We are watching Nate, our eldest son, inch toward the isolating cave of the American teenager.  Really the kid is my hero.  He has a blend of confidence and humility that is a rare jewel.  I think he understands the true posture of humility in ways that most of us would not allow ourselves to comprehend such a trait.

This past weekend we went to the mall; a group of teenagers said loudly enough for our whole family to enjoy, “How can he walk around with his face looking like that?”  I thought they were talking about my unkempt beard, but further along in our consumptive stroll my wife asked, “Did you hear that?  Nate did.”  Nate has a port-wine stain on his face, a birthmark.  If I had realized what was said while we were in their proximity, I might be posting this from jail.  Fortunately for the group of slacking miscreants and for my police record, I am slow.

The boy wears his hair long, over his face.  His personality is dominated by kindness, though sometimes I worry that he might withhold this because of his learned shyness.  Sometimes I worry that he hides behind the hair and the birthmark; I haven’t witnessed him doing this, but people are themselves at home, which is the only place I am able to consistently observe him.  Around here he is confident in his abilities.

The medical procedure to remove a port-wine stain is not considered cosmetic; our insurance covers it due to the way a port-wine stain collects red blood cells – I don’t completely understand this.  So it is an option, one which he neither embraces, nor fully rejects.  He thinks about it.  He talks about it with Molly and I, but then, like someone who understands all of life already, pronounces that we are his parents and therefore wholly void of objectivity.  His comprehension of our relationship is astounding to me.

He was wearing the pre-teen sadness last night, so we asked for some kind of explanation, which he was unable to articulate.  But it comes back to the damn birthmark.  I think the splotch on his face has made him incredibly aware of his emotional make up.  He was looking for advice, but not ours.  So we helped him make a list of people he respected whom he could consult.  Then we told him that talking with these people about it was up to him since he disallows our slanted input.

I don’t know if he’ll be wearing the birthmark when he is 13 or 14.  I do know that because he has worn it the first 11 years of his life, he tends to accept people for who they are.  He has a rare openness.  I wish he learned it from me, but instead he learned it from something he wishes wasn’t there.  I suppose he could be a mean and over-compensating young man because of the way he has often been judged; he is not.

I wish he’d bloody a few lips with his wiry muscles.  Test them out.  “Finish it,” I say, “don’t start it; end it.”  He doesn’t feel the need just yet, perhaps one day he will.  Whether he teaches someone a lesson or if he refrains, he is heroic in his manner and wise beyond his years.  To his father he is a walking lesson in grace and compassion.  “One day,” I tell him, “people will notice and appreciate your strength of character, but for now you’re in middle school surrounded by a collection of idiots.”  I hope he remembers this when it comes true.  Because right now, I’m just a father without objectivity.

I think God is like this.  If so, the calisthenics of self-improvement aren’t very useful.  They’re not necessarily bad, but they do tend to lead us into self-sufficiency, if they are not performed with utmost humility and honesty.  You learn these things if you’re born with a port-wine stain.

Hey, real quick…

I am trying to generate some revenue to get my reused and reusable coffee sleeve into retail stores.  Many of you have stopped by cupThreads.com, and I wanted to say thanks.

If you buy one this week (please do because I’m really close to proceeding!) enter the coupon code “ryansfriend” and you’ll get yours for just $4.  Order 4 or more and I’ll also ship them for free.

Thanks so much.  I’ll be back to inspire you tomorrow morning.

“How long have you been sick,” the doc asked me.

I paused, “Um, 19 days.”  She thought that was funny.  Throughout the course of our conversation she kept saying things about 19 days.  I guess she liked the specifics.  Her use of humor suggested that she didn’t think I had some psychological disorder, a serious case of OCD, where I memorize all the details in order to give an accurate report.  Docs usually don’t joke about hypochondria either.

I never get sick so I remember the details.  The last time I saw a doctor was eight years ago with a broken hand.  Second-to-last time was 5 years before that; I had gangrene.  I wanted her to tell me that I had something serious.  No one wants to hear that they have a cold or the flu.  She did a strep test.  Negative.  I was hoping for some blood work.  Maybe mono or pneumonia.

“My eyes are on fire.  My ears feel especially pointy, like they’re preparing for launch.  Throat feels like a desert.  Even the bottoms of my feet ache.  Do you think it may be lycanthrope?”

“Probably not.  Since this sickness has been hanging around for 19 days, I’m going to put you on an antibiotic.  Gargle with saltwater.  Buy some lozenges.  Yada, yada.”  Just what I expected… an unnecessary antibiotic and a series of home remedies.

You mean I’ve been wearing this deathmask for nothing?  My chance of survival is nearly 100%.  I’m taking the antibiotic just in case.  It violates my principles, but so what?  Since I am going to live, I should probably begin blogging again.

art cred: outofmygord.com

Dear Regular Readers:

I’ve been away for a while.  I don’t know why.  I don’t know if there is such a thing as blogger’s block.  Normally I think blockages are reserved for people with real creative jobs, and regular Joes with blogs shouldn’t be subject to their rules.

As Norman Mailer once famously said: “Writer’s block is only a failure of the ego.”  Perhaps I have taken this season of Lent a bit too seriously to be creatively productive.  I don’t know.

Life happened in its severest form this week.  Does that ever happen to anyone else?  I’ll be back next week.  I promise.

Now for a true story:

Yesterday was a snow day.  I’ll try to not sound remonstrative, but it sucked.  I had work lined up, the kind that pays real money.  Instead all three kids got the day off.  The snow day was on the heels of a 14 day stretch of housebound illness, in which I was both a participant and also primary caretaker of the rest of the invalids, as my work currently draws the shortest straws when competing with my wife’s income.

You get grumpy during a stretch like this.  I started out the day as usual, 6 AM, reading the bible and calling down fire from heaven to consume my flesh.  February is depressing.  Read the rest of this entry »

What follows is not true.  It does not have a “point.”  It is a story, and as stories go, I suppose it is intended to be enjoyable.  I was growing tired of blogging with a “point.”  Perhaps tomorrow I will write something with a “point.”  “Points” are wearisome, aren’t they?  I feel as if they should always be “wrapped up in quotation marks.”  All is meaningless; have a great, pointless and enjoyable day!

In my homeland round about this time of year, the obituaries began to run together, especially as the Winter weather eclipses Spring.  There are the few days of hope, maybe a day in the upper thirties.  But that day is followed by the doldrums of a two week cold-snap, where the sun tricks hearty, old Norwegians and stoic Swedes into believing the meteorologist might be wrong.

“I can feel it in my knees,” they say, “the weather is changing today.”  And so, with a heart bursting with expectation old men put on their boots Read the rest of this entry »

1. You can download Stockholm Syndrome by Derek Webb for free at NoiseTrade.com.  How much?  Free.  But hurry, I think the freeness ends today.
2. A productivity tip regarding email.
3. Chris at The Art of Non-Conformity posted The Small Man Builds Cages For Everyone a couple weeks ago.  Really good read.

I’ll blog-blog tomorrow.