It’s an essential part of being a parent. Or a blogger. Especially a Colorado Rockies fan. There isn’t much in this world that doesn’t get a bit sweeter with belief. In fact, the lack of it is grotesque, like those Poptarts without frosting.
In the course of my discourse and my writing, I say stuff. Sometimes, it’s about Ingrid Michaelson or enchiladas. Other times, it’s about beliefs. Not just in Jesus or Buddha or the power of the changeup pitch, but sometimes.
If it was animated, I watched it. Even Johnny Quest. No. Not Johnny Quest. But just about everything else. Remember Wonder Twins? Did you root for the Really Rottens? Have a crush on Wilma Flintstone and Judy Jetson?
Oh – just me?
When I fly, I bring along the book 300 Writing Prompts. If I sit next to someone cool, I ask them to thumb through the pages and pick me a prompt. And then I write. Right there, in the book. In pencil. Until I fill up the page.
I’m writing this somewhere over what looks like Arizonewmexitexas. I’d know for sure if I could see if those are Cardinals or Cowboys car flags attached to cars down there. But honestly, Cowboys fans are everywhere like a bad itch.
I’m grateful for what this weekend past became.
A crew of colleagues in new roles for nearly everyone pulled off the improbable. We delivered a seamless international training event, somehow, someway. I likened it to watching a possum cross eight lanes of highway traffic unscathed.
The girls just don’t ask as many questions. They have answers. Or, they don’t look to me for them as they once did. This is okay. Seasons change in fatherhood. If they change back, I’ll be ready for that, too.
The list that once pushed 400 is down to 213.
That’s still a lot of Go Ask Daddy. Want to know something? Every single question I’ve answered in this space has genuinely come from my children’s’ mouths. If they never ask another, I’ll have enough for 42 more Go Ask Daddy posts.
The happy is easy: I have three wonderful daughters who enrich my life beyond measure. I also miss my dad. He died of leukemia three months before Hayden was born. This Father’s Day I again considered visiting his grave.
It’s in a beautiful spot, just under a mimosa tree that since has grown incredibly.
But it’s not where he is. It’s not where I feel him. I felt him so much more in the years just after his death. I’ve written about things I can’t explain. I feel as if my dad had to expend a lot of cosmic energy after death just to keep me from self-destructing.
I read a blog about cats. Since I was a teenager, I’ve usually had at least one. Cybill (named for Cybill Shephard.) Pumpkin (the kids named her – she was a calico and fit the name to a whisker.) Brownie, Cubbie, Baby, and Leo.
They were siblings I rescued.
I met Anne through a post on Katzenworld. She spun a beautiful tale of a cat she’d taken lots of adventures with. We began a correspondence. I discovered her adventures with cats were only part of her story.
You’re doing it even when you’re not doing it. You’re doing it, especially when you’re not doing it because little eyes are watching you. And also, you’re practicing those characteristics you’ll call on later when you are parenting.
It’s not the big moments, but the incremental tangles and triumphs that lead to what you become as a parent – and what direction your child takes as a result.
This list could have been 55 things, but I kept it to five. Let’s talk about it. Feel free to add to these five, or bring up an observable aspect of your own. Parenting has changed my life and shaped what I’ve become as a coach and a writer and so much more.
I’m on the last page of my first gratitude journal.
The thing’s destroyed. The back cover? Gone with the wind. If it wasn’t Star Wars themed, it might look like something a general in the Korean War might have kept. Or a messenger in the Spanish-American War.
Or just a dad with a messy bag and penchant for kettle chips.
It’s served me well. Not just physically. A completed journal means something to me. It means I had what it took to stick with something. I spent my childhood hearing I couldn’t stick with anything. It wasn’t false. But I’d have picked a different narrative.
It pains me to say that but also doesn’t. Camdyn didn’t give the most glowing review of Solo: A Star Wars Story. What we have feared for years seems to have come true: Disney might just be stinking up our story.
I didn’t ask for details.
We’ll see, though. When Disney first got ahold of Star Wars, I was apprehensive. I ended up crying in the theater! (My girls noted that all the other old dudes in there also cried.) I don’t want to cry sad tears again for the loss of the story I grew up with.
Sarah Gowher and I had been connected on LinkedIn. She posted about tacos, and predictably, I responded. This is how all the strong connections in history are made. Everyone from Brad Paisley, Will Smith to Nostradamus would agree.
I found that Sarah’s story has a lot to love in it.
Finding confidence, getting support from peers and moving ahead – that’s the theme in Sarah’s journey. I love that. I feel like many of you will find parts of her tale to identify with. She has confident mindfulness with hope for what’s next.