Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 561

An end to the funeral processional, at least for me

Far be it for me to attempt to eliminate something as solemn and traditional as the funeral procession from the burial traditions of the deceased.

I mean, if someone requested that I rid the world of the funeral procession or if I had the power to do so myself, I would. 

But I don't. 

Besides, doing so would be somewhat presumptuous of me.  Right? 

But just for the record, if I were to die, which would never happen because I plan on living forever, I do not want my remains transported via a funeral processional. 

We all have some kind of a GPS unit in our cars now, and those little flags that you hook onto the car windows look stupid, and there's no reason to slow down the living just because I'm dead, which again would never happen.

Just plug in the address of the cemetery into your GPS unit and meet me there, which is not necessary since I am planning on immortality. 

Besides, I have requested that my ashes be spread in a beautiful but somewhat annoyingly difficult place to reach, so no cemetery ride required at all.  But if my wife plans some kind of ceremony at this location or you'd like to sprinkle a bit of me as well, then simply input the address of the location into a GPS or print directions from MapQuest.

No need for a funeral procession, both because they are stupid and because I will never die.     

Okay?

They are morbid relics of a time long since gone, and they accomplish little save getting in the way of the living. 

Punishing my daughter and punishing myself

After refusing to allow us to change her diaper and put her in her pajamas, my wife and I picked up our daughter, plopped her in her crib, said goodnight, turned out the light and closed the door.

No pajamas.
No books.
No brushing of the teeth.
No combing of the hair.
No washing of the face and hands and feet.
No cuddles.
No hugs.
No kisses.
No tucking in. 

A complete break in the routine.  An almost absolute absence of the love and affection that has ended our day for more than two years.     

As Elysha closed the door behind her, we held each other in the hallway outside her room, feeling like terrible parents and great parents at the same time.

We did the right thing, I thought. I hate the right thing. 

In my next book, a mother says that the right thing and the hard thing are usually the same thing. 

That mother was right.

"What will we do when she starts calling for us?" I asked Elysha.

"We'll give her one chance," she said. 

"Okay."

No chance was ever needed.  Clara fell asleep immediately and never made a peep.

I couldn't believe it.

Apparently her disobedience had more to do with exhaustion than obstinacy.    

Now I sit here in the wee hours of the morning, writing this post, waiting for her to wake up so I can kiss her and hug her and tickle her like I would have last night.

Like I should have last night.   

I can't wait to enjoy all of the little things that I love so much but was forced to skip when I had to be a good parent and do the right thing for my daughter instead of doing the right thing for myself.

I'm a selfish man.  This parenting gig can be hard.

Gratitude journal: Wife

Tonight I am grateful for my wife, who turned to me about an hour ago and asked if I was planning on going to the Super Bowl if the Patriots win next Sunday and make it to the big game. 

Even though my daughter's birthday party is scheduled for that Sunday morning and the tickets and flight to Indianapolis would not be inexpensive, she simply asked if I was planning on going. 

Not to talk about it.

Not to debate it.

Not to convince me not to go.

Just out of curiosity. 

I had yet to raise the issue of going to the game, not because I was avoiding it or concerned with her possible response, but because I knew that she wouldn't stand in my way of going and would understand completely.

No anger. No guilt.  No outrage.   

I know many a husband who would have to ask permission to go to the Super Bowl, and only then after carefully timing their request to some particular bit of good news. 

Some would even have to trade the trip to the Super Bowl for some other equitable future privilege, as if there is an invisible scoreboard looming over their relationship, keeping tally of who gets what.  

My wife would never place me in a position to ask permission for anything, nor would I require her to ever ask permission.

I can't even imagine why any wife would want to place her husband in that kind of subservient, emasculating position.

Tonight I am grateful for my wife, as I am every day.  She is the perfect wife for me and the perfect wife in general, and I cannot help but think of myself as the luckiest guy in the world.

I can't tell you how incredible it is to think and believe this on a daily basis.

Sharing stinks

I'm working on a children's picture book entitled SHARING STINKS. 

Want to know where I got my inspiration?

Watch this:

Defying the odds, the most unlikely delivery ever, and burning Tebow in effigy

Highlights from the Patriots 45-10 victory over the Denver Broncos:

My friend, Eddie, purchased a random ticket for the game while still in Norway and then flew into the US the day before the game.  When he met us in the parking lot to begin our tailgate party, we learned that his seat was directly in front of ours. 

In a stadium that seats over 60,000 people, he managed to purchase the one seat available in our section. 

We hoped it was a sign of things to come.

Friends from California also arrived at the game, via train and taxicab, and texted me from the Patriots Pro Shop asking if we needed anything.  My friend, Shep, had been taunting me about a hat he purchased weeks back, and so I took a photograph of the hat atop his head and asked the girls to buy it for me.  They did, and then somehow we managed to find one another amidst the shanty-town of tents and Easy Ups that filled one of the many parking lots adjacent to the stadium.  

It was the most unlikely delivery ever.  A plane from California to Boston, a train to Mansfield, MA, a taxi to Foxboro, MA, a walk to the Pro Shop, and then a delivery to our tail gate.

And it was well worth it.  The hat rules.

Oddly enough, our friends from Norway saw our friends from California in the South Street train station in Boston but didn't know each other, so both groups eventually found their way to our tail gate party, where they reunited.

It was one of those strange days.  

There were thankfully few Denver Bronco fans at the game, but I did have a run-in with one after he became enraged over a fellow Patriots fan's derisive comment about his team allegiance.

"Why would you say something like that to me, man?" he yelled.  "C'mon! I'm a Florida Gators fan, so I like Tebow. Why do you have to hate on me like that?  What's your problem?"

Clearly this guy had never been to an NFL game before.  If he expected that he was going to be able to dress like an orange and not be berated, he was kidding himself. 

The two guys looked angry and ready to fight (which happens from time to time at game), so I jumped in and explained, "Look, man. This is Massachusetts and we are Patriots fans.  We don't even like each other.  There's no way in hell that we are going to like you."

This caused the people around us to laugh and the situation to diffuse. 

A few minutes later a Christmas tree labeled a Tree-bow was burned in effigy amidst the tents and grills in the parking lot.  Drunken Patriots fans danced around the burning tree, nearly catching themselves on fire in the process.

You never know what is going to happen in an NFL parking lot. 

Gratitude journal: Engaged readers

Tonight I am thankful for the readers who genuinely look forward to the words that I write here.

At a party on Friday night, a friend expressed her enjoyment for this blog and the anticipation that she feels about reading it each day. 

She said that she felt as if I was writing to her each day.

While I know that people are reading my blog, it's difficult to gauge the actual level of interest readers have in the words that I write. 

For at least one reader, interest is high, and for that, I am extremely grateful.   

Fruit salad

My daughter learned how to make fruit salad in school last week.

Not bad, huh?  She's only two-years old.

Come to think of it, I don't think I've ever made fruit salad.

She used a plastic knife, but still, it's nice to know that she is learning to earn her keep.

I'm hoping that laundry folding class is next. 

Just look away

I told a friend that I ended 2011 still unable to pick a Kardashian out of a lineup. 

She didn't believe me. 

In my younger days, I might have tried to convince her that it was true.  But I'm older, wiser and more of a jerk these days.  Instead I said, "Thankfully, I don't care if you believe me or not. It does not change the truth."

But it's true.  Unless you put a Kardashian in the lineup with a bunch of construction workers, I would be hard pressed to accurately point one out. 

Here's why:

I don't watch very much television. 

95% of my television viewing is time-shifted, so I see almost no commercials. 

I do not read magazines like People or US.

Actually, I don't read magazines at all.  I read articles originally published in magazines on the Internet, but I can't remember the last time I read from a physical magazine.    

I also rarely see magazines like People or US.  Most of my purchases are made at BJ's (no magazine racks) or in self-checkout lines at Stop & Shop (also no magazine racks).

When I find myself facing one of these magazine racks, I am typically occupied by something else.  A Twitter stream on my phone, an audiobook in my ear, or both. 

I actually know very little about the Kardashians.  From what I have gleaned through osmosis, their father was the attorney in the OJ Simpson trial and their step-father may or may not be former Olympian Bruce Jenner, who once graced the box of Wheaties that I ate as a child. 

I also know that one of the Kardashians married and then divorced a second-tier NBA player on the New Jersey Nets.

I know this thanks to the brilliant Andy Borowitz, who made fun of the Kardashian repeatedly on Twitter.   

I am happy that I cannot pick out one of these girls (are there two of them?) from a lineup.  It is a source of pride for me.  I hear so many people complain about their inexplicable popularity while simultaneously knowing so much about them.

If you don't want to have the Kardashians in your life, simply look away.  Stop reading magazines that earn a profit from celebrity baby photos, paparazzi pictures and Kardashian wedding rumors.

Stop tuning into programs like the Today Show, which seem to report almost exclusively on celebrity marriages, the British royalty, the latest YouTube phenomenon and the disappearance of upper-middle class, blond female twenty-somethings.

Just look in another direction.  There are people in this world who are genuinely worthy of our attention, and these people are constantly overshadowed by people like the Kardashians.    

Pay attention to people like Arielle and Austin Metzger instead.

Or Melissa Stockwell.

At least stop complaining about the popularity of the Kardashians while simultaneously watching their television shows, reading about them in People magazine and watching them on the red carpet (if that is something they do).  

But even better, let's just give our attention to people more deserving.  If we all just look away from people like the Kardashians, they will eventually go away. 

They already have for me. 

Gratitude journal: Inexplicable acceptance

Tonight I am grateful to my daughter for miraculously accepting a brand new babysitter with unabashed and inexplicable excitement. 

It has been months since Clara has had anyone but our regular babysitter, Allison, take care of her.  But when Caroline entered the house this evening, Clara ran to her with a wide smile and shrieks of delight.

There is nothing better than being able to say goodbye and goodnight to a happy child who doesn't seem to give a damn that you are leaving.    

A new way of speaking that my wife cannot object to. Right?

Early on in our relationship, I told Elysha that I wanted to begin speaking like the British. I wanted to begin using words like lift and boot and flat.

I wanted to tell people to "Sod off!"

I was very excited about this idea and expected her to feel the same. 

She made it clear that this could be a deal breaker in terms of our relationship, so I backed off.

But now I have an idea.

I listen to about four or five hours of podcasts and audio books a day. 

I know it sounds like a lot, but the Bluetooth headphones basically sit atop my head for much of the day, so whenever I am walking, driving, working out, doing chores or am otherwise occupied by activities that do not require my auditory attention, I am listening to a book or podcast.

With this in mind, consider this:

What if I began listening exclusively to British podcasts and audio book read by British readers?

Would I naturally begin to develop a British accent?

Or at least be able to pull off a fairly decent impersonation of a Brit?

After all, she complain if my way of speaking changes without any effort on my part.  Right?

Thoughts?