On Life After Graduation

ROSIE (May 20) P-p-p-poker face just came on at a lobster sandwich stand in Cape Cod... I have mixed emotions.

ERIN (May 23) Home is rehab. I'm watching my friends play whiffle ball... Everyone has to play with beer in hand.

ALI (May 23) Oh good god. Splitting a bucket of PBR with my mom, aunt and uncle. What has the world come to?

MARK (May 24) I won at the casino again! Suga daddy status remains.

MARK (May 27) Oh God. We totally forgot to use protection. Now I have some weird WCTD.*

*WCTD = Web cam transmitted disease.

ERIN (May 30) You better not be kidnapped.

CHRIS (June 12) I'm glad Michigan hasn't corrupted your mind and soul.

ALI (June 12) Meesh just awed at a 5 lb rat.

ALI (June 17) A 60 year old just took my shoe.

STEVE (June 23) Do you think if I sang 'the dogs don't shine in Philly' and you and Joe beat boxed we'd make it [on America's Got Talent]? I'm practicing now.

JON (June 25) Answer your phone Michael Jackson is dead!

First person to find me a friend WINS!

I have printed a couple hundred copies of the card above. It's time to take drastic measures. [Feel free to print and distribute.]

Last Saturday, we had another high school graduation party to attend. With each graduation party, the level of embarrassment increases several notches. Here are some scenes from that night.

SCENE ONE:

(Maria, mom and dad enter the house and fill their plates with food. Mom and dad choose a table outside while Maria retrieves a drink. She plucks a Coke from a big blue cooler and scans the area for her parents. She spots her father taking a seat and approaches the table to discover that the only free chair is at the end of the table across from an elderly couple.)

Maria: (whispers to herself) Sweet.

(Maria occupies the vacant seat facing an elderly man perpendicular to his wife.)

Elderly woman: Oh hello! My name is Judy. Yes, you look like a Maria. I have awesome stories and was one of the first people to ever purchase contact lenses for which I had to take out a loan.

(Maria and Judy share stories and giggle with each other until Judy leaves for another party... But not without swapping e-mail addresses with her new best friend.)

SCENE TWO:

(Maria walks across the yard clutching her cold beer thinking to herself, "Thank GOD for liquor.")

Drunk woman: I'm sorry. I have to ask. (Quiets to a whisper and squeezes one eye shut) How ooold are you?

Maria: (exasperated) TWENTY-TWO! I should just start wearing my license around my neck.

(Maria continues on her path walking past her brother and his hoodlum wrestling friends.)

Tyler: SHAVE YOUR BEARD!

SCENE THREE:

(Maria, mom and dad are standing in a circle with the hostess of the party talking about life.)

Mrs. S: So how's being home?

Maria: Oh it's nice. Lots of down time.

Mom: Yea, it's just hard for her because she has no friends here.

Dad: She went from being in college with all her friends to being here with us. She needs some friends here.

(Maria purses her lips and raises her eyebrows. This story has been repeated too many times. She takes a sip from her beer and doesn't notice the wheels spinning inside Mrs. S' head.)

Mrs. S: (grabs Maria's hand and drags her to a circle of six older people.) THIS is Maria. She is a wonderful girl who just graduated college and has no friends here. Maria, (she points to one woman) this is my cousin. She has a very nice son who just graduated Michigan State. Talk to each other.

(Maria feels awkward conversing with Mrs. S' cousin. Everyone in the circle enjoys the spectacle of a friendless stranger being set up with an absent relative. They laugh often and lean in to hear all about Maria.)

Cousin 1: Well, why don't you give me your number and I'll give it to Tommy for when he comes back!

(Maria hands the woman a small piece of torn paper with her name and number on it and scampers away imagining Tommy's laughter when his mom hands him her number. Later that night, the cousins stand in unison and gather their belongings.)

Strange man: Did my wife get your number?

Like father, like daughter.

When I was little, my dad used to call my feet pontoons. Apparently they were abnormally large for my size. A couple decades later, his ability to make fun of me using creative nagging techniques has only sharpened. "Moose and I," he chuckles as I struggle to haul my bike up the garage stairs after a long ride. That's not even a fraction of it.

(Dad harassing me from a very young age)

There are too many great memories, milestones and quirks of my family to list. Nevertheless, I will copy Tara and share a few goodies about my dad in honor of Father's Day.

......

1. If there is ever any mention of a guy in my life (which, thanks to my overprotective siblings and an unfortunate abundance of psychos out there, rarely happens) my dad has but one important question: Can he skate? Regardless of the answer, Test #1 for any prospective suitor will be doled out in an ice rink with hockey sticks. And probably no pads.

(Dad after a hockey game in winter '08 with one of his leagues.)

2. One of our favorite things to do, especially recently, is bike ride. We explore the town, philosophize, people-watch and guess how much houses for sale cost. We also have water fights that usually don't end well for me.

3. Our favorite game to play is Guess The Song. We compete to see who can name the band and title faster. The date of production factors into who wins but we keep each other on our toes. One Christmas, grandma gave me some of dad's old records and a record player. That's when I discovered Creedence. I haven't been the same since.

Dad and I have bonded through music since I was two and screaming "mookie!" in my car seat. Since we both appreciate different eras and types of music, I predict this game will last forever.

4. We are shopping buddies. Dad understands my disdain for shopping in almost any form. I live by his motto that has been repeated to me ad nauseam: Do you love it? Only buy it if you love it. Dad and I are particularly fond of the grocery store. We enjoy discussing any deals or bargains we come by because, after all, no one should pay full price for anything.

5. We are social. My dad (like my mom) loves talking to people. Anyone. Everyone. He wants to know what people are doing, how their day is going, what makes them happy, how he can relate to them. He knows half the neighborhood and a good portion of the city (impressive considering he's lived here only two years.)

Before college I was a pretty shy kid. I hated it when dad made me talk to people. "Speak up!" He'd demand. My first day of orientation at Boston University was horrifying. I knew no one. Didn't know Boston. Had only been to the school once before.

Dad and grandpa brought me to Rich Hall for orientation. I tried to stall their departure but eventually dad pointed to three kids, told me to go introduce myself and said goodbye. After cursing him in my head and watching him walk away, I slowly walked up to the group of kids. They didn't notice me coming, which made it more awkward. "Are you guys here for orientation?" I asked the kid closest to me as I fiddled with my lanyard. "No," he informed me and turned away. I laughed a little and walked to the cement ledge overlooking Nickerson Field.

"Well, that went well!" dad chuckled. I don't know which was more embarrassing, that I got shut down by the first group of kids I interacted with at college or that there was a witness. Dad reassured me before leaving for real. I ended up making a lot of friends at orientation and having a great time.

Needless to say, I have overcome my shyness and developed dad's ability to have good conversations with different kinds of people (though I haven't developed his eagerness to interact with every stranger he sees yet.)

(Dad protecting me from the rain before Commencement)

Most importantly (as it pertains to this blog, at least) I developed my passion for writing because of my dad.

Dad- Because you're cool, I'm not a loser. (For the most part.)

Thanks dude.

Another day, another pinched nerve

Big Mike has been encouraging me to explore my funemployment through bike riding. As a result, I've also been exploring our extensive collection of pain medication (BenGay, BioFreeze...)

Today we journeyed through Birmingham. I was immediately thankful I popped a Zycam before our ride when we came across a field of huge chunks of pollen resembling the fluffy remains of the Canadian Geese that messed with Sully.

I prefer getting exercise outdoors (stop laughing) whether it be running, whiffle ball or engaging in drive-by water soaking wars with my dad. It's more interesting when the scenery changes.

We had quite a selection of varied terrain on our journey. The trail made of thousands of little pebbles that kept shifting under the weight of the tires was probably the worst. Oh no. Wait. The worst were the GIGANTIC HILLS we had to maneuver amongst oversized moving vehicles that (wanted to but) were trying not to hit us.

I must have pinched a nerve in my left butt cheek trying to get up that hill. At some point, my entire left leg went numb. I thought I was out for the count. But alas, I am here sitting on my tingling butt blogging about the hazards of the road.

Maybe I should work out more.

Anyone need their lawn mowed?

Aaah family dinners. A time to feast on sarcasm, insult, and Vicki's delicious home cooking.

It was at said daily gathering that we could be found devouring the spoils of a newly purchased grill when all of a sudden the door bell rang. Weary of robbers and environmentalists, mom and I sent dad to deal with the interruption. He opened the door and adjusted his gaze to the pudgy ten year old standing on our porch. Mom and I tried to decipher the child's muffled request over the crunch of our perfectly salted peas. Dad closed the door and returned to the table with a smirk on his face.

Dad: The kid wanted to mow our lawn. He and his sister were pulling a wagon with a weed whacker and some wires and tools.

Dad chuckled as he scooped up some peas with his fork.

Dad: Hey! (he pointed his fork at me) You should go ask if they have any jobs!

This is what I'm dealing with, people. Send sympathy cards.

Home*

Another winter break has passed. Christmas flew by and New Years passed like any other day. I’m sitting in the Indianapolis airport waiting for a flight to Boston. This was me last year except Michigan was just another state I’d never been to. Now my family lives there. Each of the past three winter breaks have been spent in different cities in different parts of the world all technically considered home at the time. Freshman year I was back in Zurich with all my friends from high school for most of the break. Last year I was a tiny town in Indiana that no one’s ever heard of with the family, the wrestling team and hicks chewing tobacco in pool halls. This year I was in a suburb outside of Detroit with the family, a new wrestling team and hundreds of strange Podcasts. I wonder where I’ll be next winter. I guess that’s part of the excitement.

I’ve gotten past the fact that seeing my friends from high school is a challenge because everyone is scattered around the world. I’ve gotten past the fact that it’s impossible to meet people my age during school holidays because everyone has their own friends. I’ve gotten past the fact that every time I go home I am in a place I know nothing about and wouldn’t be able to find my way back to my house if someone dumped me a mile away from it. All these things are normal now.

Home is not about the house I live in or the neighbourhood surrounding the house or the city the neighbourhood is in. Home is Springfield because Yai and gram live there. Home is Detroit because my family lives there now. Home is Zurich because all my high school memories are there and I could get from the bars to the concert venues with my eyes closed and it is where I grew up. Home is Boston because that’s where my friends are now and that’s where I spend most of my time and my mind automatically refers to my dorm room as home. Home is an airport. Home is my dad’s intricate notes and to-do lists left on the kitchen counter. Home is my mom’s spiral ham and carrot cake during the winter. Home is Joe lifting me over his shoulders and bench pressing me while I laugh and scream. Home is riding in a car with Steve singing along to punk songs and bitching about life while making fun of unexpecting civilians. Home is the bed that was passed down to me from my dad’s days as a bachelor and his old, pink Lazy-Boy I refuse to let go of. Home is Joe, Steve and I watching UFC, dad and I watching hockey and live music and mom and I watching home and self make-over shows. Home is ice skating and dad getting excited to play hockey and being able to keep up with other enthusiasts even though the kids he plays with leave him sore for days. Home is everyone making fun of Steve’s OCD, dad’s anal-retentiveness, mom’s exaggerated fears about kidnappers and child molesters, Joe’s high-school social life and the “imaginary world” I life in. Home is Steve yelling at everyone for using too much bandwidth. Home is Joe telling us “not to worry about it” when we ask who he’s texting. Home is reminiscing about all the places we’ve been and trying to guess all the places we will go. Home is comfortable and relaxing and clean and funny. Home is familiar even though I don’t know the names of the streets surrounding me. Home is entertaining even though there are only four people in the entire state that I know. Home is transportable and uncertain. Home is always an adventure. Home is friends and family.

*Actually written at 12:30 January 13th.