Monday, November 15, 2010

Not a very fun or funny post...RIP Zahra

There was a 10 year old girl that disappeared sometime ago in North Carolina.  She was a survivor of bone cancer, lung cancer, had a prosthetic leg, and wore hearing aids.  Most likely she was killed at the hands of an evil person very close to her.

And I don't really want to get into any of that...

But, I have to.

I have a 9 year old daughter.  A 7 year old son.  I consider myself some sort of survivor type myself.  And, this page exists so that I can let the things that run around my mind find a

It isn't really the horror that Zahra likely faced that haunts me.  I'll leave that for Nancy Grace to sort out.  We need Nancy, though, standing on that fence, letting us know that evil people roam the world...because they do.

I walk into my daughter's school everyday to pick her up.  Over the lockers of the 4th and 5th graders, they keep their pictures, with their creatively captured names.  Today, I wandered around and made sure that I knew what each kid looks like.  I picked a locker out of the line, and wondered how it would affect my world...our world if it were that kiddo...or mine.  Not from an anger-ridden go draw and quarter the bastards that do these things...sort of attitude...which does come to mind.  But from the story perspective.

Survival isn't about making it.  It isn't about sticking around to breath a few days more.  It's about clawing and screaming at life because you have a story that you are living.  It is the Story that makes our lives what they will become worth.

I'm troubled because the dark side has succeeded this time in silencing what must have been an utterly fantastic story about a girl that bitch -slapped cancer, not once, but twice, and struggled to keep going...the few pictures that we saw of Zahra had her smiling in most every one.  She made it through the hard part, but she couldn't outrun the darkness that surrounded her, and it got her.

"Does anyone know where the love of God goes, When the waves turn the minutes to hours?"  Gordon Lightfoot wrote about the crew of the Edmund Fitzgerald.

I don't know, but I am coming to understand that it happened on our watch, and it is an unforgivable thing to let a little girl with a fantastic story slip away unnoticed into the hands of evil.

John 1:5 tells us in God's Bible that the light shines into the darkness and that the darkness cannot overcome it.

It is days like today that all I can do is a shed a little tear and sincerely hope that is true.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

What the was THAT?

Amateur Duffers...the ones that don't play enough, and believe they could be better, or at least not suck quite so bad...this one's for you.

I had the chance to play golf with my older brother, and my son last weekend.  It was fantastic.  So fan-fucking-tastic that I almost drove my cart into the pond to stop the pain.  Seeing as how I love both my brother and my son...I'll back up a tiny bit.

My older brother and I have an odd relationship.  He's part father, brother, and close friend to me.  He's a technically minded problem solver and uber-efficient.  I'm a socially minded problem sorter-outer, and sort of a "we'll get the work done on time, don't rush me" kind of guy.  Other than that...we think a lot alike.

My son, Malcolm, is 7.  He's a fantastic kid, and he's learning the great game of golf.  [beaming dad moment...]

I was ready to play.  Hadn't played in a couple of weeks, and I've been working on my putting all year long (which has improved greatly, I would add).  I'm trying very hard to make golf a horseshoes kind of mentality (just hit it AT the target over there somewhere), as opposed to darts (I'm trying to put the ball right THERE).  I'm enjoying golf and slowly getting a bit better, though my scores don't show it...and I guess that's all that matters.

So, we play.  I'm hitting the ball ok, and worried that the track we're playing isn't good enough for my country club belonging brother.  Which really doesn't matter, golf is golf if you love the game, but I'm mental...don't forget that.  I wouldn't have a blog if I wasn't mental, and my life would be no fun.  

I figure out later, that my major malfunction started on the second hole.  My son, wishes to tee of on every hole and hits the ball...maybe 100 yards on a good hit.  NOTE:  he was not hitting the ball well this day.  He's taking his time (like I taught him) and is playing a bit slow.  On the other hand, Captain Efficiency is always ready to go and can play 9 holes in about an hour if its open.  

I become a nervous sandwich, uncomfortably wedged between the "fast and the furious" older brother and "methodical perfectionist" son.  

3rd hole:  I hit a tee shot with a 5 iron.  I think the people a street over to the left of me are in danger of losing a window.  "What the fuck was that?"  I say...and yes, the boy was standing there.  My brother, is in that all too awkward position of having hit a solid tee shot and just watched his playing partner crap himself on the tee... I hit another ball...which also goes left, but will play.  

I was settling down by the 5th hole and getting my head back on straight, managing the the plodding and the speeding...I put my tee shot right in the fairway.  My approach shot, however, somehow travels through space, time, and the wind, to fly a 9 iron 165+ yards over the green into the river.  "Really, I really want to know what the fuck that was?"

Have you ever been playing, and enjoying yourself, recovering slowly from a bad hole...settling down, hitting a few solid shots...then tackle a shank-a-saurus rex right in the middle of the fairway.  Where does that come from?

Now, I don't mind playing poorly.  I drink when I play poorly.  Normally, I don't drink when I play golf, unless its a tournament...then all bets are off and I'm drinking some beer.  Consistently poor play can be put up just hunker down and adjust your play.  No trick shots, nothing fancy, no pin looking, just middle of the green and club down swing smooth.  I play badly all the time...I'm used to it.  

Psychotic that's a bastard wrapped up in a box with a crank on the side of it.  Turn it, turn it, listen to the music...get comfy, play some golf and BAM, the Shank-In-The-Box just pops out of fricking nowhere. This drives me up the wall.  Never knowing where the ball is gonna go.  How do you build confidence in your golf game, when you really would like to take bets on the directional spin of your next shot just to make some cash.  Par a hole, putt for birdie, put the demons behind you, move and four shots later, you nearly take the cart girl's head off and she's parked in the cart barn!

At the turn, I tell my son politely..."Hey buddy, we need to pick it up a little bit, Uncle Paul and I checked the time and it took us a long time to play that first nine holes (2.5 hours).  So we need move a little quicker ok?"

"Dad, I mean, it's not just me that's making us play so slow...[pause]...I mean, you've been looking for your balls a lot."