Oh Jason

THE SMIRK ON MY FACE WA ONE OF " I KNOW THIS IS HURTING HIS HAND,BECAUSE IM SQUEEZING THE SHIT OUT OF IT" AN OL' GRANDADDY WALKER TRICK HE DIDN'T EVEN SEE IT COMMING. I THINK WE WHERE TALKING ABOUT HAVING TO PACK A CYST IN SOMEONES ASS CRACK AS A MATTER OF FACT,OR SOMETHING TO THAT AFFECT.

The man in the picture on the left, that's my brother. His name is Jason. Growing up, he was one of like 7 Jason's in his class. And to my recollection, every single one of them was more hellion than angel. My brother was by no means the exception to the rule. In fact, in many ways, I consider him the leader of the pack. Jason is 2 years younger than I am. And as we were growing up, I figure we had a pretty good relationship. We weren't an AT&T commercial by any means, but we had fun together. He was a master at the no touch game - not only in skill but in actual duration of the game. He usually played about 20 minutes longer than I wanted to. And he was able to put his finger in a spot just on the very edge of peripheral vision so that you'd turn your head to see what was there and JAB!!! you'd run right into his finger. He'd laugh and then punch the hell out of your arm. And me, feeling like an utter fool for getting suckered in, would hide my embarrassment by telling on him for hitting. It's what girls do really - not fair, but true.

On those days when we were too young to go outside and play in the neighborhood when mom was gone, but we were too bored to watch tv (it was before cable / satellite and way before video games) we played the no trip game. In this game, one of us would like on the floor on a mattress or blanket. The other would walk around the perimeter of the mattress. The objective was to trip the person walking. At my advanced age, the details are a bit vague, but I do remember the game. We'd also play living room baseball. The bases were the couch, the corner of the tv, and the woodstove (not in that order). The person who was at bat had to "run" the bases in an upright position on his/her knees. The person who was in the field, could crawl on all fours to get the ball. This was only fair as the batter would always aim the ball down the hallway. We would often have a ghost on every single base. I don't remember getting carpet burns at all.

When he was in high school, Jason was beginning to develop his adventurous spirit. He jumped off the Lake Barkley Bridge. The first time he said he was sure his balls were shoved up his body to his throat. But he held onto them better the second time. THE SECOND TIME!!! I can not begin to fathom it, jumping twice. Later in his life, he packed up everything he owned and decided to move to Colorado. Just to leave and go. Of course the end of that trip resulted in his car being repossessed and having to file for bankruptcy - but financial consequences aside, there is a freedom and free-spiritedness to be admired in such an action. It is nothing that I think that I would ever want to do, but I admire and respect that trait in others. It's sort of the same admiration that I feel for people at a pentacostal church who are so moved by the spirit that they begin to dance, wave their arms and dance about. Though I don't feel the spirit in that way, I do admire the depth and breadth of their belief -- even if I don't covet it.

Jason has had his share of demons as well. And has battled them -- not always as successfully as I'd like; not always in the manner in which I'd prefer, but in his own way. It speaks greatly to the stubborness of his nature. Everyone in my family look to me and say - you always want to be right - it must be your way or no way. Me, I think that Jason's will to have his way and do his thing far out reaches my own. Mostly, I think that I'm quick to make a decision and put it out there for those who are humming and hawing about and asking "what do you want to do?" But I'm not inflexible -- not really -- not too bad? I don't know - it's not a very clear mirror for me there. But I don't believe that I've ever convinced Jason to think a different way, to change his course, or do something different. He will unfailingly give another person credit for their feelings, acknowledge their frustration or fear, and then continue on his merry way because that's what he wants to do. And the most amazing part is, that despite wanting to pinch his head, punch him, smack him, make him angry . . . he can do all of that and still we all just shake our head and go -- "well that's jason, what are we gonna do. We can't help but love him." He is the baby of the family - and has had more second chances, more special treats, more - more - more. And I'm not jealous of that, I dont' begrudge him. I guess I know he somehow needed more - just like I believe that he could be and would be MORE.

And this is the man, who when given the opportunity to meet and greet a three or four star general squeezed his hand as hard as he could while talking about some inane topic - just because he could and he thought it would be funny. And when I first saw the picture and was so proud, and sentimental, and so glad to see him looking so good - it just never even occurred to me that he would be doing anything like that -- and upon reading his comment -- I just shake my head, smile through my tears and think "Oh Jason."

I love him - and he is one of my heroes.

Perpetual Youth

I can’t begin to estimate how many millions of dollars are spent each year on people wanting to look, feel, act, be younger. After watching several episodes of the real housewives of Orange County, I’m pretty sure those 10 women spend $1 million dollars on their own. And really, well, you’re going to get old anyway, so why waste the money. But these past few weeks, during the cold snap, when my skin has begun it’s annual lizard-up phase, I’ve been thinking about about being younger . . . and I have a couple of solutions – maybe.

I have found that having young children makes you feel younger. Scratch that. . . it puts you in contact with younger people who have kids the same age as yours. With Isaiah just about to turn 3, most of the parents of his peer group are 10 to 15 years my junior. And I flatter myself that we resemble each other in appearance. They are realizing that having children ages you immeasurably. Don’t believe me – go look at your picture taken a year before you had children and then look a year after you’ve had children. That will show you that you’ll age. My fat face tends to hide those ravages, but Jose – well even at 42 – he looks like he’s 25. But before we had Elijah, he looked 12 – so it’s honest to God the absolute truth – as I know it.

I have also found that my chosen profession has extended my youth. Working with high schoolers has kept my interests in music, art, video a bit more current than would have normally occurred. I’m pretty sure that the Road Rules / Real World Challenges don’t really have a near 40 demographic as their target audience. Of course, I don’t think they have any more of those shows – which is a shame, because I really enjoyed them. So much more than the Real World – which makes me feel my age because my relatively lax moral values tend to be offended by people who are getting naked upon meeting strangers. That, and I really no longer have the patience for the self-created drama that the under 25 set is so adept at creating. Not that I’m not a reality show junkie. I’ve even got Jose hooked on the Scott Baio – 46 and pregnant show. Mostly because though we envy his obvious wealth, we both feel superior to his whiny, selfish attitude. Who needs money with all that extra baggage.

Anyway, back to my job. Now that I work with little kids, well, I find that I am able to continue to find my general joy in all things silly and fun. I have always liked doing kid stuff. I am a HUGE fan of a circus. I can stay in the pool all day and not get tired – though I will immediately fall asleep upon arrival at my domicile. I adore animated movies. I like candy. I LOVE to win tickets at Chuck E. Cheese (I’ve accumulated almost 3000 in the past 5 years – I’m saving them up – for what I don’t know because the frugal, thrifty shopper in me knows that the 5000 ticket item only costs 12.00 somewhere – but someday, I’m going to get something really good!).

This year, I’m working for a county school. That means that we have something called – SNOW DAYS. There is nothing that more firmly plants your feet into perpetual childhood than going to sleep on a Sunday night and hoping for snow on a Monday morning. Living in Kentucky makes this aspect of youth very difficult. We get a lot of wasted snow in Kentucky from November to March (most of you call it rain). Most of the other teachers want snow just to have a day off, stay at home, relax. I don’t really get to relax when I stay at home. If Jose’s here, then we have to clean or work or do something. If he’s not here, then it sort of feels like babysitting. But maybe, just maybe we’ll get enough snow that we can all go outside and play for a while. Ride the sled down the tiny little hill in the back yard (short climb up is a plus – sucky ride down – can’t have both).

So, here it is 8:00 PM and I’m getting ready to go to bed – before lights out at 9 PM (childhood bedtimes even as an adult). The forecast is calling for snow – to begin early morning and continue most of the day. And I’m hoping that the school board will decide that it’s safer to just stay at home than it is to go to school on hazardous conditions that will only worsen as the day progresses. More than that. I’m hoping that the weather man is wrong and the 1” will actually be 6” and we’re out of school for the rest of the week. After growing up in Trigg County (where the superintendent apparently thought we had snowmobiles rather than buses for transporation and thus never called off school) and then working the past 8 years for city schools (who never cancel for snow). I am hoping beyond hope to enjoy a few snowdays this year. So I can play in the snow and watch cartoons all day.

An American Idol

When I was little, I used to spend a lot of time making up songs - singing them to myself - I don't remember singing a lot of songs that were on the radio - and to this day, I can usually only remember the chorus of any popular song - not all the lyrics - Anyway, me aside... It would appear that Isaiah may have that wierd music gene --