The younger and almost as tall version of me proves daily what kind of destruction teenagers can do to your refrigerator and pantry.
I watch him eat with reckless abandon and remember when my own metabolism could do what his does.
His younger sister has mastered the art of being a teenage girl and with the faintest of efforts can give me a look that will destroy future boyfriends while simultaneously telling me how awful I am.
And in the blink of an eye the ire that was focused upon me can disappear and I can be showered with love and told I am her hero.
I am not fazed by any of it, probably because I remember seeing such things from the perspective of an older brother.
These children of mine are good kids and their behavior is age appropriate. That is not to say they never cross the line, they are related to me after all, but most of time we get along fine.
The awful policy of family separation that is being conducted by the Trump administration has me staring at my brood and wondering what the hell I am supposed to tell them about where we live.
Sure, It Can Always Get Worse
Dad goes under the knife tomorrow for an unexpected and unplanned operation to remove his gall bladder.
Since I am two hours ahead I’ll have half a day to focus on staying busy before the surgery begins and however long it takes to focus on work before it is completed.
When dad and I spoke tonight I told him if he woke up and discovered we have incarcerated children and that a bad president presided over this it is ok because that is really happening.
“If on the other hand you hear Trump is acting like a mentsch you’ll know that you are probably still loopy from the anesthesia.”
We both laughed but not in a funny kind of way.
He said he was tired, I told him I loved him and to get some rest. He said the same and I gave a wry smile, rest isn’t coming real soon.
My concern and discomfort isn’t the equal of the parents whose kids have been taken from them in the name of security.
Their pain and their fear is worse.
I don’t want to lose my father any time soon, he is not quite 75 but he isn’t my child.
There is no concern or fear that he’ll be traumatized because he doesn’t understand why he has been separated from his parents.
I can’t imagine the horror felt by these parents and the fear they and their children must feel.
The idea that things can go south on the table tomorrow is awful, but it is not the sort of awful feeling that you get when you wonder if your child has been hurt, potentially for life.
So I’ll stay busy and try not to let an overactive imagination run wild and remember that it can get worse.
And I’ll think about how to explain to my children that so many Americans seem to believe this is ok.
The thing is I think I’ll talk about the mobs and awful moments of history. There aren’t any lack of examples of groups of people dehumanizing others.
But I’ll make an effort to make sure the kids know I still believe there are more good people than bad, because I do.
It Is More Than Just A Song
I have this idea floating around my head about the future and some things to come. I have this image that has been with me for so long I am not sure I can remember a time it wasn’t there.
It is a sense there are no coincidences and that the wild roller coaster called life is gearing up again.
That is exciting and a bit frightening because the ride is going to be such a rush and filled with lots of really good stuff and some hard moments too.
I hear and feel things that I won’t yet spell out here, assuming I do elsewhere.
The internal wrestling has begun and I am pretty sure some of it is just a matter of time.
There will be a reckoning and just how it plays out I cannot say, but it will come.
When that moment hits I am going to be able to say I did what I could, where I could, how I could and as best as I could.
It won’t ever be perfect. I’ll feel like I could have done better and done more, but I’ll know I tried and that I never gave up.
That will have to be enough.