Getting past my Rev-A-Lay-Shun, my thoughts zigged to Dr. King. Taylor Branch was in D.C. last week hawking the third volume of his most excellent biography of Dr. King.

The biggest impression that I took away from the first volume, Parting the Waters–and be assured that in the 1K pages there was alot of impressions–was that Martin Luther King wasn’t a superhero. He just did super-heroic stuff. Despite the fact that he didn’t walk on water. Despite the fact that he was a sinner. Despite his doubts-even about his faith. Despite the fact that he wasn’t always the best father, husband, pastor, confidant, leader.

None of this diminished Dr. King in my thinking. It made me think that even an extremely human (read full of faults) like myself can do great things. Dr. King, despite being a man, did.

So Bono, no flies for the theatrics.

Saw Bono last night. He wasn’t singing, but talking to a group of wonks and fans about justice and our obligations. There was a bunch of stuff to think about–yet, I found myself thinking a single thought this morning.

Bono was speaking from handwritten notes and lost his place during a riff on potatoes and had to recover and everyone felt closer to him when that happened.

I thought about that and then I thought, this guy is a major rock star. He does these HUGE shows with pyro-technics, new medleys of big hits, choirs, orchestras, new arrangements. Like he doesn’t rehearse?

Cynicism doesn’t kill the message–of which there is much remaining to think about. But cynicism sure can derail the thinkings about the real important thoughts.

It was my mother’s turn for the hospital.* And she hated it. Man, she hated it. She hated the noise, the constant interruptions to get shots while eating (they don’t say “excuse me” they just stab). She hated others being in control. Also, the hospital gown wasn’t attractive.

She had had a tumble and was admitted to check things out. She was convinced that there was a conspiracy to keep her after they discovered that she had an elevated white blood count. “I came in for my head, not some infection.” So she decided to leave. First, though, she had to call the local sibling. At 3 a.m. The local sib went in for a consult.

Her: I’m leaving.
Local Sib: That isn’t a good idea.
Dad: How far do you think you would get without a change of clothes, or your wallet?

Thank God for Dad. His rationality, however, was lost on the person who needed it most. The Local Sib was sleep deprived due to the patient calling all night. If this was a movie script, I thought, nobody would have been on the side of the person in the hospital bed. This was the time to somehow flip the script. So I forced myself to think that the heroine in this film was righteous to be paranoid and demanding. I even developed a good backstory and reasons for it. So, when I walked into the hospital I was feeling less irrational and angry myself. This was good.

I hope somebody benefited from drugs, though.

* This has been a hospital heavy year for us. The spouse was in for blowing up with an allergic reaction (first one in 50 years), me for excruciating back pain in which I was ambulanced 1.5 blocks since I was immolated, the 14 year old had his left paw crushed by an overly large frosh lineman, and the 11 year old had to be x-rayed and wrapped after a tragic monkey bar accident. Oddly, we had largely avoided the ER pretty cleverly up till this point.

What is a memoir? Is it supposed to be for real? Isn’t it always at least a bit made up? Don’t authors protect friends and families? Embellish a story? Exclude REALLY important details that might be embarrassing?

What about adding details that makes the author more interesting? A hotter girlfriend? Better in bed? Triumph over enemies? Scoring the winning point?

Is a story more interesting because it is true? Like the 911 Commission Report? Or the Illiad? Or Bob Woodward‘s beloved access with Bush 43? (Okay, I admit that I am still so THROUGH with him!)

Does it matter if the book is autobiographical? Or “based on” experiences of the author?

Is it okay for an author to punk his or her readers? Is it okay when it’s done on MTV to celebs for entertainment? Or on Candid Camera? What about The Princess Bride—Goldman pretends to “find” a novel and provide “just the good parts” with the ultimate purpose of fleshing out a screenplay?

What about if there were no weapons of mass destruction? And, perhaps most importantly, how does pro wrestling fit into this conversation?

You know, it’s not easy writing a highly-regarded blog. Think about THAT!

Here’s something that I hadn’t thought about. And I am not very advanced in my thinking on this, more like curious.

Heard from a friend today. Haven’t been in touch for a while and she mentions that her kids (a senior and a freshman) are both away at boarding school.

Hmmmm. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry? Military school for an out-of-control teen? Nope, these very nice kids are at some bucolic schools in the East.

Here’s my thing–and I will be investigating–how do people who didn’t go to boarding schools themselves end up sending their kids to boarding school? I have known people who went to high school at Eton or at Exeter. In these cases there was a family member (like father, grandfather and great-grandfather, for example) who had gone and there were some geographic challenges. One friend hated it. Another friend absolutely LOVED it. But that didn’t put the boarding option in my head. Actually, it would never have been on my list.

Not that I think that it is a bad idea. (Other than the fact that I would desperately miss the kids.) And, I can see why some kids would just love it. I just would never have considered it. And now, I am wondering what gets people to consider it. How do things get on parents’ lists? Like why do we decide on piano lessons, or art tutors, or sleep away camp, or private versus public school? Or if the kids can play M-rated games, or not? If it’s okay for the girlfriend to spend the night with the teenage son? Or if you serve drinks to under-agers at your house rather than have them go out? But now I am getting negative, and there isn’t anything negative about boarding school. Or am I thinking that?

Today the 14 year-old said that he is tired of Christmas. I looked at him askance.

HIM: Well not really tired of Christmas.

ME: Hmmm?

HIM: It’s the Christmas music. That’s what I am tired of.

Yet, he just downloaded a new Christmas classic, “All I want for Christmas is to Get it Crunk,” by dem dirty boyz.

“Courvoisier on Christmas Eve, and smoking christmas trees on christmas day…And Santa I been very good this year, so can you make dem two felonies on my record disappear?” This is overlayed on a beat machine behind “The Nutcracker Suite.”

ME: You really tired of Christmas? Let’s just kick it with the Dirty Boyz and have a crunk New Year.

Okay, today the REAL final report came from the artist formerly known as the 9-11 Commission and now called the 9/11 Public Discourse Project. Don’t worry about the new name, though. They are closing up shop at the end of the month.

So, bottom line, after four years, and a billion gazillion dollars we are no safer than we were before September 11. While that might be a bit of an exaggeration–frankly awareness is much better and communications among and within agencies, governments and the private sector had no where to go but up, Governor Blanco notwithstanding–the report card would make me beat my kid.

Former Governor Kean (R-N.J.) was, how you say, pissed. So were the rest of the former commissioners. It was a huge indictment of the efforts to make this country safer. Now the question is “what’s next?” Hope we find out before we send out the next national 911.

It’s easy for me to be thankful. I have a lot to be thankful for. A sleepy dog is at my feet, great music surrounds me, my kids are doing their kid things in the other room–yet would run in and give up a kiss if beckoned. And my spouse is a super-hero.

We’ll be out of town for Thanksgiving for the first time since my kids arrived. The 11 year old asked, “How many people will be there?” I said, “Four.” He said, “Four families?” I said, “Nope, the four of us.” Something else to be thankful for.

[And to my loyal reader, I will be back after the Thanksgiving holiday–DocThink]

When our relatives are at home, we have to think of all their good points or it would be impossible to endure them. ~George Bernard Shaw

We don’t pick our families. I think, though, as we grow up and have our own subfamilies (spouses, partners, kids, dogs) we build a semi-permeable membrane around ourselves. There has to be some exchange of famili-ness with the uber-family, hence the semi-permeability. But we live within the membrane walls.

Sometimes, we bump against another’s membrane wall. Not so much with our parents. I can walk in the house, open the fridge to shop around for grub. When my kids get big, I hope they look through my cupboards, too.

But with the sibs’ families, we each create our own versions of adulthood. When we talk about each other, though, it is through the lens of childhood. Mom’s favorite is still the favored one, and the wild one–even after they become respectable–is referenced by those old days.

These are not inherently dysfunctional relationships. Maybe just some parts, maybe none. I wonder, though, if I am seeing this, am I just building within the walls of my own cell, or that I am I making my cell’s walls more porous?