We Were Not Made for This

Sometimes our intuition runs counter to reason. Sometimes...

And although our reason is our crowning achievement, sometimes we cannot help but heed our intuition even though all rational considerations argue against. Sometimes, our heart trumps everything.

That's where I'm at right now with respect to death.

My rational mind knows that death is the great equalizer; the one thing that we all have in common. My rational mind even acknowledges that death is necessary; without it, the world would be a seething, heaving mass of protoplasm. Without it, all resources would shortly be consumed. Without it, there would be no room for new life. Without it, suffering might have no end. Death is the other face of the coin called life.

That's what my rational mind knows...

But every time I confront death in the body of my dear ones (or the tragic death of a young one), my intuition--my heart--rebels. Something in me trumps all the rational arguments, cries defiance and rejects the necessity. Something in me--something in most of us--is deeply offended by death.

The world is as it is, I know. In the world as it is, death is necessary. That's how the world is, as it is. Death is part of life.

But there is a part of me--of most of us--that refuses to accept that necessity as right or good. Intuitively I know that death is an abomination and the world that requires it deeply flawed. Don't get me wrong--I love this whacky world--but that doesn't mean I think it's perfect. I grieve at every loss, and my heart tells me...

We were not made for this.

Father's Day

For years now, Father's Day has been a... 'problematic'... observance for me.

Not that I think fathers don't deserve it--they emphatically do--and not that I had any problem rendering honor to my father; our relationship may have been strained for much of my adult life, but for all my adult life I have respected and honored my dad, and I have loved him since I was first me. I'll grant that Dad made it difficult to make a fuss on Father's Day, but in my heart I honored him regardless.

No, my problem with Father's Day is envy.

My most lasting aspirations--the ones that have been consistent and persistent since puberty--are to be a dad and a spouse. My reasons have evolved over time, but my desire to fill those two roles has been a constant. From about the age of 23 through 40, the litmus test I've applied when deciding what to make of my life has been, "Will this make me a better husband and dad?" I haven't always made good decisions, but that question was always part of the decision-making process.

So every Father's Day that I haven't been a father has been a bit bittersweet; I've been glad to honor dads everywhere and sad that I am not among their number. The longer that's been true, the more bittersweet it's been.

And this isn't about being the guy who gets a tie on Father's Day... this is about being a dad. I couldn't care less about being a father on Father's Day; I just want to be a father. I'd like to be something like half as good a dad as my dad was to me (although for a long time I didn't know how good I had it--it's funny how experience has a way of informing opinion).

Once I passed 40 years of age, I rotated among acceptance, desperation, and resignation--I knew that I was already past a likely age for becoming a dad, especially biologically, and that as I grew older it became less and less likely that I ever would. My focus shifted; while adoption of a spouse's children was never off the table, as I aged it became more and more the hope I had.

At 50, desperation is pretty much out. These days I alternate between resignation and acceptance. I'm trying to make acceptance the default setting...

Despite my own angst over fatherhood, I love Father's Day. I think dads--the ones who build snowmen with you and take you fishing and help you fix your car and listen to your stories and sing at your school's talent shows and kick your ass when you're too stupid to realize how stupid you are--are often taken for granted, and deserve at least the recognition of a Hallmark holiday. At least...

So here's to dads everywhere, and to Dad--my dad--who isn't around any more to make it difficult for his kids to fuss over him. This is the second Father's Day since Dad died, and I find myself missing him when I least expect to.

I love you, Dad.

Me and Depression

Sometimes I post a status on Facebook or elsewhere that says something like, "David Negaard is frazzled and fried and stressed and distressed." I have 590 friends on Facebook, not all of whom understand what I mean by that, and some of whom may find my mention of depression worrying. I can understand that. I guess I should explain.

I suffer from depression. I have always suffered from depression. When I was younger I didn't understand that it was just my body chemistry messing with me, and it took its toll. I was mostly unhappy.

As my experience and understanding have grown, I've come to see my depression as what it is--just biology, a part of my life, like my sinus headaches and the thing with my foot--consequently, I've been much happier. That isn't to say I'm always happy--depression is no picnic, and when it hits me I suffer--but I have learned to trust the cycle, and now when I am depressed I remember that it's not the end; it will pass.

On the other hand, when I am depressed my mood changes. Sometimes I withdraw, sometimes I become short tempered, sometimes I find myself paralyzed and unable to act. Depression is no longer the end of me, but it does affect me and my relationships with others.

That's why I sometimes post my depression in my status... so if folk find me behaving differently than I usually do, my post may explain why.

It's not a cry for help--I'm fine. It's just a piece of information to help my family, friends, and acquaintances understand why my behavior is different.

So if you see a a post or Facebook status that indicates I'm depressed, follow the directions printed on the cover of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, and Don't Panic.

You Aren't Doing Anyone a Favor...

...you're just keeping your word. Pardon me if I don't fall all over myself being thankful.

Tomorrow is DTASC Shakespeare Festival, and one of the student groups wanted to rehearse after school, so I said I'd stick around for an hour or so. I got the kids set up and went to deal with the vans we're taking to Festival, and when I came back...

Where are they?

Looked around and found them at a guitar concert; one of the actors' boyfriend was singing/playing. I read them the riot act, told them I only stayed after so they could rehearse, and if they weren't going to rehearse, I'd be leaving. All of the kids but one came willingly, even eagerly; can you guess which one was upset?

That's right, the one whose boyfriend was playing.

She told the rest of the cast that she wasn't sure if she'd bother coming tomorrow, and (because I have some experience with kids, and some with this particular kid) I immediately imagined her attitude if she did show up.

"You're lucky I showed up today."
"No, you're lucky you showed up today."
"Aren't you grateful?"
"Should I be? You did what you said you would--don't you always do that?"
"Wait... why am I lucky?"
"You say you want to be valedictorian. You spent a month of class time working on this, so it's a grade. If you hadn't showed up, 'Bye bye 4.0.'"
"That's not fair!"
"No, the way you treated your cast-mates isn't fair. This is justice."

God save us all from ninth grade divas.