Stupid Injuries

I used to get injuries I could brag about. When I was a kid, I would fall off of my bike while attempting all kinds of wild stunts, or fall out of a tree while trying to climb to the top, or I’d eat dirt while flipping off the monkey bars at school. The older I get, the stupider my injuries sound. For instance, yesterday morning I woke up with a severe pain in my neck, to the point where every time I turn my head to the left my whole body seizes up and I can’t move… and what did I do to earn such pain? I slept with my head tucked underneath my arm. Now that’s something to be proud of!

“How’d you hurt your leg, Joe?”
“Oh, I was running a marathon and a pulled a hamstring.”
“How’d you hurt your shoulder, Bob?”
“Oh, I was skydiving and I came in a little hard.”
“How’d you hurt your neck, Mendeaux?”
“…mmblemmblemble…”
“What?”
“I slept in a weird position.”

See what I mean? I’ve decided that if anyone asks, I was on an expedition to climb to the top of Mt. Everest when our group was caught in an avalanche. When all was said and done, I was the only survivor, but I didn’t come out unscathed.

Shhhh… it’ll be our little secret.

Random Thoughts About Childhood, Fantasy and Death (not necessarily in that order)

I don’t really have a point to this post, so it will probably just peter out at the end when I run out of things to type.

I was saddened to hear of the death of Bea Arthur though I was never really a huge Bea Arthur fan. I’ve seen a few episodes of The Golden Girls, and I do remember her singing something in the Star Wars Holiday Special (a memory I have tried vigorously to erase). I must have watched the t.v. show Maude when I was very young, because although I remember nothing about the show itself, one of the things I carry with me from my childhood is the theme song. Well, not the whole thing, just the bit that goes “…and then there’s Maude.” And every time I see pictures of Bea Arthur, or see her on t.v. or whatever, that bit of tune goes through my head for hours, and I’m not sure why.

Anyway, today, when I was reading reports of her death online, that bit of tune went through my head again, and that got me thinking about 70s sitcoms, and one of the sitcoms I remember watching when I was very little was a show called Good Times. It starred Jimmy Walker, whose trademark “Dy-no-mite!” made him a star for quite a while. I remember a bit of the theme song to that show as well, but like the Maude theme song it’s only a fragment and it goes “…ain’t we lucky we got ‘em. Good times!” But anyway, I guess I was thinking about death and the show Good Times and I remembered that in one episode the father in that show (played by John Amos) died. I remember it being a very sad episode, and I remember feeling very bad about it. I was only 8 or 9 at the time and my ability to distinguish fantasy from reality wasn’t quite wholly developed yet. In my mind, this was nearly a real family going through a real tragedy. So, fast forward to 1990. I’m now 22 years old. I’m sitting down to watch Die Hard 2, and who should pop onto the screen but John Amos (who played the bad guy in the movie). I guess I hadn’t seen him in anything else since Good Times, because I just about fell out of my chair. “Holy crap! That’s the dad from Good Times! But… but… he’s dead…” It probably took me a good 10 minutes for to figure out why I thought that, and when I finally sussed it I smacked myself in the head and called myself all sorts of stupid. But on the inside… on the inside I was smiling, because part of my childhood that was sad wasn’t so sad anymore, because the dad from Good Times was still alive… Pity his character in the movie was such an a-hole.

Good Grief!

This is quite possibly the most popular funeral poem ever:

Don’t grieve for me, for now I’m free,
I’m following paths God made for me
I took his hand, I heard him call
Then turned, and bid farewell to all

I could not stay another day
To laugh, to love, to sing, to play
Tasks left undone must stay that way
I found my peace … at close of play

And if my parting left a void
Then fill it with remembered joy
A friendship shared, a laugh, a kiss
Ah yes, these things I too will miss.

Be not burdened… deep with sorrow
I wish you sunshine of tomorrow
My life’s been full I’ve savoured much
Good friends, good times
A loved one’s touch

Perhaps my time seemed all too brief
Don’t lengthen it now with grief
Lift up your heart and share with me,
God wants me now … He set me free.

You may not realize it, if you don’t attend a lot of funerals, but this poem appears in virtually every funeral program ever printed. I know this, not because I attend a lot of funerals, but because I typeset a lot of funeral programs. I’m not sure who wrote it originally, as it’s uncredited in every form I’ve ever seen.

Now, before I continue, let me put in this little disclaimer. I think the poem is good. I think it says a lot in only a few stanzas that can bring some comfort to those that are grieving. Far be it from me to step on anyone’s grief. No, my issue with this poem is a personal one, and one that only applies to me. The poem is overused. To me, printing it in a funeral program is unoriginal and uncreative. I know that probably doesn’t matter to a lot of people, and that’s fine. I mean, we’re talking about a funeral program for crying out loud. Who comes home from a funeral and says, “Well, that would have been better if it wasn’t exactly like the service we had for Uncle Joe last month”? There aren’t any funeral critics (at least no professional ones). But I’m the type of person that likes originality. So, for the record, when I die, if this poem is included in my funeral program, I am going to come back and haunt the person responsible! I mean it. I want something a little more creative for my memorial service.

To that end, here are my instructions for funeral arrangements when I finally shuffle off this mortal coil:

1. I am to be cremated and my remains are to be sent into space. Ever since seeing Star Wars for the first time (in fourth grade), I have wanted to travel to the stars. I fear that by the time space travel has been opened to the public and has become affordable to the average Joe, I will be too old to make such a journey. This may be my only option.
2. Because Celestis only sends a portion of the decedent’s ashes into space, the remainder of my remains should be buried in a plot in a cemetery located nearest the person who is going to care enough to visit it once in a while. My headstone should be simple, listing my name, birth and death dates. Underneath these should be a caption that reads, “I’m with stupid,” with an arrow pointing to the headstone next to mine.
3. Finally, after the service, there will be none of this standing around in some Elk’s Lodge somewhere, dressed all in black and blubbering. Everyone is to gather at the Friar’s Club and give me a good roasting (since I’m going to be cremated, I guess you could call it a “roasting after the roasting” (badum-bum!)). Don’t stand around and lie about what a good person I was. I’m serious here. If the Friar’s Club is unavailable (or too expensive), find some other venue, but I want you all to gather around and let me have it. Don’t hold back. Trust me, I’ll be looking down and laughing right along with you… at least I hope I’ll be looking down. God forbid I should be looking up. I might not be laughing then.

Don’t ask me why I’m bringing up this whole “death and dying” thing right now. I guess, as you get older, you start to consider your mortality a little bit more. When I was in my 20s, I hardly thought about it all. Now that I’m rapidly approaching 40, death doesn’t seem that far off anymore. Maybe I’m finally heading for that mid-life crisis and this is the initial stage. Of course, it could just be that it’s Wednesday and I have a migraine.

Feeling Stupid?

Children have a way of making adults feel stupid. Not intentionally (at least I hope not), but they do. Here’s what I mean. I could be sitting down reading a book or watching t.v. or eating some liver or something, and one of my kids could look up from their homework and say, “Dad, what does ‘precocious’ mean?” Now, I know what precocious* means. If someone were to tell me, “That little girl is so precocious.” I’d understand what he meant. Asked to give a definition, however, I become completely stumped. My answer usually ends up sounding something like, “Um. Er. Precocious… preco… preco… hm. I know what it means… I’m just not sure how to define it… Hold on… er. Um. Look it up. I’m not sure how to describe it.”

See what I mean? Not only do I feel stupid, I think I’m giving my kids the impression that I’m stupid. FOX Broadcasting has capitalized on this phenomenon with their new game show Are You Smarter Than A Fifth Grader? The show pits grownups against fifth graders and asks them questions like “What’s the capitol of Alabama?” When the contestant can’t answer, the audience gets a good laugh at his stupidity and the show goes on. But there is a difference between knowledge and intelligence. People rarely make the distinction, but it’s there. Just because I can’t recall a piece of information doesn’t make me stupid. Perhaps I never learned the information in the first place, which makes me uneducated not unintelligent. Or, like the poor guy that doesn’t know the capitol of Alabama, maybe I learned that answer 30 years ago and since I don’t live in Alabama, I’ve forgotten it.** Frankly, I think the show’s title is a little misleading. Maybe they should have called it Are You As Well-Versed In Trivial And Useless Knowledge As A Fifth Grader?, but then again, maybe that title is too long.

Maybe I should sit down and have a talk with my kids about how Dad really isn’t dumber than a box of rocks. I’m not sure it would do any good, especially when they bring me their math homework and ask me how to do it. Math was never very fun for me. Don’t get me wrong, I can add, subtract, multiply and divide with the best of them, but when it comes to algebra, my brain starts to quiver. It’s not that I never learned it. I took the classes in high school. It’s just that I’ve never used it in real life, and my brain has dismissed it as unimportant. Case in point, my daughter brought me a problem the other day and asked me to help her solve it. I took one look at it and said, “What problem?” There were some hash marks and squiggly lines and a number or two, but nothing I recognized. Like I said, kids can make you feel stupid.

*Precocious means unusually advanced or mature in development. I looked it up.

**Contrary to popular belief, the capitol of Alabama isn’t Birmingham. It’s Montgomery. I knew that, so I guess I’m smarter than a fifth grader.

This is an Easter egg… Well, maybe not. An Easter egg is traditionally colorful and oval in shape. A regular egg is white, so I guess this could be considered an egg, but it’s not oval in shape, so I guess that blows that theory. In any case, if you’re reading this, you can pat yourself on the back for being very clever for having noticed that there was some extra space at the bottom of this post. Well done!

Heart Attacks and Headaches

I always used to think my parents were a bit anally retentive about curfews, and checking in with them when I was out, and that sort of thing when I was a teenager. That is, until I had teenagers. Case in point, two of my kids are up in the mountains on a school retreat for the next couple of days. I thought I was okay with this, at least until last night. About 10:30 p.m. the phone rang. When you’re a parent, the phone ringing after 9:00 o’clock at night can only mean that someone is dead, or at least mortally wounded.

My worst fears seemed to be confirmed when the voice on the other end said, “Hi. This is the nurse at the campground your daughters are at.” My heart skipped several beats. Time must have slowed down, because an eternity later she continued. “I have one of your daughters in my office. She has a headache and I need your permission to give her a couple of Tylenol.”

“Tylenol!?” I screamed into the phone. “You nearly gave me a heart attack calling this late at night, and it’s just a flippin’ headache!? Yeah! You can give her some Tylenol, but only if you pay for my trip to the ER, because I’m about to have a stroke! Don’t ever call this late at night unless someone is dead (or mortally wounded)!” Okay. I didn’t scream that. I resisted the urge… barely. What I really said was, “Um. Sure. Tylenol is fine.”

“Do you want to talk to her?” She asked.

It was tempting, but I wasn’t sure I’d be able to keep from yelling (and being yelled at has never cured a headache). It’s a strange feeling – equal amounts of anger and relief. Kids don’t always realize the power they hold over their parents. I know I didn’t, and that’s probably a good thing. I just thought my parents were paranoid psychos. So, I’m sorry Mom and Dad, for any unnecessary chest pain I might have caused you when I was growing up. I understand now.

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