Be Quiet Inside And Enjoy The Ride

"And nothing seems to fit
And things don't go your way
You know you've had enough
You can't take another day
Where to go and what to do
You've got those bills to pay
You're really not alone you know
'Cause everybody says
Why me?
Why me?"

–Styx, Why Me?

The ceiling fan remote was gone and not where it was supposed to be. I always left it right on the second shelf next to my side of the bed. But it was gone. I scanned all the shelves. Nothing. I looked on the floor in and around the shelves and under the bed. No fan remote.

I wanted to turn the ceiling fan on because I was warm and I had some work calls to make. The office nook in our bedroom is a great place to make video calls because of the lighting, and my wife Amy and I both use it. But the only way to turn the fan on is with the remote. There is no wall switch. It was just easier to install that way. 

I called downstairs to where Amy was working. "Amy, where's the fan remote?"

"Isn't it where it we leave it? On the shelf?"

Sigh. "No, it's not there. I can't find it anywhere."

Now, if anyone can find anything in our house, it's Amy. Mom always knows where everything is. Usually. And if she doesn't, she has an idea of how to find it, like with our oldest daughter Beatrice's phone recently. Just like my mom did when I was a kid and a teenager. Usually the thing I couldn't find was right in front of me, and my mom always found it for me and reminded me it was right in front of me. Beatrice and I both still do that today and Mom always comes through. Our youngest daughter, Bryce, doesn't have the same debilitating lack of awareness that me and Bea have. 

To be fair, it isn't always that we can't find something, it's that we've gotten lazy and overly dependent on Mom, because Mom usually knows where that something is. That's not something to be proud of, but mercy me, that's why we love Mom so much.

This time she didn't know. She looked everywhere I looked, and more places, but didn't find it.

I was frustrated and mad. "Where the hell could it be, Amy? I leave it in the same place every single time!"

"Me too," Amy said. "Maybe it was the house sitter recently who misplaced it. Or maybe one of the girls."

"So frustrating," I said.

"I know," Amy said. 

My head swirled with questions: Can we purchase another ceiling fan remote and program it?  How much will that cost? Would we have to take the fan apart again? And then what if we can't replace it? How the hell are we going to use the fan if we can't? Why do I have to deal with this now?

Why me?!?

And there it was -- why me. Amy had already left me alone knowing there was nothing she could do to console me. This was my process. Immediate frustration that constricted endless possibilities and viable answers to a thin red line. A line that lead to nowheresville. The reality was that the ceiling fan remote most likely could be replaced and that it was just a transitory inconvenience of time and money. It was really more about the world imploding with uncontrollable chaotic fallout, burning my brain and tricking me, once again, into believing that this would cause me unending angst.

I purged the chaotic fallout and realized, yet again, this was nothing to lose my head over. Relax. If you can't find it, there will be a solution (what Amy always says, which is why I love her so much). That's when I checked in our bed, and buried snugly in between the mattresses was the ceiling fan remote. Later I would find out that Beatrice was the one who left it in the bed accidentally. 

Sigh. Everything is where it's supposed to be, including me, and I just have to be quiet inside and enjoy the ride. It will all work out ultimately. 

But just in case, I tied a string around the remote and attached it to the shelf. 

Men of a Vulnerable Age

I stood in the shade of the awning with others, away from the creep of morning valley heat. A slight breeze ebbed and flowed around us as the service began. Soon after, my friend Craig shared reverent words about his mother who had passed. With the exceptions of my long-time dear friends Rob and Greg, Greg's wife Jody, and Craig's wife Noriko, I didn't know Craig's family. I never even knew his mother. 

But I did know about her through him. And for the nearly 35 years I've known Craig, he has always talked fondly of his mother. For nearly 35 years, we've been getting together with our core group of long-time friends (45+ years for those of us who went to junior high and high school together). The last time all of us were together as a group was January 2020. Then COVID hit. 

Since then we haven't seen each much. There was Rob's retirement party, and then some of us individually going to see the other mutual friend from our core group, my best friend since junior high, Robby. Pre-pandemic we've gone to Robby's as a group at least 1-2+ times a year for decades. Robby, who had broken his neck at a swim meet in high school, has been paralyzed ever since. While still living somewhat independently with home healthcare, his travel mobility has decreased dramatically over the decades, and today he doesn't venture beyond his own city limits. Also, outside of this core group, there's Troy, my best friend from college, and we've only seen each other once in the past few years. 

When Craig's mom passed away, he posted when her service and reception would be, and I knew I had to be there for him, as did our friends Rob and Greg. Listening to him talk about his mother at the graveside service reminded me of when my own parents passed back in 2012, only four months apart, and all the emotional upheaval experienced during that time. At his mom's memorial reception, Craig, Rob, Greg and I hugged, talked, and laughed freely, realizing how much we've missed our time together.  

While it may be true that men can go longer periods of time without talking or seeing each other, and don't necessarily thrive on intimacy and emotional connection as much as women do, my friends and I have shared quite a bit of our lives with each other over the years. The good, the bad, the ugly, and the meh. The stormy rainbow yak of life. 

In fact, what I've found is that the intimacy and emotional connections have increased over the years, even without seeing each other or talking to each other that often. Maybe it's simply maturity and nurturing empathy, although we still know how to give each other quite the inappropriate regular ribbing; we are a diverse group, that's for sure. Now in our mid to late 50's, most of us have our own families and children (and grandchildren!), and all of us have lots of life lived behind us, and hopefully lots more ahead. We are now men of a vulnerable age, making peace with our present, and embracing the presence of each other's love. 

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

How We Learn and Grow

"...and if love remains, though everything is lost, we will pay the price, but we will not count the cost..."

–Rush, Bravado

Beatrice searched her backpack. 

"Where's my phone?" she said.

"You lost your phone?" I said.

"No, I just had it on the bus. It was in my pocket, but it's not now."

"Look through your backpack again." 

"I did. It's not there."

It was inevitable. The loss of something we should never lose. Especially when we're teenagers. But teens don't own exclusive rights to losing stuff; I recently lost the title to one of our cars. Gone. Poof. Farewell. 

Crap.

"You must have left it on the bus," my wife Amy said to our daughter. "Let's check 'find my phone' to see where it is."

We checked the app. Sure enough, it looked like the phone was moving along the bus route Bea had been on when she got off at our home stop. She had been hanging out with friends after school that day and then took the bus home from downtown. 

"This bus loops back down the hill, so you should go up to the upper bus stop and wait for it and then search the bus."

This caused Beatrice escalated angst. Her face contorted. "I don't want to go by myself. Can you go with me? Or, can you just call the bus driver?"

"We can call the bus station, but that won't help you get your phone back now," Amy said. "I have to go to a meeting, but you should still walk up there and wait so you can get your phone back."

At this point I had been running all the things through my head that we'd have to do if her phone was truly lost. And I didn't want to have to do any of them. 

"I'll wait up there with you. C'mon, let's go," I said.

"Okay. Thank you, Dad. Will you help me talk to the bus driver?" she said. "I'm so sorry."

"Yes, I'll help you. Let's go so we don't miss the bus."

We walked up the hill to the bus stop and sat on the bench. I was tired and wanted to relax before I had to pick up Bea's sister Bryce from theater rehearsal, but that wasn't going to happen now. I also knew Bea felt horrible and was stressing out about losing her phone, so berating and/or shaming her wasn't going to make things any better, or make me feel any better. The phone was gone and we just had to focus on hopefully getting it back. 

I had the "find my phone" app up on my phone and Beatrice's phone was supposedly still on the bus and coming back down the hill. We sat on the bus stop bench and waited. I told her if the phone was on the bus, we'd get it back and then go get her sister. She was stressing hard about it and I felt for her. She really thought she still had the phone when she arrived home earlier. 

"Thank you for helping me Dad and not making me feel bad," she said. 

"I love you, Bea. We all lose stuff."

"Love you, too."

A woman walked up to the bus stop and waited with us. We struck up a conversation and she was very empathetic about our situation and said she would help us. She told Bea she was 24 years old and still lost things. 

The bus arrived, and after telling the bus driver the situation, he was very gracious in helping us search where Bea had been sitting. The other passengers helped, too. But the phone wasn't there, and according to the app, it should've been. 

That's when Amy called to tell me someone had picked up Bea's phone and got off the bus further back up the hill. He was waiting for us in front of a convenience store not too far away. I called Bea's phone to confirm, and he was very nice and said he'd wait. We walked back down the hill, got our car, and drove up to where the guy had her phone. 

After thanking the young guy for finding Bea's phone, I handed Bea her phone and we drove home. Her face was flush with relief. 

"Thank you again, Dad," she said. 

"You're welcome. I'm just glad we got it back," I said. "Text your mom and tell her we got it."

"Okay."

"So, what are you going to do the next time you get off the bus?" 

"Double-check that I have my phone," she said and smiled. 

I then told Bea about the times when I was in high school when I locked my keys in my car and my dad had to come help me get into my car. Too many times, actually. He was in law enforcement and knew how to use a Slim Jim tool to unlock my car door. He reminded me constantly to always have my keys and my wallet on me at all times, to always know where they were at all times, wherever I was. 

And then I pointed out to her that today, there are three things you always need to know where they are: your keys, your wallet/purse, and your phone. Always know where those things are and all will be well in the world. 

Like Beatrice, I was quite relieved we had found her phone and again ran through the things in my head I would've had to have done if we hadn't. It's just time and money, I thought. We would've figured it out. But we did find her phone thankfully and all was well. 

It was also a special bonding time for us looking for her phone. I was still Dad helping Daughter who had lost something she shouldn't have, but getting angry about her losing her phone wouldn't have helped anything other than making her feel like unworthy crap. Encouraging her to be preemptive and double-check next time was a better use of my time, as well as sharing about my own teen and adult fails. This, I told her, is how we learn and grow. 

I'm not sure how much she got of that, but she gave me a big hug and thanked me again. 

Our Kids, Our Future

I told my wife Amy I'd only help sell the drinks for the PTA if I could be in the shade. And that's exactly where the table was when we got to our middle school, but it was still 85 degrees with only a little sea breeze. I set up the water, soda, and juice station nonetheless, preparing to ask for donations. Our oldest daughter Beatrice, now in high school, helped me set up, then vanished. Amy was inside the school running the PTA table and our 7th grader Bryce was preparing to sing in the choir. I was on my own for middle school open house.

It was nice to see old friends whose kids have been going to school with ours since forever. We were only asking for $1 PTA donations for the drinks, and because of the heat and the taco truck nearby serving delicious food, folks flocked to my table. Soon there was nothing left but a few waters. That's when the classroom open house started. 

Amy and I went to each of Bryce's classes, in her regular schedule order, and got to meet and hear from her teachers. It was a great turnout overall and most of the classrooms where full of eager parents wanting to learn what was in store for their children. 

It was the same story the next night when we went to Beatrice's high school open house. Except it was over 20 degrees cooler. That's Santa Cruz for you. I should've sold drinks that night for sure. Beatrice was excited to help us find each of her classes, and again, we really enjoyed meeting all her teachers. 

Being on our local school board, I have the privilege of serving our community, our district teachers, our district staff, and most importantly, our district kids TK-12. It was inspiring to hear this year all our teaching positions were filled! This hasn't been easy here or in many districts throughout California and the rest of the United States. Especially in rural areas. And now the teacher shortage has gotten worse, declining 16%, even after a seven-year increase in the number of new teacher credentials issued in California.

Public education is one of the cornerstones of a sound and thriving democracy. And while democracy isn't exactly thriving right now, I have hope that it will hold. What else does public education mean to America, and to our family? 

These reasons (according to the California School Board Association - CSBA and the Masters in Governance course I'm taking as a school board member): 

• A tuition-free education for all students.
• The promise of equal educational opportunities no matter race, religion, or ability.
• A commitment to high standards and high expectations for all students.
• A system of governance that ensures public accountability.

The public school system is not without its challenges, though, including teaching and staffing shortages, declining enrollment, budget shortfalls, navigating the academic and behavioral setbacks that occurred during COVID, fewer resources for students with special needs and those with cultural and language needs, divisive culture wars, mental health struggles, antiquated curriculum for some, among other challenges. There are also alternatives for families when the public school system doesn't work for them. 

But the public school system has provided our children with the educational resources and quality teaching since preschool that have helped them thrive academically and socially. I see that district-wide now as a board member, from elementary to secondary. Our daughter Beatrice might even want to be a teacher someday, and we couldn't be prouder. This is why I'm hopeful after meeting teacher after teacher who teach all the kids in our district. Who prepare our kids for college and/or career. Who help our kids believe they can be the best versions of themselves -- inclusive and empathetic critical thinkers. Our kids, our future. That's what it's all about.