Where You Are Is Where You're At

One look from my son, and I can feel an entire decade's worth of my life has been spent well.

It was awards day for 4th graders, and I came to show my son that I didn't think that only his sports accomplishments are worth my time.

The principal went through great pains to make a big deal out of all the kids who were about to be called up for perfect attendance.

My son looked back at me, smiled and shook his head.

He's heard my feelings on perfect attendance before: It's fine if you get it, but children also shouldn't feel like they have to go to school if they're sick. And they shouldn't feel like they failed if they didn't make it.

I even believe that it's a good thing to take your kid out of school for something special. (I know for a fact he'll trade that perfect attendance certificate for having been able to go to that Thursday night game to see us beat #4 Ole Miss).

That said, there's reason I'm here. My son looks back at me to look for reassurance at mocking perfect attendance.

I wonder if I've done the right thing. But ... whatever.

So the principal extols the virtues of perfect attendance -- the challenge of the swine flu cast against kids who could fake a fever but choose not to.

Then, in search of a knowing nod of heads of the parents in attendance, he tells the children, "I know you don't always want to be here, though I can assure you that your parents always are ready to have you off to school."

My reaction to that is the same as if someone had told me, "Squirrels store nuts for the winter."

It could be just as meaningless to me.

Until my son turns around. Looks at me, smiles and again shakes his head.

In that moment, after nine years of being a father, I felt as if I have accomplished something. That my life has been meaningful.

My son conscientiously objects to the idea of anyone suggesting, even for jokes, that his father wants him to be somewhere other than with him -- ever.

That look made me feel like a winner, even if we didn't take home the perfect attendance certificate.

Farewell

Everyone,

Well, after 5 years -- 5 years! -- of sharing my insights into everything I could imagine and enjoying all those who have shared their lives and insights with me, I have to announce the end of The Great Elsewhere.

It's been a great 5 years, but the time has come.

So may the wind be at your back and the sun and the stars shine their light ...







SIKE!

I just wanted to know how gay it feels to say that.

I'll never shut this thing down. NEVER. One day when I'm hitting a mid-life crisis and every stuck-up punk is heckling me for being a technological dinosaur, this place will be here.

I've always done this for reasons I can't explain. And, while it sounds cliche, I'd do it if absolutely nobody ever read it. I'd like to do it more-frequently. That's obviously completely under my control -- although I have to say I've felt like I've been in the Dark Ages for the past six months.

Those things always turn, or at least I hope they do this time.

In the meantime ... peace.

Anal-ytical

Things feel good.

Except they don't, because I'm aware that they do.

There's not much comfort in surprises.

And I like to balance every equation.

Even if they aren't supposed to add up.

Regrets

The $260 million lottery ticket yesterday was sold at a Wal-Mart gas station a half-mile from the apartments where I grew up.

It makes me wonder how much better my life could have been if I had never moved out of that shithole, never went to college and never left town to have a career, a marriage and two children.

He Said Matter-Of-Factly ...

Staring out window
Wish for rotten milk to drink
Too sick for 4th grade