On Being a Parent

I'd planned to rail on a bit about the indoctrination of America's oh-so-impressionable youth (not by the president but by parents), but decided to take a moment to talk about our children. What?! That's right, we, too, have children...just not the human kind. Our little family currently consists of two humans, four cats, and a dog, and when one of them gets sick, like Boo is with heartworms, we take it every bit as seriously as you more traditional parents do when your kids get sick. We worry and fret. We begin to figure out how to rearrange our schedules to accommodate visits to the vet and treatment. We adjust our sleeping arrangements and our daily routines. We take it all very seriously.

When the vet came back with an estimate of about $700 for the "Gold Standard" treatment, we just said okay. There goes our dreams of a high-end TV, but that's alright. And it may mean that we won't get to use our free AMEX travel voucher after all because we won't have enough money to buy one ticket, but, again, that's fine. Wouldn't you sacrifice the same for a member of your family? It's all just stuff, and Boo is, well, he's Boo.

We don't normally refer to Boo, Jackson, Lucy, Algebra, and Beanie as "our kids." That's what crazy animal lovers do. We know they aren't "real" children like you probably have running around the house right now. But they might as well be. We don't just care for them; we center our lives around them. The nice, social times we spend in Peachtree City are always cut short because we have to get home to feed and go for walks. I have no idea what percentage of our monthly income goes towards pet food alone, but it's significant. Like you (I hope), we don't feed our kids crap. We break up fights, soothe tempers, enforce manners, teach, reward, discipline, and play. I know you're thinking there's much more to being a human parent than what it takes to "parent" a dog or cat, and perhaps so, but that's not my point. Don't be so dense.

We only just learned that Boo was diagnosed with heartworms even before we adopted him, but no one told us. We still would've adopted him, though, because we knew he was the one. He can be a pain in the ass (and so can your kid; just ask any restaurant employee) and sometimes it's hard deal with him. He's a dog; it's not like he understands me when I try and reason with him. Still, I try. Boo got his first shot today and gets his second tomorrow, and then for six weeks he has to be confined to one level of the house with only minimal exercise. It won't be easy and will pretty much suck most of the time, but it's what you do for those you care for, for those who depend on you, for your kids, for your family.

Go Boo.

Cats & Dogs

I like cats more than I like dogs. There, I said it. Note that I didn't say that I don't like dogs, because I love them to death. A person who doesn't like dogs wouldn't have spent every weekend one summer in Chicago working at a doggie day care and boarding. There are certain breeds of dog that I like more than others, such as hounds and working dogs, and my least favorite has to be standard poodles. No particular reason why the standard poodle made my least favorite list; I mean, John Steinbeck's Charlie was a standard poodle and who's ever said a bad thing about Steinbeck? Dogs are good; I just like cats more, that's all.

What To Be or Not to Be

I've been an librarian for 10 years now. That's the longest I've done any one thing in my entire life besides breathe. I know that I'll never be on the Librarian All-Star Team or make the Librarian Hall of Fame. I seriously doubt I'll leave any mark whatsoever on the profession. Librarianship just doesn't move me, there is no fire in my belly for what I do. When the work day ends, you won't find me reading, writing, talking or even thinking about anything library-related. I believe I have the best job in the profession, but even then I'm just not into being a librarian. I mean, being cooped up inside all day, smothered by air conditioning, facing a godless computer (well, Google is sort of like a kind and benevolent God), and helping people? Ugh. Add to that the fact that I lack THE librarian requirement: a love of reading. No, librarianship is just not what I saw myself doing.

Forest Fire Fighter: A life-long fascination with and appreciation of fire led me to believe I could spend my life fighting it. I'd get to be outdoors, work hard and live life on the edge. I was smart enough, however, to realize that seasonal work has limited benefits. Besides, the legally blind shouldn't be allowed to fight fires. Can you imagine my fate if I'd lost a contact lens? Reason won out on that one.

Pool Player: I'd have dropped out of college and hit the pool circuit had I been good enough. I just love to play pool. Who knows, maybe with time and practice my game could've had tournament potential. There was one major obstacle to my pool hall dreams, though: beer. I drank beer better than I shot pool and since the two go hand-in-hand in my world, you can see why I didn't get very far in that endeavor.

Flower Shop Owner: I like flowers. I imagined "Thad's Flower Shoppe" somewhere in NYC. Turns out the entrepreneurial spirit is not strong in this soul. Other small business ideas included Thad's Maple Syrup (patent still pending) and a fleet of garbage trucks.

Religious Studies Professor: This was doomed from the start, but it was strong enough of an idea to move me from OR to TX. I am not a leader of men nor am I a molder of minds. It's important to know who you are.

Journalist: It's why I went to college to begin with, and yet I never took a single journalism class. Piss poor advising and misplaced principle on my part (I blamed the media for Gary Hart's political fall) led me to the English department. Maybe I, too, could've been an loud-mouthed ignoramous hosting a talk show on Fox, CNN, or MSNBC. That's the state of "journalism" these days.

Veterinarian: Looking back on missed callings, this is the one that hurts the most. Early on, I was inspired by James Herriot's books. I even kept a little notebook of diseases that I came across in his stories that I then researched in Collier's Encyclopedia in the event I was ever called upon to diagnose hoof-and-mouth disease amongst all those bovines roaming suburban Aurora. But I lacked (and still lack) the mental acuity and discipline to pursue anything scientific or medical. I ended up in the humanities, which naturally led me to many years in food service and, ultimately, to libraries. Librarianship is a far cry from the good I could've done.

Lament as I might my ultimate choice of professions, I have no regrets. Had I taken any other path than that which I took, I wouldn't have the life I have now, and I have a pretty good life. I'll probably retire as a librarian and shelve books on a volunteer basis well into my golden years. Eh, so be it.

Then again, maybe someday you'll find Thad's Maple Syrup sitting next to Mrs. Butterworth's and Log Cabin. Organized by bar code, of course.

Ostracized

Sometimes I like to listen to Cat Stevens on my way to work. His music is simple and soothing to my racing and perturbed mind and has been known to help me be less critical of my fellow man. Some hippie girl I knew in high school said one should listen to Cat Stevens while watching the sunrise and drinking a cup of coffee. I chuckled because I figured someone with with a name like that had to be a black blues guitarist and that just isn't good waking up music. That girl never had much to do with me after that.

So, yeah, I've listened to Cat Stevens for a long time. I like 10,000 Maniacs, too, and as you might know they removed their version of Stevens' "Peace Train" from an album after he (then and now known as Yusof Islam) didn't denounce the fatwa against Salman Rushdie for The Satanic Verses. I didn't think much of it then and I don't think much of it now other than occasionally wondering if they, 10,000 Maniacs, have gotten over their indignation. It just seems silly to me. The artist known as Cat Stevens has a whole body of work that actually transcends the artist himself, even to the point where what that artist subsequently says, does, sings, or writes can't blemish what he's already created. To me, his work is that good, and I would've hoped the members of 10,000 Maniacs (OK, just Natalie Merchant) would have realized that it is the music and the words that count, not the man who penned them. "Peace Train" is a good song, regardless of the fatwa. I think it was the royalties that moved them more than the principle.

I feel the same way about Michael Richards, aka, Kramer, from "Seinfeld." The man gave life to one of pop culture's all-time great characters, and yet because of something he did years after the show was over, many people refuse to watch "Seinfeld" reruns. That's so juvenile. I don't condone his onstage rant, but I'm not going to stop watching and laughing at the character he inhabited for so long and made so great. "Kramer" transcends the fallible human who gave him life.

And, yes, the same is true for Mel Gibson. If you let it, art can transcend the anti-Semitic. I don't think bigotry should be a career-ending offense. I mean, if you've ever laughed at a joke that starts "A rabbi, priest, and ..." then you, too, are a bigot; should you lose your career because of that? I think the drinking and driving was worse than any filth that came from his mouth (and, yes, it was filth). But should we never hear from Mel again, I'll always have Mad Max and "Signs." Sure he's done better work, but I like those two a lot.

But going back Cat, I really like "The Wind." It goes like this:

I listen to the Wind
To the wind of my soul
Where I'll end up well, I think
Only God really Knows

I've sat upon the setting sun
But never never never
I never wanted water once
No never never never

I listen to my words
But they fall far below
I let my music take me
Where my heart wants to go

I've swam upon the devil's lake
But never never never
I'll never make the same mistake
No never never never.

Health Care Reform

The day started pretty much the same way it started all days that June in 1992: I got on my bike to ride to campus for summer school. This time I wasn't able to make it to campus, though, as after the first hill I had to stop. I was dizzy, short of breath, and my heart was beating like mad. I coasted into The James, my favorite watering hole and my then place of employment, to rest before trying again. I didn't get to the end of the block. I called a cab and went to the hospital.

I told the woman at Reception that my heart was beating very quickly and that I was dizzy. She asked for my insurance card, and I told her I didn't have insurance. She told me they only took people with health insurance. So, I went to the lobby pay-phone (early 90's, no cell phones), looked up hospitals in the Yellow Pages (no Google) and began calling around to see who would take me. A nurse who'd been near Reception came up to me while I was on the phone, took my wrist and felt my pulse. Within seconds she was leading me into a room. I said I didn't have insurance and she said they'd worry about that later. The vacant room was soon filled with dreamy medical types and tubes and wires. I remember looking at the white tiled ceiling and wondering if I was going to die. I didn't but it was a close call.

The doctor told me that my heart had jumped to 220 beats a minute and that had I not been young and physically active, I could have died. Heart Arrhythmia. Said I had a good heart. A cardiologist would later explain that these things sometimes happen to young men and that he saw no reason for me to expect it to happen again. As such, he recommended that I never disclose this incident on any medical forms because it would be seen as a heart-related pre-existing condition and no insurance company would take me. The only thing worse to them would be cancer, he said.

Almost two months later I would crash on my bicycle one night and wake up in the hospital to a nurse picking gravel out of my arm and hands. I broke my arm, wrist, and a finger. To this day, I still don't know what happened and I only have limited use of my arm. In any event the resulting medical bills were too much for an uninsured student to handle, so I moved back home. The James employees had a fundraiser that paid for the ambulance bill. They were good folk.

I don't know the specifics of the proposed health care reform legislation because I don't base my knowledge of issues on what FOX News or Sarah "Hotty Moose Killer" Palin have to say. Nor has anyone consulted me. All I know is that my experience tells me what we have doesn't work and our health care system needs a major overhaul. I have employer-sponsored health care now, but there are millions who aren't so lucky. That ain't right. I'm willing to pay a bit more if it means my neighbor's kids can get medical attention when they need it. As a society, we have a responsibility not only to ourselves and our families but also to those less fortunate. At one point in my life, I was one of those less fortunates and had it not been for one nurse who basically said, "Fuck it," who knows if I'd been writing this today.

What's the Matter Here?

If you've been paying attention to the news, then you must have heard about the woman who was killed and her 8 month old fetus cut from her body. If not, you can find the story here.

The whole thing is appalling, of course, but this is the tidbit that caught my eye:
"'We used to hear her crying and screaming but no one ever really did anything,' Toledo said, adding that neighbors did not want to get involved (emphasis added)."

What's wrong with people? Time and time and time again you hear tragic stories that might have been prevented had people gotten involved. Granted this woman wasn't killed by her ex-boyfriend, but had her neighbors done the right thing to begin with and called the police then maybe, just maybe, she might be alive today. Cowards.

I spend a lot of time watching our neighbors. Ida says I'm like the nosey neighbor on "Bewitched." I want to know what they're up to so that if something out of the ordinary happens, I'll know it's out of the ordinary and can take action either for our or their own good. I don't police my neighbors but if I saw two men trying to break into a house (even if one was a Harvard professor), I'd call the cops; if I heard a woman scream, I'd call the cops; if I knew or suspected a child was being abused, I'd call the cops; if someone was abusing their pets, that's right, I'd call the cops. I'm going to get involved by getting the police involved.

It's not as though I want to get involved; in fact, I prefer to be left alone by my neighbors. I'm nice and polite and talk to them if they talk to me, but I don't go out of my way to make conversation or befriend them. Still, I watch out for them because it's the right thing to do on every level. This world isn't about me or you or them; it's about us, and if we aren't willing to risk intervening when someone or something is in danger, then we're as worthless as the person(s) who killed that woman.

I love the lyrics from the 10,000 Maniacs' song "What's the Matter Here?" and this refrain sort of sums up how I feel:

I'm tired of the excuses everybody uses,
He's their kid I stay out of it,
But who gave you the right to do this?

Guns All Around Me

Due to Obama being elected and Sotomayor's hearings, it can't be helped that there's been a lot of talk lately about gun control, especially south of the Mason-Dixon line. Bow howdy! The National Rifle Association is on the prowl, sniffing out the tiniest mention of gun control, and, of course, the Democrats get all defensive and flustered and usually blow the opportunity to state a coherent case.

For the record, I'm pro-gun ownership. When I was growing up there always seemed to be guns around, even in our basement. I like to shoot guns. Christmas break occasionally found us shooting at bottles and cans. In college a friend got a semi-automatic handgun just before they were banned by Clinton, and we'd go to the firing range and shoot off a few rounds. As a child, there always seemed to be a new toy gun under the Christmas tree each year, and I was annoyed to no end when years later I tried to find a toy gun for my nephew and none of the toy stores sold them. Granted, I was in hippie Boulder and should have known better but it still made me mad. I probably wrote a letter to my congressman, my standard response to societal ills. So, yeah, I don't have a problem with guns.

That being said, I'm an ardent proponent of gun control. I think the waiting period is a great idea (think Homer Simpson: "But I'm angry now!") as is requiring trigger locks. Concealed weapons laws are an invitation for some stupid drunk to shoot someone in a theater, restaurant, or, if some yahoos in Georgia get their way, while you're waiting at your gate at the airport. I know the arguments against gun control and they aren't without merit. Maybe if one or two students at Virginia Tech had been carrying a firearm less people would have died that day. That assumes a lot, though. And come on: what private citizen needs to own an AK-47 or any automatic rifle?! They should only be in the hands of the military and the police. If you think the government is the menace then you have more problems then I care to address.

One of the many things that annoy me about groups like the NRA is that they get all hot and bothered about their right to bear arms being restricted, and yet they are often the same people pushing for things like Internet filters in public libraries and book bans, basic infringements on free speech. People like that expect you to honor their constitutional rights but have no qualms in trying to limit yours.

Everyone has the right to bear arms, but that doesn't mean everyone should bear them. There's a difference. Owing a gun should be more like driving: a privilege that can be taken away.