Category: us

about the family

42

This, of course, is the answer to the question of the universe. It is also the number of posts that I have. Hmmmm, makes you wanna think, no?

The issue, as you may recall, with the answer is that nobody knew the question. Kind of like a game of Jeopardy on steroids. Makes you think that you should be thinking about the question–or at least thinkin’ about somethin’.

Today I was thinking about cancer. We have it on both sides. My 85-year-old Dad was diagnosed with lung cancer this summer. Two weeks ago, his surgeon told him, “John, you are going to die from something, but it won’t be lung cancer.” Dad was blowing the weeds out of his suburban front yard last Friday.

My mother-in-law has advanced colon cancer. She is only 75–everything is relative. She had her info delivered before last Thanksgiving and had surgery followed by chemo. She has been doing miraculously well. She is feeling less better now, though.

A tale of two cancers, of two parents, of two families. My first thought about my Dad wasn’t a thought but a prayer. A prayer that he wouldn’t suffer. My mother-in-law moved in with us for her treatment, and we supplied the chocolate treatment, which was key to her good health.

I hate cancer. It is not a just master. It makes you think that you are in control of your emotions. You aren’t. It tricks you. You mourn when your beloved is told. And you think you have made peace with it. You find yourself lulled into a hopeful state when beloved does well. Then you mourn if beloved takes a turn. You think, again, that you have your feelings in check. You don’t. You can’t.

What was that question again?

Posted on by docthink 0

It’s Chinatown

It’s not really fair. You have a kid, and he starts off really small, can’t walk or talk, heck, can’t even feed himself, or get himself to bed without you.

Then, before you know it, he is tall. Sings in a register so low that only dogs can hear him. Pulls on size 13 shoes and wears these huge shoulder pads while playing football. Oh, and he eats a lot, but is able to feed himself. And, indeed, he does that with great success. (Q: “What happened to the applesauce?” A: “I drank it after practice.”)

The other thing is that he wants to be independent. And, you want him to be, that’s how he gets to be a man. So, he uses city buses to get to school, washes and irons his own clothes, and reminds you that his teachers expect high school students to manage their own work.

Guess what, though, he’s just barely 14. It doesn’t matter that high-school junior and senior dollies stalk him at dances. He is a newly-minted 14. He is not quite ready to fly without a net. Do you have to let them fall first?

He’s a man. (slap) He’s a boy. (slap) He’s a man. (slap) He’s a boy. (slap) He’s my man AND my boy.

Forget it, Doc Think, it’s Chinatown.

Posted on by docthink 0

What Time Is It?

Spoken into answering machine “Hello, if that’s you, pick up.” — pause — “Listen, camp ended like 3 or 4 hours ago and I want to be picked up.”

muffled voice in background

“Oh — like 45 minutes ago — so come get me.”

I swear that its like I am the only person in my house who can tell time.

ME: “Wednesday’s football game is at 4 p.m., and we need to see Dr. Brown at 4:45.”
OTHER ADULT IN HOUSEHOLD: “So it’s at 5?”

WHAT IS GOING ON? It’s just logistics. And that is what it seems like I do all the time. And all by myself.

KID: “Got points off my report cuz’ I didn’t print it out.”
PARENT: “Hunh?”
KID: “The printer didn’t work.”
PARENT: “Didn’t you ask about the cartridge?”
KID: “Yeah, but I couldn’t find it.”
PARENT TO SELF: “…and you couldn’t figure out what to do next. You just listened to somemore I-Tunes and went to bed? Sheesh!”

I fail on my logistical endeavors, but at least I know that I am late.

Posted on by docthink 0

House As Locker

Today is my first day off in 19 days. Yes, that is 19 days straight working, most days 11 or 12 hours long. (Some longer, a few shorter.) So, you say, “What do you have to THINK about that, Doc?”

Well, here is what has happened. My house has turned into a locker. Not a locker room, mind you. But simply a locker. It is a place that we drop things off, on the way to the next thing. It is not a destination, but a storage spot.

At Target at back-to-school time, you can find mirrors and little storage thing-ees that facilitate using your locker. We don’t use them here. No-SIR-ee.

Our locker is for backpacks, briefcases, clothes (usually plucked from baskets or tossed dirty, willy-nilly), blackberries and phones to recharge, shoes, football uniforms, and piles of mail (which likely include bills). Any food items are to grab and go. One difference is that we sleep in the locker. But it isn’t for comfort, just practicality.

This week included multiple football practices, an evening (okay NIGHT) in the emergency room with a broken hand, big dance, two tests, multiple quizzes, and like a thousand and fifty hours on the telephone and e-mail on Hurricane Katrina, oh, and let’ s not forget the calls not made to check in on the post-lung cancer operative Dad (doing great), and newly jaundiced mom-in-law (TBD). Whew!

Tonight, we had dinner at the table. It was such a treat that the sixth-grader insisted on candles. It was a special occasion.

The same, said, sixth-grader brought up (in a confused movie reference) the John Bloorman movie Hope and Glory. The movie chronicles a young family during the WWII Blitz in London, and how the family (mostly young son) coped most excellently.

So, maybe life with house as locker isn’t as damaging as I thought. Or maybe the plates filled with a meal cooked on the stove in the locker and the candles on the locker table were a welcome relief.

Maybe (I think) the locker might have been transformed back into a home.

Posted on by docthink 2