alex kimmell
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eighty or ninety years...

2/28/2013

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My youngest son is standing up in front of his class to give a  report on the American Revolution today. This is his first big public speaking project. Over the last couple of weeks he’s worked really hard researching, studying and practicing. He hasn’t said anything directly about being nervous, but I can tell. I watch him fidget and when little things trigger big upsets, it’s not too difficult to figure out. 

Last night he asked us during a commercial break on his favorite
show, “Do you want me to read my paper one more time?” 
 
“Yes!” Surprised, my wife and I both shouted in unison. 
 
He stood in the middle of our small living room and read the five  minute long report. Listening from my spot on the couch, a surreal blanket covered me from head to toe. I looked through those warm, invisible threads at my wife watching him. She wore the same proud and flabbergasted smile on her face spreading across mine. I realized she was the only other person in the entire world who felt the same sense of disbelief and gratification in this not so small human being that we created together. Who was this little man? When did he grow up? Didn’t I carry him around in one hand not two seconds ago? 
 
We’re quickly nearing the onset of the teenage years of terror. As a horror writer, you’d think I would be prepared. But demonic squirrels and vengeful ghosts have nothing on the nightmares I have of what’s to come over the next few years. Right now, he’s still my buddy. I’m still his best friend.  Hopefully the nightmares will stay just that: Bad dreams. 
 
While I know I’m not ready for my boys to grow up, I’m working hard to find a way to let them go and become their own individual people whether I want to or not. The more closely I try to hold on, the harder they’ll pull away from me. I remember being a teenager and how I felt when I struggled for freedom from my parents. Much as I’d love to hover tightly and be a shield from the slings and arrows life will undoubtedly throw in their path, I have to sit back and wait for them to ask for my help. 
 
Being a parent is the toughest, greatest thing I have or ever will have the honor of doing in my life. Besides, they say it gets easier after the first eighty or ninety years.

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dad's work is never done (seriously)

2/20/2013

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nope. can't do this.
today’s date – 02-20-13


word count for the week – 30ish (not 300ish. 30ish.)


the kids are on Winter Break, so there isn’t much being done in the way of creative writing on my part. i did answer some interview questions and put a few quirky messages on Facebook though. that counts, right? i’d love to stay up past everyone’s bedtime and get some work done in the lonesome dark. guess i’m getting too old for that. oh well. projects will have to wait until the kids shuffle miserably back to class next week.

(impatiently wringing hands hover by the dust covered wireless keyboard staring at me longingly with unused keys)

why is it that the good ideas always show up when you know you
can’t write them down? my muse sure has a nasty sense of
humor.

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a point counterpoint (not an argument) regarding who likes Valentine's Day (i repeat: not an argument!)

2/12/2013

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Who likes Valentine’s Day? 
(By Me)

I would assume the majority of St. V’s revelers are comprised of a screaming zombified horde of single women, teenage girls and various other females getting the blunt end of the shitty relationship stick. Of course elementary school children enjoy the candies passed around their classrooms too. 

Yes. Before you scream about how misogynistic my opinions are, there are indeed some men who celebrate the almighty Hallmark/Flowershop/Candy/Jewelry day of worship. I remember being lonely and single on the holiday and writing some alarmingly awful poems and songs about it. In high school there seemed to be no limits to the pain blossoming through my chest on February 14th. Not only did I not have any girlfriends back then, most of my friends did and they had the audacity to publicly display their affections right in front of broken hearted losers like me. How dare they be happy? I mean, really.

We barely have a moment to catch our collective post-Christmahanukwansika breaths when the tsunami of “You suck as a husband/boyfriend if you don’t spend three month’s pay on this hideous excuse for jewelry/flower bouquet/box-o-chocolates/Vermont Teddy Bear” commercials. I assume most of this advertising is directed at the male portion of my previously mentioned shitty relationships that do not understand how their partners might require some semblance of positive emotional reinforcement once in a while during the other 364 days of the year. The recipients of these gifts are so grateful for any symbol of romance at all that they seemingly forgive any lack of creative thought or originality in the expression whatsoever.    

These doorknobs are easily picked out in crowds. Here’s a list of a few things to look for that are dead giveaways:

·       Chocolate Diamonds (Really? Isn’t this just another way of marketing dirty, shit colored ugly ass jewelry?)

·       Jane Seymore’s Open Heart Swan Necklace (Wow. I repeat, Wow!)

·       Charm Bracelets worn by anyone over the age of fifteen (Need I say more?)

·       Someone bragging about the romantic dinner they had at Red Lobster/Olive Garden/Applebee’s/Fisherman Willie’s Chumfest-o-Yumminess

·       Cubic Zirconia

Romance shouldn’t be something we need a designated holiday for. Unfortunately, as a culture we do. I doubt St. Valentine would appreciate the high percentage mark up on all things reddish pink or shiny without a kickback in his direction.  

What about us guys? We need stuff too right? Lingerie works. Gift certificates for football tickets. Video games. Computer stuff. Monster Truck Rally. Porn. We’re pretty easy to figure out. Nevermind.

Personally, I can’t begin to describe how lucky I am that my wife doesn’t buy into the advertising onslaugt. She doesn’t wear much jewelry and hates flowers “because they die”. When I was able to, I sent gifts to her office and even bought her a Tiffany necklace once. I remember the joy in her face when she saw the powder blue box. She even cried. So really, I guess she does buy into it a little bit. 

I try not to need a holiday to make sure I express my love for her. I tell her over and over again. I show it in ways that don’t require spending money that I just don’t have. I wash the dishes, make sure the kids aren’t covered in too thick a layer of dirt before they go to school, vacuum on occasion and try to make dinner that is somewhat digestible.  You know, things she tells me she appreciates. That does require a skill unnatural to most of my gender: Listening.  Paying attention to what she says from time to time. Apparently that’s something important to remember.

Hey Melissa? I Love You! Forever and Ever and Ever No Matter What! And I’ll get right on that thing you asked me to do. (Once I remember what it was.)
Who likes Valentine's Day?  
(By my wonderful wife who truly is the Better Half of our relationship)

Young people.  Young people in love.  Early relationships.  

Who hates Valentine's Day?  Singles.  No matter the gender.  Married couples - with kids, a mortgage and mounting debt...

Ok.  Ok.  Hate is a strong word.

What I'm trying to say is this:

It's easy to tell your partner that diamonds, chocolates and flowers aren't needed.  How can you justify spending money on flowers that are just going to die anyway - when we need to keep the power on, keep the cable on, keep food on the table, pay the landlord/bank?  It doesn't make you a bad person if you cannot afford the latest and greatest "chocolate diamonds!" or a schlub if you have the money to buy it either.

What matters?  Being there for each other.  Not buying into the commercial guilt that you didn't buy <fill in the blank here>.  Being there.  Every day.  No matter what.  And if you have the side-salad-cash to spring for some blossoms -- go for it.  

I don't subscribe to the "The Bachelor/ The Bachelorette" show mentality.  I once did.  However I'm not longer that show's demographic.  Life changes.  Needs change.  Priorities change.  

I remember being in high school and seeing the popular girls getting balloons, flowers, candies... and I didn't.  It hurt - like someone had taken an ice cream scooper to my chest kind of hurt.  However, there were times when I did get flowers and friends did not.  And secretly I was brimming with joy that it was finally my turn.

I hope that Valentine's Days for my boys are more joy than heartbreak as they make it through the next few years.  But I refuse to jade them.  This is the age when Valentine's Day is still magical.  Love is a simple card and conversation hearts.  Soon enough they will be inundated with the Kay Jeweler's commercials and might want to get some girl a bracelet or something - and I'll be there to help if they need it.  Pure.  Simple. Joy.
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