Summer Solstice: A Dark Day

   The longest, brightest day of the year almost always depresses me. No, really. Just a little. What is wrong with me? How does it happen?

   I am a very glass-half-full kind of guy. I am often able to successfully rationalize the benefits of an event, even if the event switches. Does that make sense? Say there is this meeting I'll eventually need to have, for whatever reason. The meeting could be today or it could be next month. I find myself thinking "If I have to go to this meeting today, that's okay because then I won't have to have it later," but then if the meeting is later, I will think "I sure am glad I don't have to go to this meeting now, I can just go to it later." I shouldn't be able to pull a best-case scenario out of a binary action like that, but I do. All the time. (actually, comedian Demetri Martin sums up my life-philosophy quite well in this little bit. It's safe.)

   So, as a teacher who treasures his summers, loves warm, bright evenings and could spend all day outside, why does the Summer Solstice sadden me? Because it harkens a decline. A decline in the hours of the day, really. It should be the pinnacle of the year, but WHY CAN'T IT COME IN THE MIDDLE OF JULY!? When it comes seven-tenths of the way through June, things are just starting! The sun is growing it's force, school is barely out, playing is just about to really get going, and already the days start to get shorter?! That doesn't seem right. It's hard for me to deal with.

   On the other side, I love the Winter Solstice. The shortest day of the year? Sweet. We got through it. It's all getting better now. Soon the clocks will switch back, the nights will be brighter, and the worst of it is over. I somehow enjoy the worst day of the year more than the best day of the year. I dread the decline but look forward to the ascent. This flies in the face of my perma-glass-half-full defense I've set up, but it persists.

Oregon. Be jealous.

   I feel a lot of pressure when the sun is out. Everyone who lives in the Pacific Northwest gets this. We have such ample stuff to play in, with our lakes and rivers and mountains and ocean aplenty, and we have so few days of sunshine to really play with, that when they come you feel the need to use them. I don't play video games in the summer unless the sun is down. If I am going to read, I read outside. If I have work to do, I do it early in the morning before that heat is there to power my solar self. I actually go for runs (I detest running) because it's a reason to be outside. There's a finite amount of play that I can have. I need to play in it.
   I feel the pressure to have a successful summer. My goal is to have this day, some randome day in the middle of August, where I take a deep breath, satisfied that I have done enough. That I've swam and biked and hiked and frisbeed and floated and hammocked and laughed and firepitted and traveled and explored and adventured enough to get me through the upcoming play hibernation.
   I don't feel that pressure in the wet months. In fact, I feel free. I feel free to sit around, to play video games, to watch Netflix, to grade and write tests. I love that my job takes place during the bad months and is over just as things get good. I'd have a hard time working when the sun is out. Something feels off when I find the winter months more calming, despite the calm that summer actually brings to my life.

   (Fall helps. I am able to ease into the end of summer with beautiful weather, surrounding beauty, harvest foods to consume, and of course football.)

   This is my main dilemma - maybe I shouldn't say dilemma but instead "question" - about heaven. Is it always summer? Can there be a winter? Can there be seasons? Is there change? Change is hard. Change is bad, right? If things are perfect, there can't be change, because that would imply either things weren't perfect before the change or they aren't perfect after the change, right? Is that river always flowing, and the sun always shining, and every day it is there for me to choose to either swim in it, lay by it, float down it, or stare at it and listen to it?

   I actually think that's the great miracle about heaven. Well, maybe not the Great Miracle of heaven. Apart from the idea that heaven is infinite, that you never reach a halfway point and therefore never have to worry about the decline (there is no solstice! what?!). Apart from the fact that you are with God. Apart from all of the obvious stuff, I think the miracle of heaven, at least for me, is that change is good. Always good, always better. We can change from one perfect to another perfect. Change is transformed from a source of pain (is it THE source of pain?) to a new type of joy that comes from change. There has to be change, because we'll always have more God to experience. There's no solstice with Him.

   Maybe that's the real root of my anxiety about the longest day of the year. It's not something that I want to experience, because ultimately a climax signals either a decline or an end. I don't want those things. I don't think I am going to have them in Heaven. There's no solstice there.

My Experience With Violent Video Games

   I've been thinking about writing on violent video games for a while. Years, really. I probably haven't written anything because there's a bit of shame involved, but I also don't think that anecdotal experiences are very worthwhile in discussions of such enormous gravity. Still, I want to share a couple of stories from yesteryear that might inform a few opinions on the issue.
   I'm not a "gamer" in the sense that I don't spend all my time playing video games, I don't get all of the new video games, and I don't play all the major games out there. I can list off my favorite games, but the words Metroid, Smash Bros, Red Dead and Resident Evil don't mean a lot to people that aren't "gamers," even though you recognize games called Zelda and Mario, which I also adore. So let me make this a bit more accessible for those of you that don't own a console (if you don't need a primer on the basics of games, skip the next four paragraphs).

   There are, in my opinion, four main brands of violent video games: War games, zombie shooters, sci-fi shooters, and GTA. (I'm not including fighters like Street Fighter or Soul Caliber because I don't think they apply here).

   War games, the most famous being Call of Duty, involve playing through a battle scenario. They put out a new Call of Duty game pretty much every year. These games originally took place during WWII, but now have a modern-day feel fighting terrorists or Russians or whoever. They are huge sellers and everyone plays them, and lots of virtual people get killed.
   Zombie shooters have a me-against-the-world mentality, and the main game in this genre is Resident Evil. They put out a big, new RE game about once every other year, though there are lots of smaller games all over the place.
   Sci-fi shooters are like the Call of Duty games, only they involve killing aliens and people instead of just people, and don't use realistic weapons. This is the Halo genre.
   Finally, there's Grand Theft Auto. The general genre here is called "sandbox" because its an open world you explore and play in. GTA games take about 4 years to make because they are so vast and expansive. These games center on a character that the player becomes. He runs errands and completes missions, but much of the game involves stealing cars, running over strangers on the street, and killing whomever you want. The phrase "pistol whipped a prostitute to death" could be used at any time to describe a recent event, if the player so chooses.

   There's lots to explore and discuss, but I want to tell a couple of stories about violent video games and me.

   Story 1: I've never played Grand Theft Auto. I've played the wild-west version, made by the same company, called Red Dead Redemption. In high school, a friend of mine was playing GTA every free moment he had (it's a very immersive, addictive game. Lots of people play it in long streaks). He's a nice, normal guy and was a nice, normal kid. We were walking to lunch on the sidewalk one day and he looked at me and said "Wow, I've been playing so much Grand Theft Auto that I just had the urge to run to that car, pull the driver out of it, beat him up and drive off." (That happens innumerable times in the game).

   Story 2: Resident Evil 4 is one of my favorite games ever. I don't play violent games much (never played GTA, never played Call of Duty, played very little Halo). In RE4 you progress through a world killing zombies by the skin of your teeth. It is absurdly fun and immersive, to the point that one night, after having played it for hours, I came across this terrifying zombie. It was probably 1:30 in the morning. I couldn't kill it so I ran from it. I turned a corner and there was another one that started to eat my neck. I got so scared I turned off the console at that exact moment and put in a Mario game. I played it for an hour just to try and calm myself down.
   That's not the story. That just tells you how awesome this game is. I've grown up around guns and am very comfortable around them. I don't live in the country, so only ever shot them a few times a year when camping or hunting or something, but I know how to handle them and how to be safe. In college I went shooting with my dad, sister and brother. I'd been playing Resident Evil for a few weeks. As soon as I had a little .22 rifle in my hand and I saw my brother a few yards away, I had this sudden urge. My brain screamed "shoot him!"
   Seriously.
   It only happened for a split second. It's not like it affected my actions at all, or was even close to happening. I felt sick about it, in fact. I wanted to throw up just for thinking it. Only recently have I thought about that moment and not felt sick to my stomach.

   Two stories about how playing some of these games can potentially effect your brain wiring. If you were to talk to a gamer about things like this, and if they were honest with you, I bet they'd tell you that little moments and thoughts like this happen. Obviously, being two well-adjusted, grounded-in-reality, having-good-parents kids like my friend and I, it's not a big deal. But put games like RE4, Call of Duty, and Grand Theft Auto in the hands of someone unstable, isolated and angry, and, I dunno, maybe that's not a good thing?


   I write this because I hear a lot of external talk about this issue. People who haven't played or don't understand video games have conversations about them. It occurred to me that video games are so stinking new, that it's not like the whole of society can relate to them in the same way. Playing a video game is different from watching a movie or television show. As my brother can attest, when I was young and Power Rangers came out, I would get more aggressive and violent after watching it. I wanted to do karate and kick things and he was my little putty (if you get that reference, well, you probably won't admit it). I never hurt him or actually kicked him, I just liked pretending I could do those things.
   In video games, there's less pretending. In the very realistic, immersive games, you start to think like and identify with the character you become. In a game like Grand Theft Auto, the first time you beat someone up and steal a car, you feel kind of gross. Then you remind yourself "they aren't real people," and you realize this game lets you do things you wouldn't do in real life, not just things that you couldn't do like fly a spaceship or break bricks with your head. That's a dangerous combination: things you wouldn't do in the real world, done in a world that feels real.
   I'm not an expert, so don't bother citing me anywhere, but I think it's worth knowing that these things can happen. My kid won't be playing anything violent at my house for a long, long time, that's for sure.

All that we really know about Santa is that he likes Coke.

   Oh Santa, what to do what to do. My wife and I had our first real conversation yesterday discussing what we'll tell our son about Santa. He's only 15 months old, so we didn't have to worry about it this year. For my part, I figure he'll hear the story and see enough movies on his own that we won't need to tell him the story, and we can put stuff in his stockings and under his tree from Santa, but it can just be a game and a story people like to have fun with during this time of year. If he ever asks, point blank, "Is Santa real?" I'll hedge a few times with "Well what do you think?" and if he presses, then I'll tell the truth. I'd like to lie to my children as little as possible.

   For me, that's not the Santa dilemma. For me, the Santa dilemma is coal.

   Does anyone ever get coal in their stockings? Does Santa ever actually tell anyone that they're a bad kid? I've never heard of that happening, not in "real life" and not in movies either. I can't remember if Tim Allen ever gave a kid some coal for being naughty, but I feel like it happened once?
   What a wasted opportunity! A parent with a bad kid, or a naughty kid, or a disobedient or defiant kid, could still give the kids presents from mom or dad, but if they withheld the presents from Santa, and put some coal in the kid's stocking, they could claim "we love you and gave you presents, but Santa didn't think you were a good boy this year." Has anyone ever done this!? They really should.
 
   So that gets me thinking about what makes a naughty kid bad or a nice kid good. Of course the parents could just decide if they were going to give a kid coal from Santa or not, but spoiler alert let's pretend like Santa is real. How does he decide who is good and who is not? There's basically two options:

1)  Half of the little boys and girls are good (nice) and half of the little boys and girls are not (naughty).

2) There is some point, or level, of "goodness" (niceness) that Santa expects us to strive for.

Option 1: half are good and half are not
There are so many flaws with this sort of reasoning. Most people that aren't in jail would probably call themselves good people. At least, most of the people that I associate with would call themselves good people. I am probably a bad example because most people I associate with are teachers or go to church or have a lot of societal norms that make them "good" people. But, is it fair that people who grow up in an environment that is more likely to produce "good" children are going to get presents while other kids are going to get coal? No. So, does Santa have some sort of a neighborhood/background/upbringing criteria that he follows? Only half the kids in my neighborhood are good, let's say.

Well, this would cause me, as a kid, to try to be very very good, but it could also lead to me, as a kid, wanting other kids to be bad. Or to be less good. That's not a good thing. Plus, it's not fair that a kid can't be judged as good or not without comparisons based on other kids. When you think about it, saying that only 50% of the kids are good means that only 50% of kids can be good. No matter what, half of all the world's kids can or cannot be good, and there will be some that are left out, even if they are trying.

Does trying not really matter then? Couldn't we all get organized and push the average level of goodness down, so we can have our bad fun but still get presents? There's lots of ways to manipulate such a system, it turns out.

One might counter with "Fine. Make it the top 25% who get presents, or the top 75% who get presents. This leads to all of the same issues that 50% had. So maybe Santa should just pick the percentage of kids that are good year-by-year? The percentage that falls on who was actually pretty good or not?

Ah, there we have option 2.

Option 2: There is some point, or level, of "goodness" that Santa expects us to strive for.
This is the one that really makes sense. None of those 50% issues come up here. So, the obvious question is "Where does Santa set that level?" It can't really be based on how relatively good one year is compared to the next, for all the reasons listed in Option 1. It has to be a fixed point of goodness.

Well, kids that steal and lie can't be good, right? But, every kid is going to steal some other kids candy or lie to get out of trouble or take someone else's turn with a toy. We can't expect them to be perfect little angels all the time. Does he set a limit of what can and can't be stolen? Or how many times we can steal and still be considered nice? There's probably some sliding scale like "you can take four of emily's turns at tetherball on recess or you can take one kid's lunch money" or some combination inbetween, right? I think that makes pretty good sense. Sure, it's extremely complicated and dense, but that's why Santa has magic and elves and stuff, right?

So then, the problem becomes "How are we to know what's good and what isn't? How can we tell if we are being good enough?" Well, with such a complicated system, we can't really check things off or try to match our past year with his goodness chart. So the game probably turns from trying to reach a certain level of goodness to just being as good as we can and hope that's good enough, right?

Now, I understand that Calvin and his trusty tiger had all of these discussions in a much simpler, more eloquent fashion (having a talking tiger makes these things easier). The way I see it, unless Santa has his level of "goodness" at Perfect, then he's allowing for any degree of badness. That can't be a good thing, right?

You probably know where I've been going with this for a while (and by "a while" I mean like pretty much way too long now), but this is a problem with God and Heaven that I don't think many people consider. If getting in to heaven requires being a "good person," most people would define their goodness as being "better than most." But, this system would send half the world to hell. Would the God of heaven only give half of the people a chance at Heaven? Or any percentage, wherever you set that benchmark?

So, make the requirements some level of goodness. But if that level of goodness isn't at Perfect, doesn't it allow for some amount of evil? Could I live a nearly-perfect life and then murder someone? If I am trying to do enough good just to allow myself some bad, am I really good? My goal is to balance enough good against my bad, meaning I really want to do bad, right? This is hard.

Merry Christmas. That's why Jesus came. He allows to be perfect by association. I don't think there are any good people out there. None at all, not by any sort of meaningful standard. I think Jesus was good because he was God, and he's the benchmark for goodness that we need, and he allows us to piggyback on his goodness. Now, you might not believe in Heaven or God or things like that, which is another conversation, but I was up last night thinking about Santa (who wasn't?) so we had this conversation. 

Thinking Out Loud

(note: I wrote this a couple of months ago, but didn't think I could post it until I was actually offered a job and some details were made public about position availability. So it's a bit dated, but here it is.)

     I work hard to not treat this blog solely like a livejournal, where I tell you about my day and my thoughts and put little smiley faces and giggles everywhere. : / However, I have found that a lot of my posts help me clear up my own thoughts on whatever I am talking about. So, that's what I will attempt to do here: get my thoughts in order. Hope you enjoy the process. :)

     I am a sucker for being needed. Even more so I am a sucker for being wanted. Put the two together and you can get me to do just about anything. This comes through primarily in my tutoring, I have found. Today I turned down my first client ever. Someone called needing help and I said I was too busy. The fact that I have not done this yet is a bit crazy, because in the past 9 months I have been getting called to tutor a lot. I just can't say no because these kids need me, want me, and pay me. Oh, I should add: money is another thing I am a big sucker for.

This is the plan for LCC's new downtown campus. I'd love to teach there. 

     So let me tell you about my life right now. I teach math at Lane Community College. Throughout the whole year, I don't teach full time. I probably average about 0.7 (where 1.0 is full time). There are terms where I am employed 0.9 and terms where I am 0.55, but I am almost never less than half-time. I really enjoy teaching at Lane, in fact I enjoy it more most every term. I have wonderful, flexible hours, I teach math to people that want to learn and know it's useful, I don't have to deal with minors and the headaches that come with that (calling home, taking attendance, confiscating cell phones, pretending I know who rappers are), and I don't have to grade too much.
     This term, for example, I teach two classes, which in this case is just under half-time. Those two classes happen back-to-back on Tuesdays and Thursdays. So I teach Tuesdays and Thursdays from 4:00 - 9:00. MWFSat and Sun I don't have an obligation to do any work, although there is always some grading and test writing to get done.
     My pharmacist wife usually works 4 days a week, for roughly 36 hours. Those days can be spread out or bunched up. Some weeks we'll have three days off together, some weeks we won't have a whole day together at all. Our schedules are very complimentary. We only need childcare for not-as-little Wyatt once every other week or so, unless my tutoring or substitute teaching get in the way.
     My life is very good.

It's like every picture of this town has a permanently gray sky! (South Eugene High School)

     Yesterday I subbed at South Eugene High School. There were two major developments from that day of subbing: 1) I literally fell over in my chair while in the front of the room. No one was watching, I leaned over to grab something on the floor and the chair came out from under me. I heard about it from every following class, along the lines of "so your the guy that fell over, right?"
     2) The principal and I ended up walking in the same direction for quite a while (South has famously long halls, rumored to be a quarter-mile long or something). He told me there is a chance there will be a temporary math posting next year, meaning I could teach math for part of the year. I taught math at South last year, also on a temporary contract, which was wonderful, but also didn't result in any long-term position.

     I loved teaching at South. The students are respectful and work hard, for the most part. Parents are involved. The curriculum is challenging. It's a very successful place. It's typically the best public school in the state and one of the best in the country. I was proud to have taught there. Part of the reason I still sub there is to keep a foot in the door.

     So, here's the thing: South wants me and South needs me. They have a lot of math teachers retiring in the very near future. They offer a course called BC Calculus that covers the entire college calculus series in about 7 months. The teacher of that course has been doing it for over a decade and wants to start handing the reigns to the next guy. As of now, I am the choice for the "next guy."
     My church meets at South Eugene HS as well. I'd love to be in a position where I can help both the school and the church in both directions with various things. If a door is locked on Sunday, I'd have a key! If the alarms weren't turned off, I'd know how to. If the school needs some help with Project X, I could go to church and say "hey let's work on Project X!" There are already people at church and at South that do all of these things, (the church and the school have a great relationship thus far) but one more couldn't hurt. Plus, I'd get to feel important, like I'm needed.
     Teaching at South strokes my ego. I am teaching math at the best school in the state. I go to a church that attends my school so I can look important and helpful in times of crisis. I am wanted by the staff and potentially needed by the students (although South would have no trouble getting their pick of math teachers when they post an opening).
      Teaching at Lane makes sense. The time commitment is smaller. The flexibility in the hours is fantastic. The schedule fits with my wife's. I get to be home more. They pay at Lane is comparable to the pay at South, while requiring less of my time present at the school. I can tutor more easily if I want to do that, but tutoring is wearing on me.
     Teaching at both isn't very feasible long term. I did it last year, but that was pre-baby. And it was also pretty awful for a while. If I was the only person affected by this decision, I would teach full time at South and teach a class every-other term at Lane. That way I can retire from South eventually and still have a good job at Lane with seniority to occupy some time. But, I have a wife that out-earns me, and the more I work the less she'll work. Or the more childcare we'd have to pay for.

Yes I am re-using this picture because it's awesome.

     Ultimately, I have to wait to see if a job is even available. I'd have to figure out what it pays and if it would lead to a permanent job in the future (not extremely likely as the school district continues to shrink and lose funding). But, the more I think (and write) about it, the more it becomes clear to me that staying at Lane makes the most sense for my family. I know at this point in time my wife agrees with me. And I know at this point in time Wyatt pretty much only thinks about eating whatever he can find on the floor.
     Thanks for listening! Any thoughts or comments are certainly welcome, though I don't know why you'd still be reading this far...

The Chronicles of Rehab: Better Than Others

     I DISLOCATED MY SHOULDER WHILE SKIING THREE YEARS AGO. I NEVER HAD SURGERY ON THE SHOULDER BECAUSE I WAS CHEAP AND I COULD LIVE WITH IT. IT WASN'T IMPACTING MY DAY TO DAY LIFE. THIS PAST AUGUST I TORE MY ACL. IT IMMEDIATELY IMPACTED MY DAY TO DAY LIFE. I DECIDED TO OPERATE ON BOTH, IN THE SAME INSURANCE YEAR, SO THAT I COULD "BUY ONE GET ONE FREE" FOR SURGERIES AND REHAB. THESE EXPERIENCES WILL LIKELY DOMINATE THIS BLOG FOR THE FORESEEABLE FUTURE.

(another side note: I really thought, upon creation, that this blog would be more funny than serious or philosophical, but all of my funny keeps getting absorbed by my other blog. Oh well.)

     My students at LCC this term have been treated to an instructor who has had two surgeries in two months. On the first day of class, I limped in on a knee immobilizer (but at least was off crutches), and last week I walked in with a hefty, all-business sling. One of my students made this blunt, astute comment regarding my surgeries: "That's a real shot to your manhood."

     It really has been.

     All told, I am going to lose about a year (and two summers) to these injuries. They keep me from being able to work around the house, exercise, and now I can't play with my baby like I used to. It's been humbling and frustrating, and for the first time in my life I think I've had little bouts of depression.

     (After my shoulder surgery, my main thought has been "I am so glad I did this," just because I can't wait to have a stable, trustworthy shoulder again. So don't put me on a suicide watch list or anything.)

     A lot of people have offered me consolation along the lines of "well, it could be worse" and "there are plenty of people worse off than you." I find myself thinking through the logic of those sentiments. It's odd - maybe "terrible" is a better word - that comfort can be found in comparing one's self to those less fortunate. It's just the human condition I assume. But those statements imply that there are a select few individuals that can't be consoled. No one has it worse. It couldn't be worse. Is that possible?

Job not Gob

     This is where the term "of Biblical proportions" has great meaning to me. The Bible is filled with stories of extremes. King Solomon had access to all earthly comforts and desires and wasn't satisfied, Jesus lived a perfect life and died for sin, Paul was the top Christian-killer before his conversion, I can't think of anyone with a better claim to revenge than young David against King Saul, and Job lost everything - land, livestock, family, health - yet still praised God. These extremes make our mundane lives comfortable and easy by comparison, which I think is among God's goals with scripture.

     Even without the story of Job, my plight is not terribly severe. I have a loving wife, healthy baby, warm house, good job with good insurance, a friend from church who's a skilled surgeon, and supportive friends and family surrounding me. But Job sure helps me find perspective.

     "It could be worse" bothers me less than "there are plenty of people worse off than you." I liken it to the following scenario: when I chat with someone that has a casual belief in God and Heaven, they invariably state that they think they'll go to heaven because they are a good person. When I ask what they mean by "a good person," their response is typically not about the good things they do, but the bad things they don't do. "I just know there are people a lot worse than me. I don't kill or steal or do things like that."

     If one stops and thinks about it, this is a crappy, dickish way to determine who gets into heaven. It'd only be half of all the people, right? The good half? That sucks. It means, by default, billions of people have no shot at heaven. What's worse, you are taking somebody's spot!! If you were a good person, should you give that spot to someone else?

     This doesn't seem fair. Shouldn't heaven be fair? Maybe it's not the top 50% who get in, but the top 70%. Or 90%. Whatever percentage we land on, we are going to have the same quota problem, where a certain number of people have to go to hell (or go to "not heaven," or even "not the best level of heaven" if you are that soft on Hitler and his ilk). That's no good. Curving a class only helps people above the curve, it actually dooms those beneath it. That's only fair if those people deserve to fail already. So we really can't base our heaven-going status on relative goodness.

     So a universal standard of goodness must be applied. I think we can all agree on major things, like don't murder or steal or abuse your kids. But as we get down to the nitty-gritty of that line of thinking, it becomes a huge disaster. What about the hungry who have to steal to eat? What about killing out of self defense? What about people born with a genetic disposition towards anger, or alcoholism? What if someone's dad beat them, making them much more likely to beat their kids? It turns out that things beyond our control - our parents, environment, fortune, location, era, health, etc. - probably have a greater impact on our "goodness" than we do. This also does not seem fair - that those privileged in this life are more likely to be privileged in the next.

The 99% aren't good. Neither is that 1%.

      One could claim that God would know who was and wasn't a good enough person. He can obviously account for all of those factors that I just mentioned and make a fair judgement. But there's still a logical flaw in this logic. One only has to be good enough. One could balance their good with choice bad, to their advantage. Maybe doing intentional, calculated bad means that one is truly a bad person, but then I think that would make all of us bad people (for what it's worth, I think we are). I can't see a getting-into-heaven-system that doesn't accommodate anything but constantly pursuing good.

     I moved quickly from "my shoulder hurts" to "there are no good people." That's just how my brain works. I test an idea by taking it to its logical extremes, both enormous and minute. I think God is a God of logic. In fact, I think "logical" might be the best way to describe him, above all other terms. I'd like to take this moment to clarify that "logical" does not mean "simple" or "scientific." I think a lot of people confuse those.

     I appreciate condolences about my surgeries and injuries. I know people are well-intending, even when they call me old and broken. Apart from this short span I am super healthy and relatively injury-free. I am extremely blessed, and not just because my life is better than most. I believe that all people have the potential to be blessed, because it's not only offered to the good. Because there are no good. It's offered to all who are willing to take it, and it's called Jesus Christ.

Manhood

     There's no rite of passage to becoming a man in modern culture. We don't kill a lion or walk across a volcano. If you're Jewish you become a man when you have your Bar Mitzvah, but I am not Jewish. There's not even a set age when manhood arrives. There are stepping stones, like being able to drive at 16, fight wars at 18, drink at 21 and rent cars at 25, but all of those things are more about adulthood than manhood. And adulthood isn't exciting, manhood is.
     There are several moments and decisions throughout my life that, when I reflect upon them, I can see how they've directly impacted who or where I am today. It's a fun little game to play, and I encourage you to see if you can think of any. I had a lot of time last night/this morning to think. Really, to do nothing but think. My baby was sick, for the first time, and not handling it well. He had a high fever, wouldn't sleep for more than five minutes at a time, and he wanted to be held. I held him, walked in a circle, and thought. From about 4:00 - 5:30, my goal was to last as long as I could holding him, hoping to give my wife some much needed rest.
     Currently, my left arm is in a sling and car bear very little weight. Holding a jar of peanut-butter causes my shoulder - which was recently operated on to fix and old dislocation - to have a decent amount of pain. I was holding Wyatt with one hand (luckily I am right handed) walking around in the dark, tired and in pain, trying to last as long as I can.
     I've done this before, I remembered. I did this the night I became a man.
     (I know that last phrase is often used to mean "when I lost my virginity," but that's not the case here. What a great moment you just ruined, thinking along those lines.)

Our very lucky, seldom killed prey.

     I was on my first hunting trip. I was twelve years old, and joined my dad, uncle, and dad's friend Pete. I hadn't done any hunter's safety training to get a license, so I couldn't carry a gun or shoot anything. Really, I decided last minute that I'd like to go. The family was in the car and dad was telling mom some details of the trip. I interrupted and said "Dad, can I go?" He was taken aback and said, "Well, yeah, sure, if you want to."
     He was taken aback because I had never shown any interest in hunting. Truth be told, I didn't really want to go hunting when I invited myself that day. I just knew that my dad would like it if I went. I often felt bad when I was young because I didn't like doing some of the things with my dad that he liked doing with his dad. Things like fixing cars and working in the garage and other man stuff. I didn't have video games at this time, so it's not like I was wasting my time in other areas (I played a lot of legos), I just didn't like to watch and not really know what's going on. When you're young and your dad is building something, you can't really participate. You can't measure and cut the wood and design the plans and pick materials. You just get to do things like passing a wrench or holding down one end of the wood or something. I told myself, back then, "When I am able to actually do this stuff, I'll enjoy it." I think I was a pretty smart kid, really.
     So, dad was going hunting and I was going to join. One day, I don't remember which, my uncle Roger shot a bull elk. I wasn't around for it. I didn't get to see the kill, be a part of the gutting/cleaning, or anything. In fact the rest of us waited and built a fire until Roger joined us with some meat, and then Pete and Roger went back to grab more. Eventually, the men strapped meat to their backs, we grabbed the elk's head, and started to walk to the trucks.
     It was late. So late it was early, in fact. Let's say it was 2:00 am by the time we were really heading back. The men all had enormous amounts of meat strapped to their packs, so heavy I couldn't remotely lift them. On top of that, we had a big elk's head to carry back. I looked around and saw that, literally, I wasn't carrying my own weight. They thought about giving me a small amount of meat to strap on, but it wasn't really working. So I volunteered to help carry the elk's head.

     This is not going to sound as epic as it felt. We walked a long ways in the dark and cold. It was probably 20 or 30 miles (okay, maybe 2). But for some reason, I don't know why, once we started I had a strong, clear desire: I was going to carry that head all the way to the truck. I was a small, twelve-year-old kid who had avoided real work his whole life. I could have gotten out of it. I could have helped for a while and then just followed along. But I felt the need to help. When we started, I could barely lift up my half of the head. The grip on the antlers was weird, the weight hung at an awkward angle, and I wasn't tall enough to let my arms drop - I had to bend at the elbow. The first thousand steps were hard.
     My feet were frozen, my arm was weak and hurting, I couldn't see, and I was tired. I almost quit several times. Then, at one point, I realized I am going to do this. It wasn't a proclamation of my determination, like "no matter what I will get this done," it was more of a realization of the reality. This is going to happen. I am going to do this. At that point, my arms stopped hurting, my feet warmed up, my legs had energy, and I had this newfound awareness. I was alert. I was going to do this.
     Looking back, at that moment I became a man.

     Carrying around a baby who's sick, with one arm in a sling and the other hurting, doesn't seem as intense. Especially in a warm house walking on carpet with couches always within five feet. But last night/this morning, my arms were hurting, I was exhausted, and I didn't know how long I would last. The baby was sleeping, and I needed that to last as long as it could. I remembered that I had done this before - tired, weak, carrying something for an unknown distance - under worse circumstances, and I could do it again. My pain went away, my energy returned, and I became aware again.   I was able to walk for as long as we needed to. Wyatt eventually woke up, his fever was gone and he smiled and played a bit. He was better. I am going to pretend that I did that.

     I'm sure there are all sorts of lessons and morals to pull out of this. I won't bother telling you what they are, as you've already suffered through me talking about myself at length and ad nausea. I'll just add that I had a ton of fun on the first - and all the following - hunting trips I've been on. I've never seen an animal I could legally shoot while hunting, but I've been able to skin and clean an elk, get lost and unlost in the woods, and experienced true adventure. I haven't been able to go hunting for nearly 10 years, due to school and always having a new teaching job (it's tough to take a week off at your new job in the first month, especially when you get breaks in the summers and winters and springs), but I am going to go back this year. I probably won't kill anything, but I'm sure I'll have a good time.

Change and Batman

     I am currently playing Batman: Arkham City. It is probably the greatest video game since Tetris. Between playing a Batman video game, avoiding previews for the new Batman movie and planning to head to Barnes and Noble to catch up on my Batman reading, I've got a lot of dark brooding on the brain.

     When I subbed last week, a student asked me who my favorite superhero is. When I replied with "Batman," he rolled his eyes and informed me that I had made a boring choice. I told him what I tell everyone who will listen:

     Batman is the only character that can change.

     Change is death in a serial story. Think about all of the sitcoms you have watched. When things start to really, fundamentally change, the show goes downhill. Chandler and Monica get married, House gets fired, Monk solves Trudy's murder. All shows that aren't meant to tell a finite story, but instead intend to last for as long as they possibly can, have to avoid change for as long as possible. If you want to have a sitcom that can last for 12 years, you need to have stable characters that new fans can jump in to and immediately understand what's going on. In my mind, The Big Bang Theory is the perfect example of this today. If you turned on a new episode, you'd get there are 4 nerds, one who is smarter than the rest, one who is Indian and shy, one who is Jewish and horny, and one who is trying to be sort of normal. There is a cute girl across the hall. Hi-jinks ensue.

     The Simpsons is the prime example. Lisa is the smartest person in Springfield and has been in grade school for over 20 years now. No matter how an episode ends, you know the next one is going to start with everything back to normal. The show can last as long as it has because nothing ever really changes.
     This is especially true for comic books. Spider-Man and Superman can't evolve and grow as characters. Why? Because they are supposed to appeal to kids, really. Kids aren't concerned with character growth or development, but with cool fight scenes and funny jokes. More importantly, if the characters change and grow, new fans can't adopt as easily. Comics are in a state of trying to balance their adult fans with finding new, young fans for their future. They do this by "rebooting" their comic lines every decade or so.
     So Superman is always going to fight Lex Luthor. Spider-Man will always have trouble balancing work, school and hero-ing. Things external to them can change - sometimes Lois and Clark are together or aren't and sometimes Spider-man can't make any webbing - but the characters themselves change little.

     This is not the case with Batman, and the world he inhabits. He's always mad and dark and essentially ageless. But, he changes. There have been periods where he is intensely paranoid, not trusting anyone not named Alfred. Sometimes he works to rehabilitate Two Face, while other times the beats he crap out of him. The Riddler turns from a villain to a Private Investigator, because he loves the puzzles. Gotham had a devastating, crippling earthquake. Currently, there are actually two Batman's (Batmen?) if I understand correctly. Bruce Wayne is Batmanning all over the world while the first Robin is Batmanning in Gotham. Change happens.

That Batman up there? That's the original Robin.
That Robin? Bruce Wayne's son. That's  what I call change.

     Part of why I am so fond of the Dark Knight is because of the complex nature of Bruce Wayne. But the main reason I can keep reading Batman is because there's a progression. He will become more and more obsessed with stopping crime, then something happens and he becomes more focused on using his resources as a billionaire to aid Gotham, and then he works to train those around him (like Robins and such) to be more effective.
     There are things that can't change. Bruce Wayne can't really age, because that means that an end is in sight. He can't reveal his identity, because then everything's fundamentally different. He can't really die. But, beyond the major, the sub-major is in flux.
     I haven't really read a new Batman comic in a couple of years. Borders bookstores closed (maybe I should have bought some of those comics?), a baby came, etc. Next chance I get I want to catch up. That's the point, though, I have stuff to learn. I can tell you right now that Spider-Man is struggling to balance his life and Superman is fighting some enormous ideal, because that's what they've been doing for my entire life. No change. The change is what makes Batman unique and worthwhile.