4/27/13

Dear Temple,
I hope this note finds you well and happy. Our newest was having an earnest conversation with me. He was really upset. I nodded my head and sympathized with his plight. I gave him a hug and sent him on his way.
I have absolutely no idea what his problem was. I can't understand the kid half the time. He really needs speech therapy. By the time we got him into preschool it was too late to get him evaluated. He will easily qualify for services, but it will have to wait until the next school year.
This is funny because he can curse with clarity and he did so this morning. He seemed pretty pleased with himself too, until Daddy showed him the error of his ways.
He was easily the youngest child in his last placement and there were some pretty rough children there. He's got himself quite the vocabulary. It's getting rare that we hear any of it at home, but once and a while a word or phrase bounds free. Normally I would share with you what he said, but it was pretty bad. Very bad indeed. Probably would have gotten him executed in a couple countries.

Let's move on.

That story reminds me of a time in high school when I was on a mission trip to Lithuania. I don't have a lot of good memories about the trip. I would describe my personality at that time as aggressive, volatile and rude. I still have memories of things I said and did to people I care about during that time that bother me still today. I couldn't have been all bad, it was when your Aunt Crystal and I started dating. I've asked her about this and she tells me, "You've mellowed with age."

Your Aunt Crystal is very polite. Let's move on.

In Lithuania, right after getting a talking too about being a good 'Ambassador for America', a friend of mine, Seth Schroerlucke, and I went out to play basketball with a couple of Lithuanian dudes. We were having a good time and we picked up some of the language. All the guys were saying what sounded to us like "Shoota!" after they shot the ball. We began saying that too.
The next day we were walking with those guys down a small pathway when the guy up front took a little side-step and said, "Shoota." while pointing at the ground. He was courteously pointing out a large mound of poop on the ground.
"Shoota?" I said while pointing at the mound.
"Shoota? Sudas. Yes," He said.
"Shoota means s**t?" I said.
He smiled and nodded vigorously, "Yes! Sudas means s**t!"
Seth and I looked at each other. We were both thinking about how yesterday we, as ambassadors of America, swore loudly several hundred times in a small Lithuanian town. We thought about how we described all our fun 'shootaing' with the elderly woman who put us up during our stay. It was equally embarrassing and funny, which means par for the course, on with our lives.

I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin

4/26/13

Dear Temple,
I hope this note finds you well and happy. I thought I would write you in the morning instead of the evening and see if anything goes differently. So far it feels the same. I don't know what I was expecting, but it never hurts to change mundane things in your routine - if for the only reason to prove to people you're not in a rut. You can shout, "Look I'm spontaneous!" - but planning for spontaneity defeats the purpose. You've found that you're not doing anything differently, just shuffling the same scheduled events. You're still in your rut.
See, Temple? I've proven that I can make myself depressed with the same deft skill in both the a.m. and the p.m.
Anyway, I haven't been sleeping very well lately and I'm not too sure why. I was getting to bed very late and still getting up before the sun. Your Aunt Crystal was kind enough to suggest trying to get back on a regular sleep schedule and I agreed. So I went to bed at ten and woke up at two in the morning. Let me tell you Temple, it's better to go to bed late and wake up at the normal time, then to go to bed on time, but wake up way early.
A couple days ago your Aunt Crystal suggested I take a pill that would help me sleep. "Never!" I said. If you know me, Temple, you know that I don't like to take medicine of any kind. It's not that I don't believe in the science of medicine or that pharmaceuticals can help me recover from illness, it's just that I don't like too.
I think it had something to do with when I had some minor surgery done several years ago. I was given some liquid hydrocodone to help with the pain while recovering. I found that I was a bit allergic to the medication and was promptly switched, by my doctor, to ibuprofen and something else. This medicine made my stomach feel terrible, so I did the optimal thing only a sane person would do. I said, "&*$#@!", Flung the bottles across the room, and just dealt with the pain.
I'm sure your Aunt Crystal looks back on this little segment of our lives fondly.
Anyway, I knew sleeping three or four hours a night really isn't enough for a person and I rationalized that your Aunt Crystal may be right - that the pill may help me get back on a regular sleeping schedule.
I went to bed at ten and took the sleeping pill. I lay in bed, waiting for the drugs to work. Your Aunt Crystal made me stop singing, "Hey Mr. Tambourine Man." I fell asleep, slept the whole night and had to be woken up the next morning at 6:30 to help with the kids. It was nice getting all that sleep, but I felt terrible the next day I felt groggy and slothful. We rationalized that maybe it was because I hadn't slept much at all lately over the past couple weeks and getting a good night's rest made my body want more. I took another pill the next night and had the same grogginess the next day.
I stopped taking those sleeping pills. Two nights was enough for me.
I don't take a lot of, over-the-counter medicine, because I believe that the body knows how to take care of itself. I see too many people - all a pill-popping - at the slightest discomfort. I, for one, want my liver to work when I'm sixty.
You may look at my tobacco pipe and make an insightful, yet snide, comment about how you want your lungs to work at sixty, but this is my letter and I can judge all I want.
I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin

4/25/13

Dear Temple,
I hope this note finds you well and happy. I'm making Chicken and Salad for dinner while listening to the soothing music of Pantera. I cut legumes with rage.

I've put down The Lord of the Rings trilogy to read High Fidelity. I don't mind putting down the Tolkien books for now. Gimli can wait. I usually do a little matinee reading in the midst of long novels. High Fidelity is really good so far. I spoke with my sister this morning and she is a fan of the book. She told me the author, Nick Hornby, writes books that are always about something else. She's right. I like the book because it seems to be about growing up even though you're old. I can dig that.

The soothing music of Slipknot is on now. I boil eggs with rage.

My sister and I also spoke a bit about keeping children safe. She's gotten some funny comments from people who care about her. Sometimes I just don't understand people. I'm a quiet guy, but that's because people can say the dumbest things and I figure the less I open my mouth the better. You never know when stupid will jump out of it. My neighbor, when I had the four boys, would constantly comment about how he didn't know how I handled them or that I couldn't possibly keep them under tabs all the time. His children usually have a ratio of two adults to one child most of the time. Recently, and ironically, I kept my four kids without major injury while his recently broke his leg. Don't worry.

The soothing music of Rammstein is on now. I saute Chicken with rage.

The truth is that no matter what you do, you can't keep your kids safe all the time and you really shouldn't. The world can get a bit rough, as you know, and kids need to learn how to handle it. Not that they should be flung to the wolves - I just prefer guidance rather than smothering.

The soothing music of Rage Against the Machine is on now. The song is "Know Your Enemy" and I think he's talking about me.

I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin

4/24/13

Dear Temple,

I hope this note finds you well and happy. It's still a bit cold here today. The sun came out in the afternoon and I got to spend a bit of time outside. Your Aunt Crystal's car was repaired. We picked it up about an hour ago. One of the running lights was working erratically and I couldn't fix it dependably. We brought it to the local auto shop and they had just as many problems as I did. Fixing a newer VW Beetle is a pain. This is funny since the old Beetles were models of simplicity. At least I feel a bit vindicated as the auto mechanics had just as much hassle as I did. Maybe I should start a social group. I'm thinking of calling us the "Brotherhood Inclusive Of Men Embattled Since Partaking -in- Heroically Engineering Running Eyeball" or BIOME-SPHERE!
Maybe not.

I didn't have a car of my own so I was home today. I did homeschooling with Elijah, cleaned a bit and worked on some projects. I need to get back into editing my books, but I am feeling a bit fussy about doing that. You see, when I edit or write I need everything just perfect. I need a pipe and good tobacco, coffee, a comfortable working environment and time. If time is pressing then I can't create.

I also need my friend Jeffrey's basement chair. I can write without it, and have, but it's never as good. It's the perfect chair. It's large and very comfortable. It's not really a chair someone would have in their living room - which is too bad. Sometimes style takes away our most comfortable possessions, or at least regulates them to the basement. It looks kind of like this

It's not a thing of beauty, but it works for me. Jeffrey likes it too, but he's a good host and gives into my seating whims. *I just deleted a couple paragraphs about chairs. I re-read the letter and decided that you really don't care about any of this (but I know you would be too polite to tell me to shut up.)

If I'm wrong and you really do care, let me know and I'll regale you with hours of conversation about chairs I feel comfortable in.  

I love you much and miss you always,

Uncle Justin

4/23/13

Dear Temple,
I hope this note finds you well and happy. It's rainy here today. Your Aunt Crystal and I were sitting on the couch and listening to piano music while reading. Which is about as close to contact sports as I've gotten in years, unless you count the guy I accidentally bumped at our local coffee shop while reaching for my Latte.

Your Aunt Crystal is reading a book called Strapless. It's about the historical significance of French art and artists. She's finding it a fascinating and compelling read. She shares anecdotes from the book with me, which I thoroughly enjoy. Reading something like that, a person can really feel a sense of personal and intellectual growth.

I'm reading The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers. In my book Gimli the Dwarf just chopped off a Goblin's head and said, "Arrgh!"

The Lord of the Rings Trilogy I'm reading used to be my father's. Cracking the books open I get a faint, familiar musty smell that reminds me of the basement bookshelf where he used to keep it. It makes me smile.

The letter is going to be a bit short today. I'm not feeling my best and it steals my words.
I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin

4/22/13

Dear Temple,
I hope this note finds you well and happy. I had a very productive day playing the role, as my friend Dave from pipe club calls me, a "kept" man. I vacuumed the whole house, mopped the floors, cleaned the bathrooms, did laundry, cooked meals, taught homeschool, painted a dresser and made my bed. You may not be impressed with me making my bed, but you should be. I hate making my bed.

Your Aunt Crystal got some rice bowls from her artist friend Pete in the mail today. They are beautiful and save me from the conundrum of what we're having for dinner tomorrow. I want to finish this thought with something clever, but admit I'm a bit lost. I wrote, "there will be rice involved" and didn't like that. I then wrote, "Let there be rice!" and threw up in my mouth a little bit. Anyway, tomorrow-dinner-rice. Let's move on.

I'm reading The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers and am enjoying it. It faltered a bit around page 80 but it's picking back up nicely in the early 100's. I've got a couple books coming from the library soon and will have to take a break from Tolkien to read them. "High Fidelity" and "Trainspotting" will decisively slam me from the realms of fantasy into the throes of  decrepit humanity. So to speak.

This week or next I need to paint the porch. I've been putting it off, not due to sloth, but because I live in Missouri. The more South you go, the more people like to stay a bit and chat. You see a lot of front porches here. Some even wrap themselves around the whole house. Working in the front yard will be a lot more talking to neighbors than painting, and my outgoing streak ended when I switched to near-beer. I'll tell you more about that when you're seventy or so.

I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin

4/21/13

Dear Temple,
I hope this note finds you well and happy. Michael Jackson is blaring from Elijah's CD player in the background. I'm catching the lyrics, "Skin head, dead head, everybody gone bad" and something about a "victim machine" and "Don't you black and white me."
It's hard to write you a letter when I'm getting a earnest human rights lecture from Mr. Jackson. It makes me feel like I'm doing something wrong.
When Elijah gets into something he goes full boar. We've been getting an earful of Michael Jackson lately. I prefer the Dangerous album because it's mellower and works as background music, but it's in the car. We both hate the Michael Jackson Cirque Du Soleil Album.
Anyway, Mr. Jackson and my wife have me thinking about our newest child. A co-worker of Crystal's asked her if anyone gave her the "eye-roll" about seeing us with an African American child in our family. I asked Crystal what her co-worker meant by that. She told me that it had to do with our ability to raise an African American Child.
It's a good question.
It's also not a simple one.
The canned answer you'll usually get from people who think they're progressive is, "Of course you can! There is no reason that it should be any different!" These people are well meaning but they are wrong. It is different and no amount of shouting or rhetoric that make us feel good about ourselves can change that.
The basics of raising a child are no different between races. You've got to feed them, educate them, shelter them and turn them towards the sun every now and then for photosynthesis to occur.
The difference is that, as a Caucasian man, I will never know what it is like being an African American in America. I can learn about and rationalize the culture based on my own experiences but I can never fully relate. Period. It's plain stupid to think I can.
It doesn't mean I won't be a good father. I am a good father. I'm just not an African American father.
I can do my best to immerse him in his culture in real ways. I can make sure we go to parks in areas that are predominately African American. If he's interested in joining a choir or joining a sports team, I can find one representative of his culture. What I can't do is raise him in an African American family, because ours is not.
No matter what I do, at his age, all of his cultural influence comes from my family. He can play with, join groups, and be with his culture - but hanging around with and living with are two separate things. He lives with me and I'm a white dude.
He did have a chance to live within his ethic background. His biological family didn't work out, two foster homes which represented his culture didn't work out. If any family of African American background were available to him, he should have gone to them. Period.
This doesn't mean that he would be necessarily better off. Our home is very suited for children. I just think that culture is important. I realize that I'm defining culture pretty narrowly, but this is my letter and I can do what I want. I know a lot about Elijah's culture, gleaned from his previous homes and paperwork and do what I can for him. I know nothing about our newest's and I mourn for his history that is lost.
What I did do for him was make a life long promise to be his father. Something which nobody has ever done for him before. It is the greatest gift I can give him and I do it freely. I love him dearly. He is my son. I will raise him up, show him how to be a good man and eventually send him forth to pursue whatever future he desires.
That will just have to be enough.
I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin