your logic, but still sternly against your choice of execution. While I’d love to have the village, hell, right now I’d settle for a supportive telephone call from a few of its residents.

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Dad Blogs Family Life in these United States

The Hills are aliiiive with the sound of…bad jazz music

Nothing says fall like an arts and crafts (craps) festival, and this weekend marked the something-something anniversary of the Roswell, GA Arts and Crafts Festival here where I live.

Despite there being copious amounts of college football on the tele (ROLL TIDE!), I, knowing that my wife, who also enjoys football, wouldn’t be able to sit and watch it like I can (for which I would also feel enormously guilty), I knuckled down and suggested we all head over to the festival to “get out of the house.”

Personally, I didn’t really need to get out of the house…having enjoyed the cooler air in the a.m and again in the early afternoon doing some outside work, but it was the weekend and I do have a family, so…I offered to do the family thing.

As expected, it was far too many booths crammed into far too little space. People walking on top of people. People holding their little dogs because apparently they couldn’t bear to leave them home for a couple of hours. And also as expected, it was the same old amateurish crap you see from one year to the next and quite frankly, if you’ve seen one arts and crap festival, you’ve seen them all.

But wait! This one had a little something extra….my Boss!

It’s always a joy to be walking around all carefree like, and to come upon someone you generally try to avoid. Now, don’t get me wrong, my boss does try to be a nice person (to your face), but let’s not forget how she shoehorned me into this go-nowhere job and dictates against general company policy that I can’t work from home unless I have a “reason.” So as far as I’m concerned, she’s the spawn of satan.

The only problem is, she’s not bad looking. Not that this gets her any points with me, but based on the general picture I’ve painted of her to my wife, she (my wife) was quite surprised upon meeting her and all she said as we walked away from the awkwardly exchanged pleasantries was, “She’s not what I expected.”

So now I wonder…does my wife think that perhaps I overexaggerate things and that really my boss is a fine person? I mean, anyone fairly attractive MUST be nice right? Is there some “hot career woman” club that I don’t know about whose only requirements are that you be A) a woman B) good looking and C) career oriented? Does inclusion in the club automatically grant a woman clemency from scorn and derision? I wonder.

When I asked my wife what she DID expect, she said, “Someone frumpier.” Yeah, I can see how that might have come across, but I promise you, her looks have absolutely no bearing on her desire to prove her superiority to the men subordinate to her. Looks are a poor barometer for measuring how a person treats others. Even the evil queen in Snow White was a hottie…the handpainted mirror with the woven wicker frame made by a lady in Kwa Zulu Natal South Africa said so.