David Vienna's Blog, page 140
March 14, 2018
Hey, guys. Lulu would like you to meet her adopted bro, Johnny....
Hey, guys. Lulu would like you to meet her adopted bro, Johnny. He is the littlest dog that ever littled.
We fostered him for a while and decided to just adopt him. He’s a tad skittish (we think he may have been abused), but Lulu’s helping him adjust.
March 10, 2018
Goddamn Robots
The boys earned some money recently and wanted to get something to celebrate. So we went to the toy store and they bought some Big Robots R/C Fighting Robots. We got ‘em home and they didn’t work. At all.
So we returned them and they got a Hexbug Battlebots Rivals set. Got it home, played with them for 5 minutes, then one literally shattered. I’m on my way to return them. To the same damn store.
The boys have now decided to save their money.
March 8, 2018
I don’t talk about my parents a lot on here. That’s mostly to...
I don’t talk about my parents a lot on here. That’s mostly to respect their privacy. Like, I don’t mind telling you that I pulled a muscle in my back while pooping, but I’m not sure my parents would appreciate that kind of transparency.
That said, I figured International Women’s Day would be a great time to really introduce you to my mother. I mean you and I have known each other a while. It’s time to take this to the next level, don’t you say?
My mother’s name is Patricia. Most people call her Pat. When she and my dad split, she never remarried and I think that’s because she was already married to her one true love: journalism.
She grew up in a small town, if you could even call it a town. It was basically a smattering of farms separated by miles of fields and pastures. (She learned to drive a car by driving the family tractor, if that gives you an idea.)
After graduating college, she immediately sought work at a newspaper. Back then, papers would only hire women to write about fashion. Though she had no interest in the topic, she took a job as fashion reporter just to get in the door. However, she quickly showed she was meant for than writing about hemlines and frocks and she was placed on the news desk, covering a ton of amazing local and national stories.
One of my favorite stories about her is when she covered the 1966 Hough race riot in Cleveland. That’s where she and my father first met. (He was covering the story for another paper. And forgive me, Dad, if I don’t have all the details correct. This is how I remember it.) Apparently, as a few black guys involved in the riot were getting into her car, he asked her if she’d like to get coffee sometime. She said maybe later, but she was buying the guys burgers at that moment. You see, she was working the story. No time for dating.
Over her lifelong career, she met Malcolm X, The Beatles, Bruce McCandless II and Robert L. Stewart (the first astronauts to do an untethered spacewalk), Cal Ripken, Jr., and tons more amazing people. She would come home from work and tell me and my sister all about who she interviewed and what was interesting about them.
When money was tight for us, which seemed to be all of the time, she could’ve found a job in communications or marketing—typical careers for former journalists. But she loved it too much. Instead, she would get a second or third job, working weekends and evenings at some customer service job and her days at a newspaper.
By then, she was working at two papers in Maryland (both owned by the same company). Her boss kept asking her to take over as editor of one of the papers, but she liked reporting and didn’t want to leave that position. Eventually, however, she agreed and ran the paper for years. Later in life, she moved back to her home state of Ohio and worked as editor of a small town newspaper. She loved small-town news the best. To the old adage “all politics is local” she had her own coda: “Small town politics is personal.”
And it probably goes without saying that she was also a great mom. She trusted my sister and I to make our own decisions about nearly everything, even if we made the wrong ones. She never talked down to us, but rather listened to what we had to say and talked to us as equals. That challenged us to think things through, stand up for what we believe.
She did this for my friends, too. When one of my friends’ parents kicked them out—which happened more than you’d expect—my mom always took them in. She made sure they were okay, but also that they had a plan, that they made their own decisions about how to go on with their head held high.
When I was in my early-20s and dropped out of college with the hopes of being the next Kurt Cobain, money was getting really tight for me. I started selling off stuff to pay bills. When my mom heard that, she told me, “Just don’t sell your guitar.” It made me cry that she understood how important music was to me, even if I failed at it. (And I did fail at it, miserably. But I still have my guitar.)
The picture above was taken sometime in the ‘80s. Nowadays, her health isn’t what it used to be. A year or so ago, I moved her out here to be closer to me, so I could more closely monitor her care. That has certainly been a challenge, but I also know I am getting to help her the way she helped me—by being present, by listening, by sharing stories.
So, everyone, this is Patricia. She was a pioneering female journalist, the hardest working woman I’ve ever known, and a phenomenal mom. Oh, and you can call her Pat.
February 28, 2018
Copies of my new book Are We There Yet? arrived! YAY!(Both boys...
Copies of my new book Are We There Yet? arrived! YAY!
(Both boys wanted their own copy just for the fold-out poster. Good thing they know the author.)
February 27, 2018
Forcing FailureThe boys were told they could test for their yellow-black belt (that’s the yellow...
The boys were told they could test for their yellow-black belt (that’s the yellow belt with a black stripe) in their tae kwon do class. They went for three weeks not practicing and repeatedly telling me they were ready to test.
I thought they weren’t. I thought they needed to practice. But they insisted. So I let them, not because I believed them, but because I felt like they needed to learn a lesson.
They tested during their next class. And they failed in front of all of the other students and their parents. Both of my boys were devastated and near tears.
The instructor gave them four days to practice and then they could try again. On the way home, we talked about what this proved: Without practice and commitment, nothing is learned, nothing is achieved.
I’d tried to tell them that before, but failure proved a better teacher.
They spent the next four days practicing. As I write this, they’re in their class. They test at the end.
I don’t know if they’ll pass. I hope they do. But if they don’t, at least they’ll know what to do next—more practice, more commitment. Because they now know failure is not an end, but a step, a motivator, and sometimes it’s the only teacher to which a child will listen.
February 22, 2018
THE KID WHO RECORDED THE FIRST PUNK RECORD (AND INVENTED SURF GUITAR)
For all of you music nerds: Please enjoy this article in which Deke Dickerson posits that my father-in-law Larry Collins invented punk music.
LET THE DEBATE COMMENCE!
This is the reason I’ve never played guitar in front of my father-in-law. Because if he heard how mediocre I was, he’d make me leave the family.
My selfie game is strong, y’all.
My selfie game is strong, y’all.
February 19, 2018
February 17, 2018
The boys are showing Grandpa Larry how to play Goat Simulator....
The boys are showing Grandpa Larry how to play Goat Simulator. This is not how any of us thought this visit would go.
