1000 miles that I won't forget

I've just arrived home after a week away to realise that
1) I forgot to put the bin out (stinky) and
2) I've clocked up almost 1000 miles in my trusty Citroen C5 since Monday.

That seems a lot...and it felt like it too!  The passenger side footwell of the car is currently piled high with empty Costa cups, Rizla packets and various fast food bags and I've yet to air it out to get rid of that "guy in heavy jeans, stuck in standstill traffic in a hot car, sweating his nuts off" smell, but I'm home now, sitting on the sofa with a homemade cup of coffee on the table; it's calm, relaxed...and a moment for me to reflect on my motorway cruise.

It felt awful at times.  Cramped up and hot, sometimes slow, sometimes busy and fast as I jostled about from lane to lane, hurling insults at my sat nav for instructing me incorrectly.  But, the bits that stick out about the whole week are the times when some little things broke the monotony, made me smile or set a wonderful train of thought in motion to keep my mind occupied for the next 20 miles.  Things that made the journey more enjoyable and, even, worthwhile for its own sake.  I thought I'd jot them down. 

Lovely, interesting, cool things I noticed while on the road

• A fairly young couple bombing along in the fast lane.  While he sat in the drivers seat, drumming on the steering wheel and bobbing his head to the loud music they had on, she sat in the passenger seat, a broad and beautiful smile across her face as the sun gleamed off her Ray Bans...and then they both launched into the chorus of the song with full gusto and humoured commitment to hitting the notes..both laughing and at ease with how "cringe" that movie moment actually was.  

• A guy (honestly) knuckle deep into his nose as we plodded along through another motorway hold up. Buddy, I've got nothing better to do than watch you, but don't let that put you off.  

• A swarm (swarm?) of military aircraft passing overhead; low, slow and glorious.  It was a bunch of helicopters and a couple of plane things with copter-ish rotator blade thingumajigs on each wing.  Even Google hasn't helped me find out what they were, I don't know.  But it was fascinating.  What a different sort of day they were having in the sky; an every day thing for them, but great to watch from the ground. 

• A bored lad, not 10 years old.  Head against the window.  He offered me a lazy wave, he returned my smile...and then promptly told on me when I poked my tongue out at him.  ...I put my foot down after that.  Aaawkwaaaaard!

• The lone guy completely oblivious to anyone as he sang along to music...the pain of the note showing on his face, but he was enjoying it.   Glad the window was shut, though.  It didn't look like he made it. 

• A guy driving along in a pick-up truck, where, in the back, was a huge carving of an eagle coming to land on a piece of wood, its magnificent wings spreading, I'm sure, 6 feet.  It looked awesome.  An amazing piece of work.

• An old man, in some old and casual suit jacket, a hat with his white hair escaping out the bottom...and he sat there in the traffic...smoking a pipe.  Just didn't expect it.  

Now, all of these things...and there were more...don't seem incredibly exciting in themselves, I know that!  Maybe it says something about how utterly tedious our motorways are (especially with the constant roadworks, delays and utterly pointless variable speed limits), that I would be bored enough to even notice some of these things or even find them fascinating.  But, on the other hand, I guess it's a little metaphor for life (not to sound too much like J.D. from Scrubs); it may be a long road, pretty grey and unexciting, perhaps busier and slower than we'd like, but look around!  There are people on the journey with you...you may not know them but you can gain a glimpse into their lives, wonder on their story, gain insight into their passions, be inspired by hobbies they have stacked on the roof.  I saw a huge wooden eagle and wondered how it was made, for what purpose and where it was going...what people would make of it there!  I saw a couple filling their journey with music and laughter and fun foolishness, whether they're lovers or not I don't know, but they had an intimacy and it was fresh and reminded me how great that is.  And I saw what people do when they think no one can see, like trying to hit that high note or plunging their entire finger into their beak and rooting around for their 'brain'...I guess, from that, I learned that we all bloody do it when no one's about.  ...don't we?  

For the most part, each mile may be grey and organised into lanes and monotonous order...but take a peek out the window and there is so much life, so many smiles and many inspiring things to see in the people around us...and if it looks like they're enjoying the journey more than we are then it's pretty simple to ask ourselves, "what's their secret?" 

1000 miles that I won't forget.  

  

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Do Tell: 

Have you ever observed something that's changed you? 
Have you been inspired by someone simply living their own life?

A rule for parenting: Be there!

I know there isn't actually a rule book for parenting.  It does seem to be a 'learn as you go' experience in many ways, which often seems influenced by culture and class, and perhaps even by our own upbringing serving as a 'what not to do' guide.  Quite often, unless there are examples of extreme neglect or danger, we find we have no place to advise others on 'better parenting' and have to accept that they have a right to raise their children as they see fit, even if we do see a 5 year old screaming in the shopping aisle, yelling for sweets and being given a Drumstick lolly for their efforts...as if that's not conditioning behaviour and reinforcement. Still, some parents could bubble wrap their children in the park and still find themselves yelling 'Be careful!  Come down!" as little Bob ventures higher than a foot and a half, while other parents sit and read a magazine while their children forget the park is even there and play in the surrounding trees.  I guess it's all up for debate, but yesterday I experienced one of those moments as a parent where I knew through and through what to do...and what not to.  Why do I bring this up?  What has compelled me to sit at my laptop and splurge on my (pitifully) rarely updated blog?  In short, it's that if there was a parenting rule book and this rule wasn't yet in it, I would overturn tables and unashamedly campaign for it to be in the top 5, because if it somehow offends some parent somewhere to be challenged on this point, then I'm not going to be all respectful and British about it: they can put their reproductive organs in some blending device and feed them to the family dog...because they just shouldn't use them for anything else.

Parenting rule:
Do -- Hold your wounded child's hand, stay in the room and be the calm reassurance that's needed for the poor little soul.
Don't -- Squeal 'Oh my God' as the doctor stabs a needle into your child's open flesh, give the busy nursing staff a dramatic insight into your squeamish past experiences because it highlights how awful this moment is for you (are you trying to earn a sticker?), and most of all, don't leave the room (and your child) and stand outside the door weeping, claiming it's just too painful to see your child so distressed.

It's rather unfortunate, really, that I feel the need to staple this into the imaginary library copy of this make-believe handbook, but I've quite honestly witnessed enough of this over a decade of fatherhood to know that some parents need to be stopped in the middle of another piteous and attention seeking sentence and turned back toward the distressed screams of their child, because 'suck it up; however challenging this may genuinely be to your sensibilities or whatever attention and drama you may be able to smear across your life's story comes second to simply being there.'

It's not for recognition that I mention all this, but it's simply that I have felt myself angered on occasion and wanting to challenge that aspect in friends who tell me of their dramatic 'walk outs' because they were so emotionally moved, or of strangers I've stood alongside in hospital who I've witnessed do the same.  So, I'm sorry, but if you're reading this and you've previously told me of a time when you left your child wounded and surrounded by strangers as they prodded him with medical instruments, because you had a 'moment in your own life's movie' where the piano music and strings were more audible than the kerfuffle of doctors and your crying child, the lens looked past the youngun crying out for it to stop and focussed on your distressed face, cut scene to the exit which you suddenly bash through in an effort to escape the trauma, gut-wrenching sob....FREEZE. Reeeeewind.  Yes, I judged you for that story.  Sorry.  For me, it's kind of the same as watching a dog get a wallop for...being a dog.  I won't moan at you for how you train, or don't train your dog...but don't smack it!  Same goes with parenting; let them climb trees, choose your method of control and discipline, but most of all, be there when you are the only source of strength, comfort and reassurance.

Now, I do say all this with a degree of experience.  I'm a dad of four.  My eldest is 10 and she underwent a lot of treatment as a baby as she was extremely ill.  But, I remember the first night in hospital, as the doctors poked and prodded her little 8 week old body as they tried to figure out why she might not make it through the night (it turned out to be leukaemia).  It was at this point that the doctors and nurses insisted we leave and shoved us out the door because the 'distress to us' for seeing her get folded in two to have a lumbar puncture performed would be too much to take.  On that occasion, we were bewildered by the formality of the hospital and didn't feel we could stay.  Our inexperience meant that we did what the doctor said...but that was the last time we allowed ourselves to be put out of the room for 'our sake', because as we stood in the hall, listening to her scream from in the middle of a mob of doctors, she should have....should have known we were at least in the room.

Yesterday my 6 year old boy, Finley, decided to throw himself off a wall and head butt the floor.  I can't say I approve of that sort of violence, but the floor turned out to be fine after the attack and Finley came off much worse, running into the house with a stream of blood down his face, his forehead open like a flower to the sun and his best friend yelling "we can see Finley's brain!!"

This is where, I have to say, I did what I think all parents should do.  I know emotions play the part and extreme concern of a parent is, of course, where the love is.  At once I had a tsunami of emotions hit me, but this wasn't about me.  Our wounded children don't need to see our concern in our panic, our drama or in any hype of how bad this injury may be!  They need calm, optimism, lots of reassurance...and for mum or dad to gaffa tape the mouth of whoever's yelling about brains seeping out of heads!  I calmed him down, got him sitting comfortably, arranged care for my three girls and got Finley to hospital, making sure he was laughing at stories of how brave he is because I used to bawl like a baby at his age -which I actually did.

Anyway, I mention all of this because there was one particular moment during that whole incident which caused me to reflect on Isabelle's treatment as a baby and our need as parents to suck it up and be there amongst the strangers in the room.  Finley lay on the hospital bed with his eyes closed as the doctor poked and prodded at his flesh; it seemed, at times, that he lost swabs of tissue inside my boy's head as he performed a deep clean of the wound, and I'm sure at one point I heard him mutter, 'bugger...my keys'.  ...and then came the toothbrush!   It was that point where if I had any choice whatsoever, I'd have chosen not to be there.  I felt a little light and a little tingly and suddenly didn't feel like eating anything resembling cheese and tomato sauce.  I also realised that while I stood there holding Finley's hand, it was me that was squeezing tight with the anxiety of the procedure...and trying not to 'vom'.  The important moment, though, was when, for just a second, he opened his eyes and looked straight into mine; I don't know what my face must have looked like before he saw me; probably something akin to Edvard Munch's 'The Scream', but all he saw was that I had time to give him a big smile and a quick wink.

I know I was blagging that smile and I know that the wink was some pitifully helpless gesture of reassurance, but I guess his interpretation of that was:
Dad's face = Dad's there
Dad's smile = Everything seems okay, he ain't sobbing or anything!
Dad's wink = I'm still a little dude and he may tickle me.

I will just mention that, full credit to her, had Finley's mum been the one there at the time of the accident, he'd have seen her face.

I don't judge many people for many things.  I often disagree with some parenting techniques, or lack thereof, but on the whole it's something I pass by and won't challenge.  Let your children play in the trees, or don't!  Let them whizz around on their bikes, or don't!  It really is up to you, of course, and I don't consider that my business.  I'm, actually, often very moved as I walk through the street or through shops when I see so much evident love between parents and children and I don't, by any means, think I'm the most achieved and best parent out there.  But, I will say that accidents happen...and it's our job to be there if they open their eyes..and our job to be heard if they keep their eyes closed and grimace with the pain.

As for Finley, if you're curious, he's fine.  The wound was quite deep on his forehead so he may have lost the ability to raise his right eyebrow a bit and he's left with an H shaped scar on his forehead (yes, a bit like Harry Potter...heard that three times already!).  If can't do a 'shock horror' expression any longer, I guess there goes any career in the theatre, but he does have a mean scar on his forehead and will return to school with the story already told that Jamie could see his brain.  He has the scars and the legendary injury, I'll have to get him some mean tattoos for his seventh birthday.

What have you had to deal with as a parent? 

How do you handle your child's injuries and illnesses?

Make an ex an actual ex, for Heaven's sake! ...or at least your partner's!

Once upon a time..and I'm only speaking pre-2004 when Facebook came screeching around the corner and roared into our lives..we used to live in a world with clearer boundaries than we now know. We live in a world where our personal and professional lives are often muddied and thrown into one "profile pot". Our bosses are privy to the photos of our day at the beach with the children. We can nosey into their family Christmas albums. We have a thousand "friends" that we never speak to or think of, unless there is a photo or indignant status update that we can "Like"..not so much to communicate with said friend or show support, but more to make a statement about one's own thoughts on the matter, or even to make a point to someone else. Like a pinball bouncing around the machine igniting lights and emitting sirens here, there and everywhere, our attention, interaction with and exposure to the past, present, professional and personal is one crazy, unstoppable and unbridled mess. So I can't help but ponder and wonder. Work used to be a workplace. Our personal lives used to be personal. Each existed, most often, in their own space. Friends were the people you actually approached face to face and asked if they'd like to get a drink after work or go and see a movie. The past was left in the past as we moved on from relationships, communities or workplaces, perhaps keeping in touch with a few from each with whom we would exchange numbers and actually phone and talk to. I miss those boundaries. I think what we're left with is a diluted idea of the different roles in our lives and who we are to other people.

I remember as a boy, as I chewed on a Curly Wurly and wished I was permitted to walk nearer the curb on the pavement, my parents would erupt into sudden greetings with mutually delighted people -that I had never met. People from their past. Everyone's eyes were bright. Big smiles and excited, loud and cheerful voices would bellow a thousand questions and muddled answers, as well as the typical statement "Fancy seeing you here!!!". At some point, all of the involved party would cast their gaze down upon me as I gasped through a suicidal amount of Curly Wurly chocolate (didn't it always seem right to push the entire last half of the bar into the mouth?) and tried to smile as my mother would announce "Yes, this is Chris. Getting big now!". This was, unfortunately, a relative term, as among my own age group I was called "Lebrechaun", for a reason; I was tiny and also did magic tricks, I don't know. Now, I am not advocating going back to the "old days" like some nostalgic old man at the end of the bar talking about how it used to be. The car -even a Smart one- is better than horse and cart. Flares and chest hair with medallions are in the past, and that's a good thing. I do miss Gladiators, though.

These days (and I'm afraid I'll have to make that reference often from here on out, hopefully without sounding like the previously referenced old man at the bar), we have social media. For the most part, we're never off the radar of our past. The people we once knew, worked with, met at a conference are bopping up on our newsfeeds, mostly ignored..but there all the same. Of course, everyone handles this differently. Yes, social media is a great way to keep in touch with those friends or family members who gallivant around the world, or who have simply moved away. But then, there's nothing more personal and meaningful than saying to someone "This is where you can reach me, I'd love to stay in touch", rather than the opportunistic nature of favouriting a tweet once in a while. I do think of my nephew in Australia who took the time, recently, to phone the house just for a catch up. It meant so much more than a timely Facebook conversation, staggered over the two of us doing other activities around our laptops, waiting for the other to respond. Time was made for one another. It meant more and was a real human to human experience, which is something that I feel is diluted and dulled in our current social habits. Still, the main point I wanted to raise was regarding the way in which we decide who featured in our past and will stay there...and who we keep in our 'present'..and why.

Before social media such as the big F and Twitter became embedded in almost every aspect of our lives, if we found ourselves venturing into a new romantic relationship, we needed only to throw out the remnants of our old one following a whip around our home and perhaps deleting their number from our Nokia 1100 -remember those? I hold no ill will toward the 'new' when it comes to phones, for the record. Two tone screen displays and clunky video calling can stay in the days gone by, with my skate shoes and WWJD wristband. For the sake of 'moving on' and investing in our new relationships and the feelings and security of our new partner, most people regard it the correct move to empty their physical lives of photos and momentos. I don't think anyone would expect a new partner to be happy with wedding or holiday photos of an ex relationship to be displayed on the mantel, or wearing the ex partner's hoody while snuggling to watch a movie. At worst, any little box harbouring such things, if kept, would be discreetly stowed away in a corner under the rafters..and if found by a current partner would cause a few questions to be asked, such as "Why do you want to remember him/her?" And, all ulterior and guilty twinge feelings aside, isn't that fair? Who of us, honestly, want to think of our partner sitting alone in the loft, smiling and nostalgically rummaging through old trinkets, ticket stubs and photos of a love experienced in the past? Who of us are, honestly, comfortable with the idea of that? Granted, it may not be something that everyone struggles with, but it's true to say (and I've spoken to many about this), that most of us actually find it a struggle.

And now we have Facebook.

Prepare for a few "these days" here: Many of our past loves are no longer simply crammed into a box in the loft -and for those of us that didn't bludgeon them to death, nor are they simply represented by a box of keepsakes. These days the photos we may have discreetly kept are actually plastered over our Facebook albums and profile photos, suddenly bringing a new partner face to face with the fact that your tongue was down another person's throat while you visited the Louvre, with a comment still present and "Liked" along the lines of "That snog led to you scaling MY Eiffel Tower! ;) haha". Where ex couples may have kept each other's numbers for a while in order to get in touch over some final mutual debts, these days, ex partners are often featured in our friend list, with a nice green dot next to their name for an easy "Hello, how are you?" And these days, we may well find an ex of our new partner commenting on a particularly nice new photo, something like "HOT!!!" or "Still got it". Now, in any other face to face situation, no matter how liberal your thinking, if that was a face to face comment, that situation would not stay very friendly. And so, the boundaries are so blurred. Keeping photos and momentos hidden in the loft is one thing; but keeping in contact? Chatting to an ex on the laptop while laying in bed next to a current partner? Having an anxious disagreement in a new relationship because an ex has had opportunity to comment and blip up on one's radar with a comment, or a "Like". Obviously, there is no absolute right or wrong answer. The human experience and variables with each different situation mean debate over the matter can only be subjective and many different opinions justified. But, I will be so bold as to give my view and base it on experience. I've not had a girlfriend yet who has ever enjoyed finding old photos of me with an ex or who has happily handed an ear stud to me during a room clear out and said "Oh, that must be your ex girlfriend's, do you want to ring her and get it back to her?" I'll be honest about myself too; I've never enjoyed finding photos of my partner's ex fellas, or them together. I've never been thrilled that they still "have so much in common and like to chat and catch up".

An ex is not just a "friend". An ex is someone with whom we have shared the entirety of ourselves, emotionally, physically and more. Seldom are new partners comfortable with an ex being around, in any sense. So what is right? If you had to choose, should you invest in friendship with your ex, or a relationship with your new partner?

Sure, we have a right to remember our past. If we absolutely need to, though, in order to feel happy or at the expense of how our current partner feels, isn't that something to explore in ourselves? It's called "social media". We live in the shadow of what was once a much more interactive and real-time expression of social activity...it's all online. Back in 2003, how many people would have been happy to find out their partner was in the cafe with their ex, just "catching up and chatting about old times"? And just because it's currently done via a laptop, is it more acceptable and do you have more of a right to do so? Whether you'd leave your account open for your messages to be read by your partner is another matter.

A final thought. A common defense I hear from some that I've spoken to on the matter is that their partner needs to learn to trust. That their partner shouldn't ask them to clear out the past. I might venture here with questions for discussion, rather than giving my views. 1) Is trust not earned and trustworthiness not shown by selfless action for the benefit of a new partner?
and 2) A partner shouldn't ask you to clear out the past..but should they have to?