The Underdog

Today, it was Andy Roddick. Entering today's final match at Wimbledon against Roger Federer, Andy had never won the most prestigious grass court tournament. Federer, on the other hand, had won 5 Wimbledon titles. After today's match, make that: 6 for Roger and zero for Andy. Sorry, Andy. I pulled for you; I screamed at the television in ecstasy and agony during the parts of the match that I was able to watch. I didn't get to see the match in its entirety: Naomi's ritual of watching morning television; attending church; lunch preparation. They all superseded you. I, too, was at times an underdog today in my attempt to devote 100% of my attention to watching you valiantly lose Wimbledon. You put up a great, great fight, but like most underdogs you, too, were ultimately defeated. I truly mourned your loss. Thanks for the effort, and I hope to be able to spend another 'Breakfast at Wimbledon' rooting for you, or another underdog.

My Brother's Keeper

Janice and I went to see the movie, My Sister's Keeper, as part of our 15th anniversary date night. In the film, based on a Jodi Picout novel by the same name, a young girl sues her parents to earn medical emancipation in order to prevent them from further using her to help their leukemia-stricken daughter (her sister) stay alive. Just trying to understand the previous sentence may give you an idea of the complexity of the moral dilemma the film/novel addresses.
The film left me wondering about a number of things, among them my brother, Tom, who died of cancer in 2001. Tom was just 13 months older than me.
As kids we played and fought with exuberance. I had a shorter fuse than Tom (not necessarily an attribute), but he could easily overpower me with his superior size and strength, when he chose to do so. I was lucky (and in hindsight, grateful) that he exhibited amazing restraint, even during our most heated battles. Well, if you ask a few of our neighborhood friends about a particular time when they witnessed me being slammed mightily against a wall by my gentle giant of a brother, then you would know that Tom wasn't always capable of restraint.
Our duels often started with a blow or a flurry of punches thrown by me, followed by me hightailing it out of his reach, our house, the yard and sometimes our neighborhood. I was the fast one, you see, the hare. Tom was the tortoise, the slower one, but the one with endurance. Most of us remember how the story of the tortoise and the hare turned out. Sort of a strange comparison to make when I consider that I am the brother who is still here, alive, yet Tom has left this race.
Anyway, our battles often ended the same way, with me being subdued and held by Tom until he was sure I surrendered the fight.
In later years, our love for one another became more evident and calmed the adversarial nature of our personalities and brotherhood. I once heard a joke about a Norwegian husband (Norwegians are known for their understated demeanors) who calmly stated that he loved his wife so much that he almost told her once. I see a lot of Tom in that statement. He loved me, and his whole family, with a quiet ferocity.
Getting back to the movie and its connection to my brother, when Tom first died, I couldn't get him out of my mind and emotions if I tried. He was everywhere, often uninvited, a bittersweet presence. Now, it has been 8 years since he died, and in that time I have created both an evening length dance and a short film about him, published a website to honor his relationships with others, and I highlight his birthday on the family calendar I make each year. In other words, I have made several attempts to commemorate him, grieve, process his loss, and I guess just keep his memory alive. I realized, after viewing the movie, that I feel the intensity of his loss less deeply than I used to. And that sometimes I feel sad about that as well.

Father's Day

I was celebrated last Sunday, as part of Father's Day. I am blessed and privileged to be a dad of two marvelous daughters, who continue to challenge, reward and surprise me with their creativity and accomplishments, words and actions, sensitivity and love.
On this particular Father's Day, my wife, Naomi and I were joined by Roberta (dear friend and godmother to Naomi) on a bike ride to church. I got to witness my youngest grow in skill and confidence as she realized she could change gears on her new (albeit hand-me-down) bike. I reveled in hearing the excitement in her voice as she became aware of her accomplishment.
A few days before Father's Day, I attended a Young People's Theatre performance, in which my eldest daughter, Abby was performing. The performance culminates a 3-week workshop in which the participants create characters, write a play and learn a dance based upon a pre-determined theme. This session's theme was Because I Said So. The title for Abby's play was Single Ladies Support Group, and it consisted of monologues by women of various ages, who have been jilted in one way or another. Abby chose to portray a woman with multiple personality disorder, with one of the personalities being a man named Rupert. Like witnessing Naomi learning to change gears, I thrilled at witnessing the creativity and complexity of Abby's emotional, intellectual and physical character development, as she delivered her monologue and performed in the group acting scenes and dance.
As I said before, I am blessed. My life has been unfathomably enriched by having the privelige of being a father, especially to my oh so wonderful daughters.

If You Could See Me Now - 1.0

I went to the Smith's grocery store that was a block or so from my apartment in SLC, leaving the stereo playing a CD track in the 'repeat one' mode. This was my favorite way to listen to, for hours at a time, the music that moved me. This also proved to be an effective way to drive some of my roommates crazy. Sorry, Rob and Kathy.

That night, however, I wanted someone special to hear the song that was playing. That 'someone' was the woman who, several years later, would become my wife and partner for life. But, I don't want to get ahead of myself.

More to come...

Happy 15th anniversary, love.