Being Myself

The track is leaning back to the east, so if it holds we’ll probably be spared most of Fay’s oomph. Older sister is right in the thick of things again though (this will be their first storm since Katrina - not that this will/could be anything approaching that). Just in case there’s a Charlie like shift in track, public schools, the courts, and most local and state offices are closed tomorrow in Pinellas County.

I just got done rounding up and stowing the loose stuff outside. I’m thinking we’ll skip boarding up the windows this time. I’m usually a bit of a worrier, but even I’m feeling a little complacent this time around.

Would you believe me if I told you the two day forecast track doesn’t bother me either? Personally, this forecast seems like the worst one yet, and not just because it’s 48 hours out. As most residents of the gulf coast will tell you (many of us are amateur meteorologists), the northeast quadrant of the storm is typically the worst.

In any case, we’re now officially under a hurricane watch.

You’d think we’d have this down by now, but state emergency managers seem to have been a disorganized mess this weekend. First, they announced this morning that schools would be closed in the bay area tomorrow and Tuesday. Then they announced later this morning there was a mistake, and school officials were still meeting - presumably to make a decision. Then they announced schools would open as planned. Hillsborough and Pasco County schools open tomorrow, but Pinellas schools aren’t scheduled to open until Tuesday.

I’ve gotta tell you, that sounds awfully optimistic.

Image from the National Hurricane Center.

In some ways 2004 was a rotten year. We were peppered with hurricanes and tropical storms, Cheryl had to stay home on bed rest due to an at risk pregnancy, and to top it off… Bush won a second term that November.

Sitting around waiting for the 11am, 5pm, and 11pm updates from the National Hurricane Center brings back some memories - but not all bad though.

A very pregnant Cheryl checks for an update on the trusty old eMac on September 5th, 2004.

After a string of storms that September, Adam was born on the thirtieth. He was a month early, but as healthy as you could hope. He caught up quick and hasn’t looked back.

Cheryl thinks I’m nuts (what else is new), but I’d forgotten how soon Adam was born after the storms passed through.

That was one wild year.

I was just checking the county elevation maps - you know, just for kicks - no real reason. I noticed we’re eleven meters above sea level. Woo-hoo!

We went out tonight to refresh our supply of batteries and non-perishibles, to try and beat the rush. If the track still put’s it here Tuesday in tomorrow’s forecasts, we’ll probably start to see the stores’ hurricane supplies thin out a bit tomorrow night.

It wasn’t exactly a surprise. Although I’d never seen it happen before, we’d known he’d done it recently at a friend’s house. Still, I was only able to stifle my response due to near superhuman control of my airways and vocal cords. I felt my diaphragm spasm, putting a fair bit of pressure on my lips and nose, but I’m proud of the fact I have a little self control.

Right in front of me, my forty-seven month old son called his sister a meat-head.

I’m so ashamed my first instinct was to laugh. What is it about kids misbehaving a certain way, usually for the first time, that I find so funny? It’s the novelty that’s the key. Usually by the second or third time this problem of mine cures itself. Unfortunately (in this case), Beth is no fool. I had a lot of explaining to do. She was not amused at all.

There’s been a lot of talk in the news here recently that hurricane season was about to giddy-up. Sure enough, look what arrived in my inbox this afternoon:

A few months ago Cheryl and I were talking about what it would be like to live in Vermont. I think I might be willing to trade severe tropical weather for a little cold air in the winter. I say a little like it’s a trifling matter. Fifty degrees, zero degrees… what’s the difference?

You know, I’ve been thinking. It seemed like our little off-ramp on the hurricane superhighway was pretty quiet while my sister was living Indy. She’s been here all of a month and we’re already looking at a possible landfall.*

Hum…

*The five day forecast for a tropical storm is almost worthless, but we’ll be keeping an eye out just the same. It’s weird how these things pop up, even when you think you’ve been keeping up with the news.

I just want to get one thing straight from the get-go: I’m nobody’s old man.

A few things recently have bothered me though. No, I’m not talking about the last few posts. For one thing, I keep running across fellow parents who look like they were born after I graduated from high school. That’s just wrong, but the crushing blow came this evening. Half the teachers we met at Beth’s middle school open house looked like they could be her older brother or sister. I wanted to ask someone if I’d gotten the wrong night. Was this the start of something new? Had I come for the first annual “let your daughter do your job day?” Surely these people weren’t old enough to have graduated from college. The gym teacher looked like he hadn’t shaved - ever.

I’ve never felt so motivated to go out and get more exercise.

This one’s another entry that sat unfinished for a while. I’m not sure why I admit to these things.

I’ve said it before, but I can’t say often enough: I’m really proud of my daughter. She has a beautiful mind; but as sometimes happens, hers comes with a few quirks. Throw in a few genetic bumps and you’ll see a road to academic success that hasn’t always been smooth - despite her gifts.

Many people have said Beth’s teacher this year was a really good one. As far as I knew Beth agreed. She retired mid-way through the year though, and a newly certified former teacher’s assistant took over. Although the assistant had been in Beth’s class the last two years, and Beth adored her, I was a little worried about Beth losing a good teacher.

It turns out I picked the wrong time to worry.

I don’t remember how it came up, but Cheryl said to me the other night, “I hope Mrs. (the retired teacher) was wrong.”

“Huh?”

“When she said Beth would never be a scientist, or earn a PhD….”

Cheryl kept on talking, but I only had ears for the first part. I was obviously supposed to remember this conversation, but somehow I didn’t. It was news to me - shocking news. Beth had a few problems a few years ago, but her grades have been exceptional and she’s shown a real enthusiasm for learning - science (and astronomy) in particular. What the heck was I doing when this came up the first time? I was mindlessly nodding my head as I played with the computer, no doubt.

It’s possible this happened while I was sick late last year, though I still should have noticed.

Maybe I’m missing something… something fundamental about the nature of school. I thought elementary school (besides teaching the basics**) was about encouraging kids to explore possibilities, about giving them the keys to the ground floor of a vast, limitless, and intriguing world. Beth is just starting to grasp some of the wonders of our world - with both hands.

Excuse me for using for being a bit juvenile, BUT WTF? (Somebody’s got a potty mouth tonight.)

I can understand not wanting to set a child up for failure, but isn’t it a little early for career counseling or collegiate academic advising? If fifth grade isn’t the time for dreaming of possibilities, when is? Maybe… just maybe, she should (at least) get to high school before we starting thinking about the right PhD program.

Just in case you didn’t catch on, I AM MAD. You know what? There isn’t a damn thing I can do about it, nothing that’s immediately satisfying anyway. I’m not usually a confrontational person - in person anyway. But given the proper motivation, I’ve been known to make an occasional exception.

You hear a lot of parents say they’ve tried, even ones that appear on the local news - with their arms conspicuously bound behind their backs. But I really think we have. We’ve encouraged her interests with trips to the library, books and videos. I’ve dug out my old telescope, braving the haze and light pollution to explore the solar system. We’re familiar with the space center and the local science museum (though I can’t in good conscience claim selfless parenting on this point - I love going). We’ve had many discussions that pushed the limits of my meager knowledge of science… like one we recently had about light. (Look! Up in the sky! It’s a wave… it’s a particle… NO, IT’S BOTH!) She’s done well academically (straight As). She’s done well in the activities we’ve tried to shore up her shortcomings (re: focus & Tae Kwon Do).

Maybe I need to learn to stop worrying and love the bomb. (Every now and then it’s fun to just type the first thing that comes to mind, even if it doesn’t make much sense or fit in a particular context.)

So what do I believe, or more appropriately, who? The new teacher… the one that’s been with Beth the last two years (1.5 as a classroom assistant), has since recommended her for every accelerated academic program they offer in middle school (meaning she’ll be bussed out to a school further away). One teacher has encouraged Beth to look to the stars (literally and figuratively), while the other preached tempered expectations.

You know what? I change my mind. There is something I can do right now. I can encourage my daughter to reach as high as she wants.

* Beth starts sixth grade next week.

** Florida is one of those places that has embraced standardized testing as the ultimate measuring stick for education. As a result, some teachers and schools teach what’s covered on the test… no less, and nothing more.

This Sunday I had three weddings on my mind. I attended mass with my Catholic in-laws for the second time since my infamous Orlando walkout. If I said it was the first time it would sound a lot more impressive, unless you knew I was lying. We were taking on mass to celebrate Cheryl’s parents’ forty-fifth anniversary. That’s pretty cool, but just being in the church brought back some of my fondest memories. (Not counting the Orlando incident.) It’s where Cheryl and I were married a little over fourteen years ago. I may be a little biased, but it was the best wedding I’ve ever been to. At some point I got off memory road, giving me the chance to spend most of the sermon daydreaming about the third wedding: my trip to Wisconsin later this week for my cousin’s wedding. Maybe you don’t think Wisconsin is exciting, but it will be the second furthest I’ve traveled from home. Note: I’m not counting trips to New England, mostly because it’s inconvenient, but also because it’s where I used to live (MA being the only state I can say that about) and it’s where much of my family is from. It will also be my first trip outside the state since I got sick. Plus, I’ll get to see some family I haven’t seen in a really long time. In the words of the cool kids from my high school days, I’m stoked.

Now I’d like to take this opportunity to thank the server at our office for burning out this morning, making this post possible. Many organizations have striven for the elusive “paperless office,” and in many ways we’ve achieved it in my department. But the flip side is there’s not a lot to do when the ‘puter ain’t working. “Open the pod bay doors Hal.”

For those of you outside my inner circle (re: not in my head), the last month or so has been crazy busy - on the Kauffman scale of activity anyway. Now that Beth is on the road to middle school (junior high) and the after school activities have shifted a few hours later, I find myself with less feet-up time. It’s left a lot less time for leisure pursuits, but I’m not complaining. Days have never seemed so short, which I take as a good sign. Nowadays I’ve got just enough time for my kids, work, my bike, a pinch of news and the occasional post. And that’s with a reduced sleep schedule.

Alright, maybe it doesn’t sound all that busy, but I can’t imagine what I’d do if I had a job with more time demands. Not being able to imagine it is probably a big reason why I don’t.

Last week I lost an office but I gained a cubicle. It was all part of the state’s plan to join the effort to rid western civilization of the scourge known as privacy. It’s true that some employees have done everything in their power to prove they don’t deserve privacy, spending their time on the clock performing a wide range of activities unrelated to that which they are paid to do. My problem isn’t the lack of privacy though. If I had privacy issues, do you think I’d discuss as much as I do on this blog? No, my problem is all the damn quiet.

When my group was in a suite of private offices we all spoke at a normal volume, and there was something comforting in the sounds of a busy office. Now when folks speak it’s in hushed tones, practicing good cube etiquette. It’s damned unsettling. There’s something about a whisper that’s sinister. Conspiracy, death, disease, gossip… it’s all associated with an ominous whisper. Even when someone does make a loud noise, it’s oddly muted by all these infernal cloth partitions. It doesn’t go away, it just has the sharp edges filed off, making every sound seem like a desperate church whisper. If you’ve ever been to a church with lots of carpeting and plush pews, you know what I’m talking about. Sounds are dull and uneventful, compared to the sounds of our old offices, with lots of hard surfaces that kept the noise alive and vibrant.

The sounds of hustle were like a cue to work hard, maybe even a catalyst. It kept me awake and alert, like a workout mix. Now, even though the faint sound of a pencil dropping can be pinpointed from half a dozen cubes down the row, it’s like someone singing a soft lullaby. The way I’ve been sleeping lately, that’s the last thing I need. Even worse, with all the whispering I’d probably have a nightmare.