Thank Goodness for Trade-Backsies

The more I watched them trade their L.O.L. Surprise Dolls, the more I thought about losing my marbles.

Don't worry. I'll explain.

First, about the L.O.L. Surprise Dolls (Lil Outrageous Littles -- not laugh out loud). For parents who have kids who long for these little mysterious dolls with big eyes and sparkly outfits, we empathize. A big part of the collecting fun is the anticipation of which doll you get when you unpack them, plus all the fun related accessories that come with each doll. And you can buy (of course) all sorts of separate accessories and collectible cases for them.

To date, based on what I can find, there are multiple series of these dolls and well over 250 total different dolls in all (with many more on the way since they were some of the most popular toys in 2019). Our girls have about a dozen each. They've gotten them as gifts and they've spent their own allowance, each one starting at about $7 each. There are different categories of L.O.L. dolls that include common, fancy, rare and ultra rare.

Now, every generation has its pick of fun collectibles, created by businesses that can make bank if they hit the right kid craving nerve. And this L.O.L. doll craze has definitely been making bank. But what's fascinating to watch is the intense L.O.L. doll trading and negotiating that goes on after the unpacking.

Both our daughters, Beatrice and Bryce, have been developing their negotiation muscles with each other and with a core group of friends consumed by the L.O.L. doll craze. Serious negotations. Like Wall Street, executive boardroom, "you compromise and give me this for that because it's the best deal" negotiations. Especially when trading for rare and ultra rate L.O.L. dolls. And there's a special trading clause they call trade-backsies, used if and when someone gets buyer's remorse on a trade, she can ask for their L.O.L. doll back within a day of trading. It's serious business.

Which is why it made me think about losing my marbles. Not going literally crazy, no. Actual real-life marbles. Cat's eyes, red devils, aggies, allies, tigers swirlies, steelies, clearies and so many others. Trading marbles was big business when I was in 4th grade. But what started out as fairly innocent marble trading turned into a booming marble casino.

It started small at first. During foggy fall recesses, a couple of kids would set up marble pyramid stacks along the smooth grooves of playground dirt worn in the grass from repetitive running and playing. Then, other kids would shoot marbles from a specific distance to knock the marble pyramids down. If they did, they got all the marbles, but each time they missed, the pyramid stacker would collect the marbles and keep them.

Usually the pyramid stacks were topped with premium marbles -- clearies or steelies or other rare marbles -- which sweetened the pot of winning the stack. Our marble enterprise grew and soon there were fewer kids playing four-square, tetherball, dodge ball or nation ball (a faster and more complex version of dodge ball), and more kids bringing their marbles to school. It was mostly boys who played at first, but eventually there was a growing group of girls brining their marbles to school.

It flew under the yard duty teacher radar for awhile; we had lookouts to ensure we weren't attracting too much attention. However, human nature took over and the passion of grade school kids overtook some of us. More and more marble fights broke out when kids would lose their most precious ones. There were also some kids who tried to glue their marble stacks to prevent them from being knocked down, which didn't happen often because they were immediately banned from play. And through it all, there were no trade-backsies; when you lost your marbles, you lost your marbles.

Loose lips sink ships and eventually the yard duty teacher radar picked up on what we were doing. Even our primary teachers overheard the marble rabble-rousing during class, with kids having withdrawals because they couldn't wait until recess to gamble away. Plus, it was hard to miss the growing clump of kids kneeling on the ground shooting marbles over and over again, along with the cheering and the yelling. Eventually, our entire marble operation was shut down and marbles were banned from school. Not even my mom knew about it until she got the note from school.

So in a sense, we did all lose our marbles, so to speak. Compared to that, the L.O.L. Surprise Doll negotiating and trading seems pretty tame. In fact, it's valuable skill-building for our girls and their friends, learning to negotiate while keeping cool heads, for the most part. Thank goodness for trade-backsies.

In All My Available Light

"I shall not waste my days in trying to prolong them. I shall use my time." 

—Neil Peart, Ghost Rider: Travels on the Healing Road

Every time I look back on it, I can't believe I said no to Rush. It was our sophomore year in high school, 1981, and one of my friends, a budding musician himself at the time, came up to me one day and asked me if I wanted to go to Fresno to see the sold out Moving Pictures tour. Which, according to my new fancy-schmancy Rush: Wandering the Face of the Earth: The Official Touring History, was June 7, 1981, and tickets were $9.50 in advance.

$9.50 -- and I told him I couldn't afford to go. That was a lot for a high school kid in 1981, but I'm sure I could've scrounged up the money. The truth was, believe it or not, I wasn't quite the fan then that I eventually came just over one year later when Signals came out. I did already dig all the big hits from Moving Pictures and some of the earlier albums, and knew that Geddy Lee (bass/keyboards), Alex Lifeson (guitar) and Neil Peart (drums/lyricist) were amazing progressive rock musicians, but I wasn't quite the huge fan yet. Plus, I didn't think my parents would let me go to a concert yet either and was afraid to ask them.

"No, his mind is not for rent
To any god or government.
Always hopeful, yet discontent
He knows changes aren’t permanent –
But change is..."

However, something was brewing within me during those formative teenage years, something that would connect me more and more with Rush's music. The stormy angst of lower middle-class white teenage-land, the longing to succeed, to be the best in everything I did, to be liked by everyone no matter what, and to never fail. Ever. At any and all costs. The pressure I put on myself then combined with growing up in a broken family, domestic violence and sexual abuse circled me like a category 5 hurricane.

"Look in
To the eye of the storm
Look out
For the force without form
Look around
At the sight and sound
Look in, Look out, Look around..."

I felt safe in the hurricane's eye for the first two and a half years of high school, until the high winds drove me into the brutal storm. Anxiety and severe panic attacks ensued, my grades suffered (I had been a straight A student until my senior year), and the dreams of going away to college crumbled, at least until a year after high school graduation.

"Growing up it all seems so one-sided
Opinions all provided
The future pre-decided
Detached and subdivided
In the mass production zone..."

I rarely talked about what I experienced at the time with anyone, even my closest of friends, and definitely not my family. I was close to my mom but I couldn't articulate what was happening inside me -- that I didn't want to be what everyone wanted me to be at the time, and in the years after high school. That I desperately needed to heal the scared and broken child inside me, so afraid to become the me I longed to be. My withdrawn anger turned to depression and even further anxiety.

"Anger got bare knuckles
Anger play the fool
Anger wear a crown of thorns
Reverse the golden rule
Then you learn the lesson
That it’s tough to be so cool..."

But no amount of reading (including the Bible, Orwell, Fitzgerald, Conrad, Lee, Ellison, Baldwin, Salinger, Faulkner, Golding, Steinbeck, Swift, Woolf, Hemingway, Huxley, Beckett, Kafka, Lessing, Poe, King -- Martin Luther and Stephen -- and so many more), nor the music and lyrics of Rush, or the unsure but kind words from my family and friends could fully console me. Much anxiety, let downs and failures later, my awakening to being me and living life on my terms would take another 15 years to be fully realized.

"When we lift the covers from our feelings
We expose our insecure spots
Trust is just as rare as devotion —
Forgive us our cynical thoughts..."

The music and lyrics from Rush did help along the way, though. Neil Peart, the drummer and primary lyricist and eventual writer of non-fiction works such as The Masked Rider, Ghost Rider, Traveling Music, Far and Near, Roadshow and many others, inspired me to be a better human, to be independent yet inclusive, pragmatic yet hopeful, loving of self and others, and to be present and always be adventuring and learning, to keep living a full life.

"If I could wave my magic wand
I’d make everything all right..."

I didn't see Rush for the first time until May 24, 1986, in Sacramento, California. General admission then was only $16.50 and it was another sold out show. I was with my best friends from junior high, high school and college. The hot valley sun beat up on us that day, although we were feeling no pain, that's for sure. The show was fabulous and I never in my life have seen musical prowess on stage, then and now, all coming from three individuals. Ever since that first concert, I've seen them many times with the best of friends, and each show has elevated me to new emotional and spiritual heights.

"Against the run of the mill
Static as it seems
We break the surface tension
With our wild kinetic dreams
Curves and lines —
Of grand designs..."

Neil's words definitely contributed to my spiritual therapy over the years and solidified my fandom for sure. Especially from the albums Signals, Grace Under Pressure, Power Windows, Hold Your Fire, Presto, Roll the Bones, Counterparts and Test for Echo. However, all the albums now are important to me today pre- and post-Signals (yes, I keep saying albums, because I'm old school that way), each of them inextricably linked to so many moments in my life.

"I believe in what I see
I believe in what I hear
I believe that what I’m feeling
Changes how the world appears..."

And then in 1997/98, Neil's daughter and wife passed away within 10 months of each other, and for many of us devastated fans, that was the end of Rush. Even his bandmates Geddy and Alex thought it was over. But it wasn't, and after reading Ghost Rider, Neil's healing road that included riding 55,000 miles on his motorcycle throughout North America, Mexico and South America, helped to bring him back to life. He remarried, had another daughter, and Rush played once again, giving us all another four albums, many live shows and a few more books. Plus, there are these fantastic documentaries available as well: Beyond the Lighted Stage and Time Stand Still (a true love letter from fans).

"Surge of energy, spark of inspiration
The breath of love is electricity
Maybe Time is bird in flight
Endlessly mocking
Here we come out of the cradle
Endlessly rocking
Endlessly rocking..."

I never got to meet Neil; he was wary of the public eye and not comfortable around fans. I did get to meet Geddy, though. That was quite a treat. Last year one of my work trips to Toronto aligned with Geddy Lee's book tour promoting his collection of electric basses (titled Big Beautiful Book of Bass). He interviewed on stage and then did a book signing. I even got to fist-bump him after he signed my book! Maybe one of these days I'll get to meet Alex.

"He's a rebel and a runner
He's a signal turning green
He's a restless young romantic
Wants to run the big machine..."

My last show was with my best friend from college in San Jose on July 23, 2015, where tickets started at $49 each (although ours were a lot more than that). My friend was sure he saw Neil riding his motorcycle outside of the arena earlier in the day, although I'm not sure it was him (but we can still wish it was).

Shortly after that last tour, Neil said he was done and the band officially retired. And that was it.

Years pass and then I'm on my way to see my dear friends of 30-40+ years in early January, 2020, when my nephew texts me:

I’m sorry to hear about Neil Peart.

What? I thought. That led to me calling my wife and asking her to look up this news online.

"I'm sorry, sweetie. Yes, he passed away. It says he had brain cancer."

"Suddenly —
You were gone
From all the lives
You left your mark upon..."

I tried to voice text my friends to tell them the news that Neil Peart was dead as I was driving, but Siri couldn't get the words right, so it kept coming out:

Which, in a strange fandom way for many, he was. I hope other fans find humorous solace in that. As I wrote recently, listening to favorite old songs (and albums) is just like looking at faded cherished photographs -- the visceral memories attached to each are forever bound to our hearts. We relive them through our ears of today, the past pleasures and the pain, one song at a time.

"Run to light from shadow
Sun gives me no rest
Promise offered in the east
Broken in the west
Chase the sun around the world
I want to look at life – 
In the available light..."

This morning we were up early, as my family always is, and we drove down to the ocean just before sunrise to catch the birth of a new day. Glorious in rich burning colors, the glowing sliver moon basked in its birth along with us. We held each other, because every day we live our best lives, my wife and daughters, a loving promise we make to each other without compromise.

Neil Peart's life and work has always inspired me to chase the sun around the world and look at life in the available light. To not waste my days just existing, but instead, to use my time well.  Sometimes I can still feel broken, and darkness can creep in, and yet, I keep working on living my best life in all my available light, ample with love and respect for myself, my family and for others. Amen.

Thank you, Neil. 

"The treasure of a life is a measure of love and respect

The way you live, the gifts that you give

In the fullness of time

It’s the only return that you expect..."

Men of Our Present Age

This is dedicated to those who have had lifelong friendships, including Geddy, Alex and Neil of my favorite band Rush. Bless you and your family, Neil. You will be missed. 

The entire restaurant joined in on the birthday song. Afterwards, everyone applauded, and then Robby, my best friend since junior high, was all smile from ear to ear.

"We made it another year," I said.

"Yes, we did," he said.

Then the core of our dearest friends of the past 30-40+ years sitting around the table concurred. We'd been coming to Chico since 1989 to visit Robby at least one to two times per year. Many other dear friends in our overlapping rings of friendships had also been coming to visit for decades as well. If we included the five years post high school when we'd see him, and each other, in Visalia where we grew up, that included a lot of memories of friendships as thick as thieves; we know where many of our bones are buried.

There's also something new revealing itself every time we get together, like this time our friend Rob finding out that Robby had kissed his old girlfriend back in high school. Something he didn't know, and didn't really bother him now, but yet, it kinda did. That conversation went on a bit too long during our meal, as many of our sometimes obsessive, bared-soul conversations can do, but hey, there's always another confession to make and then a bone to bury.

As we got up from the table and headed out for the rest of the day, Robby wheeling himself out in his wheelchair, I thought of an earlier what-if conversation we had. What if we had convinced Robby not to go to the the swim meet that Easter break day in April of our senior year. He was a swimmer and a water polo player, and a handful of us were heading out to Morro Bay for the day, about a two and a half hour drive one way. He thought about it, but really didn't want to miss one of the first swim meets of the season that year. I remember trying to work him over about it, but in the end, he didn't want to miss the meet.

And at that very swim meet was where he broke his neck. Ever since, he uses a wheelchair for mobility. For decades he's lived fairly independently, with regular home health care and help from friends and family.

What would've happened if he never went to that swim meet and went to the coast with us instead? Where would he be now and what would he be doing? He's been an amazing artist over the years and a fervent comic book collector; would he have become a successful commercial artist working for Marvel or DC?

And the even bigger question -- would we all still be friends? Robby has become the cathartic center of so many of our concentric rings of mutual friends, but would we all still be getting together year after year and celebrating these very loving friendships?

That's not really the right question, though, nor a valid one, because the lifetime journeys we've experienced and shared together over the years are real and intact. My dad used to say "should-ofs and could-ofs don't mean squat," only where you're at today and the decisions you make daily are of any consequence. And while there's no one who thinks about the what-if of not breaking his neck more than Robby himself, knowing that he'd trade all the things he's acquired over the years to un-break it, we are all men of our present age, and the years since junior high, high school and beyond of our shared histories are the memories that bind our friendships together today. We've made it another year and have all become the cathartic centers to each other with a present awareness we've never been more grateful for.


Other past posts about these friends of mine:

• The #MeToo Guys
• Men of a Women's Age
• Men of a Consequential Age
• Grown Men Friends and Fathers
• Like Men Knowingly Bound to Their Future
• Because That's How It Works With The Guys That Work
• Men of An Unremarkable Age

One Song at a Time

"And it doesn't matter how I cry
My tears, so far, are a waste of time
If I turn away
Am I strong enough to see it through
Go crazy is what I will do..."

–The Bee Gees, If I Can't Have You (as sung by Yvonne Elliman)

Every time I hear the song today, the chorus still haunts me. The crescendo of keyboards, strings, horns and Yvonne Elliman's voice brings back the old angst and longing. Or, at least, what my idea of longing was way back then, that new funny feeling trouncing on my stomach like a trampoline in the hot sun. I didn't fully understand the words of the song then, just how they made me feel, like waking from an amazing dream that wasn't real.

All I could think about was her, one of the girls in my sixth grade class. My awkward memories of her birthday party that year are snapshots still fresh in my memory, even decades later. I had the biggest crush on her and I never said a word to anyone about it at the time.

Besides "If I Can't Have You," the other song I remember most vividly from the birthday party was "Ballroom Blitz" by the glam-rock band Sweet.

"And the man in the back is ready to crack
As he raises his hands to the sky
And the girl in the corner is everyone's woman
She could kill you with a wink of her eye..."

And that's where I stood, along the periphery of the room, a skinny, asthmatic and shy 12-year-old boy pining for the most beautiful girl in the world, who most likely just invited me to her party to be nice. We weren't even really friends at the time, but we did share mutual friends. It was my first real crush that I can remember, and it was then that my hormones began to rage like rivers after a spring Sierra thaw. But, my pubescent heart was broken. Self-inflicted, but broken. She didn't say more than a few words to me during her party, and I didn't say more than a few words to anyone that afternoon. I remember listening to the song over and over again (my mom was a big fan of Saturday Night Fever and the soundtrack, a movie I wouldn't see in its entirety until many years later). I would also make more mix tapes of my favorite songs at the time, to feel those feels over and over, something I had already been doing for a couple of years.

When I heard it again recently, it got me thinking about the changes I went through back then, because our oldest daughter Beatrice is now 11 and entering the pre-dawn shadows of adolescence. She's not quite there yet, although there have been physical and psychological changes. But no hormonal crushes yet as far as we know.

The changes they are a-comin', though. Beatrice and her younger sister Bryce have been exposed more to older romantic love relationship themes through movies, games, music and friends; it's going to happen no matter how much we monitor it all. Plus, the self-awareness of these themes are now opening up like smelling delicious food for the first time that's never been tasted. Yet. Blech.

But that time will come, just like it did for us when we were young. There will be infatuation, obsession and heartbreak. There will be first loves, and seconds. There will be relationships pocked with imperfection. Until then, we're grateful that both our girls have healthy, loving relationships to emulate, like ours, their mom and dad. They see us hug and kiss and tell each other how much we love each other daily. They tease us and tell us to stop, that we're embarrassing them, but we know they love it because our love comforts them. They see our love played out in the little daily things of life, of cooking meals and doing dishes, of cleaning the house and paying bills, of planning day-to-day activities and the future. They see us joke with each other and laugh. And sometimes they see us disagree and even fight a little, and then work it out and compromise. Always a work in progress, we work daily on being self-aware and mindfully present for each other, our love and our children.

There will also be the soundtracks of their lives to remember all the feels. The girls now love music as much as we did at their ages, although they love pop music much more than rock and roll, much to my chagrin. But that's okay, because I've always liked a mix of all kinds of music, just like their mom does. They now have their own playlists on their own devices and make their own mixes with my help. They even record songs from device to device via the mic, asking us to be quiet when we're near their recording area. We tell them that we can help make the playlists on the computer and synch to their devices, just like we've already done many times, but they're having fun recording the old-school way. We did the same things when we were young, decades before the technology we have today. I've made plenty of mix tapes, mix CDs (which doesn't have the same ring as tapes) and playlists in my time, including the many I've made for my lovely wife. The girls will continue to make their own music mixes as well for themselves, and eventually for others, and others will make mixes for them. Sigh.

Listening to favorite old songs is just like looking at faded cherished photographs -- the visceral memories attached to each are forever bound to our hearts. We relive them through our ears of today, the past pleasures and the pain, one song at a time.