Dear Jeff, Part IV.

Dear Jeff,

It still won’t work but since you’re on your knees…

Wait wait, I know better than to go that route with you.  I’m talking about praying.

Goodness you people disgust me sometimes.

- God

Dear God, Part IV.

Dear God,

What if I beg?

Yours,

Jeff

Dear Jeff, Part III

All right all right. Give Me a moment to check this place out and I will then do my best to……wow, this place is niiiiiiiiice. Check out the metal siding. Fireplace…detached garage…who did those gates? I’m gonna have to tell Peter about those. What’s this button? IS THIS AN ELEVATOR? OH MY ME!!! Wow, an elevator to the second…there are THREE floors?! You’ve gotta be kidding Me. Oh man, look at this view. Real hardwood floors. SWEET balcony!! And you’ve had no offers on these units yet even after dropping the price 20%? What the hell’s wrong with you people? I essentially set you up to be the most intelligent species on the planet. Look, if you don’t want the brain I’ll give it to the dolphins or whatever.

Okay look, I can thoroughly understand why you question My existence when a place like this doesn’t sell. NOT! Don’t get me wrong, this place is super sweet but, again, this is a Jeff Chacon production and, forgive Me, but I don’t seem to recall being consulted during planning, building, and I certainly didn’t get invited to that little shindig you had back in December 2008. But now you’re expecting Me to help you sell the place? Would you really want Me to cast a spell over someone and make them buy it? Because If I did that to them, you should then be okay with Me casting a similar spell over you at some point and, knowing you as I do, I’m guessing you don’t like that idea. Patience Jeffrey. I know you have the faith (in a lot of things); it’s patience you’re short on which is understandable. You’ve made a great product, you’re asking a fair price, you’ve put forth a great effort to get the word out, someone will buy it, it’s just gonna take some time. It’s really that simple. Trying to bring Me into the equation increases the complexity of this situation way more than necessary. Keep it simple. And again, you’ve really done a very nice job here. You should be proud of your accomplishment as I am proud of you. Now are those gates wrought iron or what?

Editor’s note: To see what God’s talking about, literally, go to www.elevation33.com.

Dear God, Part III

Dear God,

Now you’re just messing with me.  In one paragraph, you say it is pointless to question you about “bad things” because they you “had nothing to do with them,” but in another paragraph, you say “Put your faith and trust in Me when all else fails (and if you’re smart you’ll do BEFORE all else fails) and things will work out fine.”  Well, which is it?  Either I put my faith and trust in You, like so many people on my planet do, or I don’t, because you have nothing to do with my fate anyway.  Seriously, that’s a conundrum.  I lean towards not questioning you, as you know, because I’m doubting your existence anyway, but you’re going to freak a lot of people here out if you truly have no control over what happens.  Because honestly, many people think you do.  Now I tend to think many of them are sheep and follow organized religion a little too blindly, but to think of the ramifications of our society not having a God to believe in makes me shudder.

Me, on the other hand, I’m a skeptic.  And really, God, I’ve dropped the duplex price 20%, and we’ve had 19 showings of my duplex in the last month….and still no buyers.  And you know, if you exist, the toll this is taking.  On my relationship with my wife, on my finances, and on me.  You know.  If you exist.  And yet you don’t intervene.  Sure, there might be something to learn from all this….if that’s the point.  Look, all I tried to do was strengthen my family’s financial position in life, and now it’s a possibility that I’m going to spend the rest of my life paying people back money that they’re rightfully owed.  Which is really just stupid, because it never should have come to this.  And it makes me truly doubt your existence, because I’m a decent human being and this is unwarranted, based on my life performance.

But you know what, God?  I’m not gonna go off and do something stupid.  I’m not gonna join the crazies of today and murder my family or run off to Vegas to live with a 22 year old cocktail waitress….although that thought it tempting at times.  No, I’m still a better man than that.  While at times this whole situation makes me want to curl up in a ball and cry for a week or go off on a bender to beat all benders, I’m not gonna do that.  Because that’s not what a Man does.  In my world.  A Man stands in, takes the heat, absorbs the blows, and deals with what life throws at him.  And while I’ve been doing that for a long, long time now, I’ve got some more gas in my tank.  And I will persevere.  And I will be a Father to my children and I will be a Leader in my community and I will get out of this with whatever amount of damage is necessary.  Because that’s who I am.  And that’s what Life is.

But you know all that.  If you exist.

Best,

Jeff

Ben and Jen

Copyright 2002  Jeff C.

Setting: A hospital room.  Mrs. Walker is laying on a bed, asleep.  The DOCTOR is doing doctor-type things.  MRS. WALKER wakes up.

DOCTOR

It’s a boy, Mrs. Walker, it’s a boy.  A son.

MRS. WALKER

Oh…

DOCTOR

Oh?

MRS. WALKER

I was really hoping for twins.

DOCTOR

Hmm…what would you have named them?

MRS. WALKER

I think I would have named them Benjamin and Jennifer – then I could have called them Ben and Jen.

DOCTOR

Oh.

MRS. WALKER

Oh?

DOCTOR

I have a sister named Jen.

MRS. WALKER

Oh?

DOCTOR

And a brother named Ben.

MRS. WALKER

Oh!

DOCTOR

I did have a sister named Jen…is what I should really say.

MRS. WALKER

Oh?

DOCTOR

She died.

MRS. WALKER

Oh.

DOCTOR

In a tragic changing table accident when we were just kids.  I may have pushed her, but the authorities never fully decided.  I was just a kid!  I could never have meant to push her, right?

MRS. WALKER

Oh.  Right.

DOCTOR

I mean, really, I loved Jen like she was my sister.  Well, she was my sister, so of course I did.

MRS. WALKER

Oh.  Yeah.

DOCTOR

We did everything together.  It was like we were joined at the hip.  Well, we were joined at the hip, until the operation a few weeks before she died.

MRS. WALKER

Didn’t I see that movie?

DOCTOR

Yes, you probably did – it was on NBC last week.

MRS. WALKER

Starring Patrick Swayze as the hard-luck ex-siamese twin doctor and Meredith Baxter-Birney as his loving, but naïve, wife.  With a special appearance by Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen as the hard-luck siamese-twin doctor’s joined-at-the-hip sister.

DOCTOR

Exactly.

MRS. WALKER

So, was that based on you?

DOCTOR

Well, of course.  (Pause)  No, it wasn’t.  I was just making that up.  Actually, I wasn’t even doing that.  I was just borrowing the plot from that movie and making it my own.

MRS. WALKER

And how often do you do this?

DOCTOR

Deliver babies?

MRS. WALKER

Steal plots from Movies Of The Week?

DOCTOR

Well, this week I’m the ex-siamese-twin doctor.  Last week, I was an after-school-special father who lost his daughter to drugs and alcohol – but that doesn’t really count, because it wasn’t a Movie Of The Week.  You did ask about Movies Of The Week, didn’t you?

MRS. WALKER

Uh, yes.

DOCTOR

Well, let’s see, a couple of weeks ago I was a roller-coaster inspector with a drinking problem who spent an afternoon at the local bar instead of checking the roller coaster rails, and the next day the coaster almost went off the track but I saved the day with a well placed Tootsie Roll, redeeming myself and having an epiphany in the same afternoon.  So I guess you could say I do this quite often.

MRS. WALKER

Oh.

DOCTOR

Does that bother you?

MRS. WALKER

I was kind of hoping a real doctor would deliver my baby.

DOCTOR

Oh.

MRS. WALKER

Does that bother you?

DOCTOR

Yes.  It hurts my feelings.

MRS. WALKER

Well, it should.

DOCTOR

What is that supposed to mean?

MRS. WALKER

I come in here after hauling this thing around for nine months and I believe I should see a competent, capable, real doctor.  Not some freaky actor who thinks he’s Patrick Swayze.  Have you ever delivered a baby before?

DOCTOR

What does it matter?

MRS. WALKER

What does it matter?  What if you come in here pretending to be a doctor and then I go into labor and you don’t know what to do?

DOCTOR

What if you come in here pretending to be a patient and then I go to deliver the baby and you don’t know what to do?

MRS. WALKER

But I did know what to do.  I was doing the breathing (demonstrates breathing technique), I was pushing (demonstrated pushing technique), and I had an epidural (demonstrates epidural technique, with appropriate drugged-up looks).  Then I had the baby.

DOCTOR

I also knew what to do.  I came in to check on you – (demonstrating checking-up techniques) How are you feeling, Mrs. Walker?

MRS. WALKER

What?

DOCTOR

Play along.  How are you feeling, Mrs. Walker?

MRS. WALKER

Fine?

DOCTOR

No, no, no.  You should say something like, “I’m dilated 5 centimeters, I’m hungrier than an anorexic hippo, and I feel like I’ve got a bowling ball coming out of me.”  Then you’d properly convey to me that you’re ready to have your baby, and we can call in the technicians and fill this room with people and get on with it.  Try again.  How are you feeling, Mrs. Walker?

MRS. WALKER

I’m dilated  5 centimeters, I’m hungrier than….look, we’ve already done this.  I had the baby, right?  Can I see him now?

DOCTOR

If you must.  First, however, you must have a name for him.  Do you have a name for him?

MRS. WALKER

What’s your name?

DOCTOR

I thought you’d ask that.  My name is Hector, and 57% of the babies I deliver are named Hector.  Even some of the girls.  I think it’s a compliment to my skill.

MRS. WALKER

His name will be Tommy.

DOCTOR

Oh.

MRS. WALKER

Does that bother you?

DOCTOR

Well, I would like it very much if you’d name them Hector.

MRS. WALKER

Thomas, if that helps.  Wait – them?

DOCTOR

Did I say them?

MRS. WALKER

Did you?

DOCTOR

I think I said, “if you’d name then,” as in, “name first, then Hector next.”

MRS. WALKER

That doesn’t make any sense at all.

DOCTOR

It doesn’t?

MRS. WALKER

No.

DOCTOR

How do you know?

MRS. WALKER

I have a degree in English.

DOCTOR

Oh.

MRS. WALKER

Does that bother you?

DOCTOR

Well, you’re a highly educated woman, and I’m merely a doctor.

MRS. WALKER

How many children do I have, Doctor  Hector?

DOCTOR

One.

MRS. WALKER

You said “them.”

DOCTOR

Two.

MRS. WALKER

Two?

DOCTOR

Oh, alright, three.

MRS. WALKER

Three?

DOCTOR

Hectors one, two, and three.

MRS. WALKER

Their names are not Hector.

DOCTOR

I already filled out the birth certificate for you.

MRS. WALKER

Oh.

DOCTOR

Does that bother you?

MRS. WALKER

I was really I hoping that I would be the one to do that.  Or Mr. Walker.  (beat) My God, it’s snowing outside.  How long have I been out?

DOCTOR

Well, we tried this new super-epidural on you; it’s experimental.  Your HMO wouldn’t pay for the standard epidural – said it wasn’t necessary – so we had to use an alternate.  You’ve been unconscious for a year.

MRS. WALKER

A year?

DOCTOR

Alright, two years.

MRS. WALKER

Two years?

DOCTOR

Okay, three years.

MRS. WALKER

If I’ve been unconscious for three years, how did I know about the movie of the week last week?

DOCTOR

It was a repeat.

MRS. WALKER

Oh.

DOCTOR

Does that bother you?

MRS. WALKER

Well, yes, there’s too much crap on television as it is, and to repeat it all the time, it’s like repeating too much crap.  Who wants crap repeated?  I’ll take my crap the first time, thank you very much.

DOCTOR

You really are highly educated, aren’t you?

MRS. WALKER

You really are a doctor, aren’t you?

DOCTOR

How did you know?

MRS. WALKER

Your nametag says “Doctor Hector, M.D.”

DOCTOR

Oh.

MRS. WALKER

It’s sort of a giveaway.

DOCTOR

Oh.  Yeah.

MRS. WALKER

If you don’t want people to know you’re really a doctor, you shouldn’t wear a nametag.

DOCTOR

You’ve got a point.

MRS. WALKER

Can I see the babies now?

DOCTOR

Well, they’re not exactly babies anymore.

MRS. WALKER

What do you mean?

DOCTOR

You have been out for three years.

MRS. WALKER

The experimental super-epidural?

DOCTOR

Exactly.

MRS. WALKER

So can I see the toddlers now?

DOCTOR

You really are highly educated, aren’t you?

MRS. WALKER

Why do you keep saying that?

DOCTOR

Merely because I laid an obvious trap for you, what with the babies-toddlers thing, and you didn’t even fall for it.  You immediately switched from ‘babies’ to ‘toddlers’ in your question, and most women don’t do that.

MRS. WALKER

Most women?  This has happened to other women?

DOCTOR

Three years ago we were paid a whole lot of money by a top-secret pharmaceutical company to try their new super-epidural on the women who were coming in to have their babies.  So we used it on all the women whose HMOs didn’t pay for the standard epidural.

MRS. WALKER

And they’re all just now waking up?

DOCTOR

You really are -

MRS. WALKER

- highly educated?  Yes.

DOCTOR

I love you.

MRS. WALKER

What?

DOCTOR

I love you.

MRS. WALKER

Doctor Hector, these last few minutes have certainly been enjoyable, and you seem like a nice enough man, but I’ve got -

DOCTOR

There’s always a but, isn’t there?

MRS. WALKER

I’m married.

DOCTOR

At least you were three years ago.

MRS. WALKER

What are you saying?

DOCTOR

I’m just saying that the divorce rate among women who’ve been unconscious for three years is slightly higher than among women who’ve been unconscious for less than three years.  (beat)  And I’ve always wanted to love -

MRS. WALKER

- a highly educated woman?

DOCTOR

Yes.  Haven’t you always wanted to love a doctor?

MRS. WALKER

Well, my first husband was a doctor.

DOCTOR

There was a husband before Mr. Walker?

MRS. WALKER

How do you know his name?

DOCTOR

We’re on the same bowling team.

MRS. WALKER

Mr. Walker doesn’t bowl!

DOCTOR

He does now.  I think it’s a way to deal with his wife being unconscious for three years.

MRS. WALKER

So I am still married.

DOCTOR

Wow.  You really are a highly educated -

MRS. WALKER

I know.

DOCTOR

I could be a good father to the three Hectors.

MRS. WALKER

So could Mr. Walker, I bet.  And he’s already got my name.

DOCTOR

But the Hectors already have my name.

MRS. WALKER

Good point.

DOCTOR

Which makes the score Hector 3, Mrs. Walker 1.

MRS. WALKER

We’re keeping score?

DOCTOR

Love is all about keeping score, right?  I mean, you first meet a person, you score their looks, their smell, their grooming habits, their ability to procreate.  That last part is where you score highest.  Nobody’s ever had three Hectors before.

MRS. WALKER

Usually people give their children all different names.

DOCTOR

What’s the point of that?  Look at George Foreman.  All his sons are named George.  There’s an economy there.

MRS. WALKER

It certainly would save breath.

DOCTOR

It certainly would.

MRS. WALKER

Can I see my children?

DOCTOR

Let’s turn on the TV.

MRS. WALKER

Is that movie of the week on?

DOCTOR

Well, being that you’ve been unconscious for three years and you had three children, and the number three seems to be a thing with you – did you know that the abbreviation for “Missus” has three letters, Mrs. Walker?

MRS. WALKER

Yes.

DOCTOR

Your toddlers are all child actors at Channel 3.

MRS. WALKER

Oh.

DOCTOR

Does that bother you?

MRS. WALKER

I don’t know.  What kind of things are they acting in?

DOCTOR

Well, they’re doing public service announcements, commercials, and the toddler news.

MRS. WALKER

The toddler news?

DOCTOR

Yeah, it’s a new thing.  For the younger set.  Hector 1 is the sports anchor!

MRS. WALKER

What does Hector 2 do?

DOCTOR

He’s the weatherman, and Hector 3 does a lot of “in the field” stuff.

MRS. WALKER

What kind of ‘in the field’ stuff do toddler journalists do?

DOCTOR

Oh, you know, special reports on the latest toys, interviews with walking experts, explanations of body parts, that sort of thing.

MRS. WALKER

I’m so proud.

DOCTOR

You should be.

MRS. WALKER

I’ve always wanted my own news team.  (NURSE enters)

NURSE

Mrs. Walker – Hector!  What are you doing here?

DOCTOR

I’m delivering the news to Mrs. Walker.

NURSE

Mrs. Walker, I’m sorry.  Hector is a patient in our psych ward, and he comes along once in a while to bring flowers to patients.  Was he bothering you?

MRS. WALKER

No, not really.

NURSE

Hector, go to the lobby and wait for me.  I’ll take you back to your room.  (HECTOR exits with the diploma)  It’s a boy, Mrs. Walker, it’s a boy.

MRS. WALKER

Oh.

NURSE

Oh?

MRS. WALKER

I was really hoping for triplets.

NURSE

What would you have named them?

MRS. WALKER

Hectors 1, 2 and 3.

NURSE

Oh.

MRS. WALKER

Does that bother you?

NURSE

Well, there are a lot of children named Hector born at this hospital.  It’s quite a popular name.

BLACKOUT

Dear Jeff, Part II

Dear Jeff,

It’s not that things are slower than usual it’s just that I’m the ultimate multi-tasker.

Does intent matter?  Well, that depends.  As the trip-per, you didn’t intend to trip your opponent but as the trip-pee your opponent is still down on the ice regardless of whether you intended the trip or not.  The point is, accidents do happen but the fact is there is still a consequence for them.  Do you really believe you’re the first person who has ever tried to lead an “exemplary” existence but still experiences “bad things”?  Things happen.  They are not always of My doing.  It is pointless to question Me about them because I had nothing to do with them.  Do you really think I have (or want) any control over whether you buy/sell this duplex?  Instinctively I have endowed all living things with the need for food, water, and shelter.  Now, buying a parcel of land, knocking down the existing structure, and putting up a very fine duplex for the sake of making a profit isn’t exactly what I had in mind when it comes to “shelter”.  YOU people have created ownership.  YOU people have created wealth.  I just wanted to give you an impetus for getting out of the rain, wind, and cold.  Central heating was never in the mix.

You seem to be getting frustrated with Me.  You are unhappy that all I offer you at this time are “smelly uncle” hugs and strength that you think you already possess.  If you had the strength, however, you would not be calling upon Me at the moment.  You didn’t seek my advice when it came to building the duplex so why do you seek Me out now?  Because you had the wherewithal to build it but now that you’re feeling the pressures of not being able to sell it you are discovering that you are faltering.  Where were you in the first few weeks and months after the duplex went on the market?  Why weren’t you begging me for buyers at the start?  Because the pressure wasn’t yet greater than your resolve.  You have strength Jeff, but it is limited and when you know it’s almost gone you instinctively seek out more.  You are seeking shelter Jeff, in Me.  It’s what I have always endowed within my children.  And when you seek My shelter, I will shelter you…if you let me.  The business of buying/selling real estate is below Me.  The process of enabling and caring for My children is My business.

Bottom line Jeff; you’re acting like a child right now but that’s because you are.  My child.  Trust that I’ve been around a long time and know what works and what doesn’t.  Put your faith and trust in Me when all else fails (and if you’re smart you’ll do BEFORE all else fails) and things will work out fine.  Not perfectly perhaps, but fine.  Trust Me.

Big squishy hugs,

God

Dear God, Part II

Dear God,

Thanks for the prompt response; things must be slow for you up there.  Is the economy affecting the miracle business?

Hugs?  You’re offering me strength and hugs?  Seriously, God, that and three American dollars won’t buy me a decent cup of coffee.  Strength I have; each day I wake up and I’m still breathing and my precious family is still here and my children still look up to me.  A man needs little else to give him strength to persevere through any crisis.  And “hugs” from God don’t exactly help my situation.  If anything, “hugs” from God right now feel a lot like hugs from a strange, smelly uncle that you barely know.  Sure, you know you’re supposed to appreciate it, but you also can’t wait to get some fresh air.

Last week I was playing ice hockey and I was skating back to get a puck that had gone back into our zone; an opposing player was skating just behind me and, as I went to get the puck with my stick, he tripped over my stick and I was called for “tripping”  (You’ll remember all this, if you exist).   I questioned the referee about the call, because I was going for the puck and the trip was unintentional.  The referee said, “Intent doesn’t matter.”

Does it, God?  Does intent matter?  Because if intent doesn’t matter and any lifepath I chose would still lead here, I would have done things slightly differently.  Snorting cocaine off that hooker’s ass in 1987 would have been the start: I’m talking car chases down Sunset Boulevard that same year (with the hooker’s ass sticking out the window), orgies with all of my girlfriend’s friends in high school, and maybe even a bank robbery or two in college to help me pay for books and tuition.  If intent doesn’t matter, what’s the point of living a virtuous life?  Why would I set free the bugs that get into my house instead of squishing them like my wife wants me to?  Why would I care about my elderly neighbor’s health and mow her lawn when it needs it?  Why would I volunteer my time to introduce 7 year old kids to drama?

Why, God?

Sincerely,

Jeff

Dear Jeff, Part I.

Dear Jeff,

Nice try, but I don’t grant wishes to prove my existence.  Granted, my Son has tried those kind of cheap theatrics on occasion but He wised up after awhile.  Anyway, you currently find yourself in a predicament that is not of My making yet you look to Me to bail you out.  I created man and blessed him with the most incredible gift bestowed upon any living creature; the human brain.  Without it, you people would not have made it out of the Ice Age.  You’re basically fast food without it and, comparatively speaking, you’re not all that fast.  So don’t come to me now and ask me to send you a couple of buyers to alleviate the problem.  Sorry, I don’t work that way.  What can I offer you then?  Well, I can offer you the strength to continue on.  Strength that comes from a belief in a greater good and the knowledge that, armed with that strength, you can persevere through any crisis.  Didn’t you ever watch “Davey and Goliath”?

Anyway, as corny as it is, the old story about two sets of footprints in the sand is true.  My role in this is not to fix things for you; My role is to provide the strength you need to get through this by and for yourself.  And you will.  Some way, some how, this issue will be resolved.  Hang in there until then and be strong for everyone involved.

Hugs,

God

Dear God, Part I.

Dear God,

It’s me, Jeff.  “Who?”  Right, I get the joke.  I mean, we don’t talk much, except when I’m on an airplane, and even though it’s only when I’m taking off or landing.  And our conversations are limited to “Please get me to Vegas and back home safely to my wife and children afterwards.”  Pretty simple stuff, in the overall scheme of things.

But this is different.  I’m beginning to truly doubt your existence.  Sure, my conservative friends are going to flip, but hear me out.  See, God, if you truly exist, you gave me ambition, theoretically.  Right?  Right.  And you know my ambition can get a little unruly at times; at times, I think I can do anything.  And more often than not, it hasn’t been a real problem.  You know all that.  If you exist.

Until now.  You know, if you exist, that that ambition drove me to buy a piece of property in a hot Denver neighborhood, design a duplex for that piece of property, and hire all the people to build said duplex.  You know that it took a bit longer than it was supposed to and you know that it cost much more than I thought it would.  Because while you gave me ambition, you also gave me ability….that doesn’t quite match my ambition. You know all that.  If you exist.

And you know that our country is in a deep recession and that banks aren’t lending and that appraisers have new rules that limit what they can do and that there are very few buyers for a building such as mine:  Modern, with high end finishes and luxury items, such as elevators and a ridiculous view of downtown.  And you know that I’m making a monthly interest payment and that the prices are coming down and that I’m going to take a bath on this project, financially.  But you know all that.  If you exist.

So what gives?  Why me?  Why now?  I’m a decent guy; I’m committed to my family and my friends, and I try to do the right thing all of the time, because that seems to be the right way to live.  I’ve never been arrested, and I generally try to help people around me when they need it.  I volunteer at my children’s school as often as any parent, I teach drama club to kindergartners, I coach soccer, I coach T-Ball, I’m working hard to make sure my kids are good citizens of the world, I teach them right from wrong and empathy for their fellow human beings…  But you know all that.  If you exist.

So what the hell is this about, pardon my language?  Is this about my Vegas trips?  You understand that those are good for my soul, and you understand that I pose no danger on those Vegas trips, except to myself.

Is this about my misguided 20s?  That might be where you have a point.  Sure, I did a lot of stupid things in my 20s.  I may have used some illicit substances now and then or every weekend, and I may have treated some people poorly.  I may have.

But we’re past that, aren’t we?  I mean, I no longer use such substances and I try to treat people well.  Friends might even say I’m generous.  And, truly, that was 20 years ago.  Are people allowed to learn from their mistakes?  Oh, wait, maybe that’s what this is about.  Am I supposed to learn from this?  Is this a “teachable moment” in your vernacular?  Well, God, if you exist, this is honestly a poor time for a “teachable moment.”  My children are young and in need of full attention parenting and frankly, this situation almost makes it impossible to not be at least slightly distracted all the time.  I mean, I try to make everything “normal” for them, but I wonder if I’m even capable of that.  Because I’m in the midst of a “teachable moment.”

But hey, God, if you exist, if this is a “teachable moment,” so be it.  I’ll live.  I may be broke for the rest of my life, but I’ll live.  And I have my friends and my kids and my beautiful wife, who, for some unfathomable reason, is hanging around to see this through.  She talks about getting back to a “simpler life,” which is perhaps what this is all about.  Maybe it is.  Maybe it’s about living within your means and loving what and who you have and keeping your ambition under wraps.  If I can get back there, God, I can live like that.  But at the moment, that feels like a long way away.

And it’s affecting me, God, if you exist.  It’s affecting my lifelong belief in treating people right and always going through the checklist in my head:  “Is this the right thing to do?”  Lately, I’ve put the checklist down in the garbage bin of my head and left it there.  I mean, I haven’t done anything bad, per se, but I haven’t exactly gone out of my way to help old ladies cross the street.  And you know, God, if you exist, that normally I would do such a thing.  Without fail.

So maybe if I could get a morsel, a nougat of something good, I could continue to believe that you probably exist.  Maybe you could throw me a couple of buyers, say “we were just kidding, Jeff, here are people with money who like what you’ve done,” I won’t feel like this has been a gigantic waste of time, money, and energy.  And I’d quite possibly believe again.  In right and wrong, in treating people well, and in you.

Sincerely,

Jeff

Adventures in Soccer Coaching – Season 3.

So I’m coaching kindergarten soccer again, for the third time.  I’ve decided that while the economy goes to shit and the swine flu takes over and people go off and kill their entire families with alarming regularity, I’m going to be rebellious and take the opposite tact:  I’m going to play nice.  Meaning I’m going to take any “extra” or “free” time I have and put it into something good for society.  Maybe I’m becoming a hippy.  Sure, soccer coaching might not seem all that important, but every season I have 7 or 8 families who entrust me with their 5 year old child for an hour twice a week, and they trust me to be a “coach.”  Which, if you remember back to your childhood, is a big deal.

This past Saturday we had our second game of Spring Soccer.  My team, The Butterflies (I let them pick the name and it’s different for every game – for the first game we were The Dinosaurs), was playing another team that didn’t have a name.  And on that Team That Shall Not Be Named, there was one rough kid who started pushing kids and eventually tackled one of the girls on my team, sending her off with tears and an Owie.  I told the kid to stop and I knelt down, got right in his face – remember, he was not on my team – and said, in my best “Don’t Fuck With My Team” voice, “If I see you do that again I’m going to go talk to your parents.”  Which took care of the problem.

Or so I thought.  The next thing I saw was the rough kid facing the other way and one of my boys (we’ll call him Jimmy) go up to him, from behind, and push him to the ground.  I immediately went up to Jimmy and said “What was that?  Go sit down.  You’re out of the game.”  Which, of course, made him cry.  But I let him have a Walk of Shame, where he had to walk across the field, crying, to his parents.

A few minutes later, I asked Jimmy to come back in the game.   I knelt down and talked to him.  ”Look, Jimmy, no matter what’s going on on THAT team, WE don’t play that way.  Okay?”

“Okay, coach.”

“You want revenge on that kid, Jimmy?”

“Yes.”

“You go score a goal on him right now.  That’s the best revenge.”

Jimmy took the ball, worked his way down to their goal, and with a nice big kick, scored a goal.  I was so proud.  It was one of those moments in life – and they’re few and far between, it seems like – where I stood back for a second and said to myself, “Damn, maybe I DO know what I’m doing.”

Hey, good lookin’

Mrs. C and I were at a holiday party over the, yes, holidays, at some friends’ house. It truly was a nice party; good food, good cheer, good drinks. And let me preface this by saying that my wife is gorgeous. Sure, I could be just saying that, but people tell me that. A lot. Some of them in an admiring, “She’s really good looking” sort of way, but many of them in a “How did you convince such a creature to come live in your lair, Jeff?” sort of way. At least that’s how it sounds in my sarcasm-bleached brain. Anyway, so we’re at this party and a woman comes up to Mrs. C. and starts recounting a previous Girls Night Out event that they had both gone to. And this woman says, “I asked Mrs. C, ‘are you the one with the good looking husband,’ and she said ‘yes,’ and here you are!”

Maybe that’s standard stuff when people have been at a party. But when you’ve been living under the shadow of a Goddess for 13 years and you’re using to eating table scraps of compliments while she gorges herself on “Damnyouradeliciouslookingwoman Steak” at every meal, this kind of thing doesn’t happen often. So I was caught a little off guard. And then once I recovered from my initial shock, I thought I’d better write a blog post. Because while I don’t necessarily think I’m Pierce Brosnan just yet, I know I have been undergoing some changes. And people have been noticing. To whit:

A year ago I went to get a physical. Mostly because I’m getting a little older and I want to make sure there aren’t things going on I should know about. Well, as it turns out, there are. Before we get to that, though, let me recount the funniest bit of the physical. When it came time to get the prostate exam, my doc said, “It’s really your choice if you want to get this done. You’re still young enough that it’s a choice.” To which I replied, “Let’s do it. I have little kids and I want to see them graduate from college.” So my doc bent me over and stuck his finger up my ass, all in the name of me seeing my kids graduate from college. Then he says, “Pleased to meet you.” To which I replied, “I was really hoping you’d buy my dinner first.”

Anyway, my prostate was fine, but my blood pressure and cholesterol were both a little high….not that he needed his finger up my ass to tell me those things. So my doctor said I could start taking drugs for these issues if I wanted to. Now I don’t know about you, but I’m not a big fan of being medicated unless it’s totally necessary. And I’m a big believer in making your own destiny or choosing to try to do so, anyway. So I told doc, “I’ll take care of this.” And I joined a gym. And I signed up with a personal trainer. ‘Cuz that’s how I like to approach things: Find a problem, solve it. Or at least make your body hurt while attempting to solve it.

And hurt it has. My trainer, Tiffany, is an athletic 20-something year old who tried out for American Gladiators….but, more importantly, she puts up with me. For when my first visit with Tiffany involved “pushups,” I just laughed. “Pushups? You’re funny. I haven’t done a pushup since 6^th grade.” And seriously, I hadn’t. I had lived most of my life as a stand-in for the Pillsbury Dough Boy. But, because my doc had pointed out a problem, I was there to solve it. So pushups it was. Or, as I told Tiffany, “Pushups? You mean pushUP. There will be only one. In fact, there MIGHT be only one. You’ll be lucky to see one out of me.” And one it was. A year ago I could do one pushup. And a year ago Tiffany and I embarked on this relationship that has changed things for me: 20 something buff personal trainer with a sense of humor and 44 year old sarcastic guy. I complain about everything. Tiffany: “Okay, now you’re going to do 25 jumping lunges.” Jeff: “No, now I’m going to get a cup of coffee and watch YOU do 25 jumping lunges.” Yet, somehow, it’s always me doing the jumping lunges. A personal trainer sort of has that influence over you. I guess in that way, she’s like my Obi-Wan. And I’m her Anakin. Which means I might grow up to join the Dark Side….or have I already joined the Dark Side? Is working out at the gym constantly and being addicted to working out at the gym constantly a sign that you’ve joined the Dark Side?

It’s not like I wasn’t in halfway decent shape – I have been playing hockey for years. But, as you quickly come to find out when you meet with a personal trainer, it’s not enough to skate your ass off once a week. No, Tiffany took my measurements at our first visit and mine fell under “Dough-ey.” I didn’t even know that was a category, but when she tickled my tummy I giggled. Pillsbury Dough Boy joke, anybody? Anyway, at first I was “unhealthy” or “slightly out of shape” or “rotund” or something. But as I continued to meet with her and try out all these exercises I’d never done (“Pullups!!!???”), I noticed that all these little areas of fat on my body started to disappear. And as Tiffany took my measurements semi-regularly, we noticed the numbers started to improve quite a bit. Body fat down 8%, waist shrinking, clothes starting to be too big, more than one pushup….and, more importantly, people started noticing. I walked into a different party in December and saw people I haven’t seen in a couple of years and they thought I was Matthew McConaughey. Okay, so it’s not that extreme – there’s still some belly fat and I still can’t do pullups for shit – but I’m honestly quite happy with the results. I can now do 35 pushups (over 3 sets) and if you would have told me that at the tender young age of 44 I’d be able to play hockey once a week AND get my ass kicked by a future member of American Gladiators once or twice a week AND run a couple of miles once or twice a week, I’d tell you to give me some of what you were smoking.

I haven’t been back to the doctor to get my vitals checked or to make him buy me dinner. But I can tell you I’ve been sleeping better, I skate faster, and my XL shirts are like muumuus on me now, so I’ve switched to L shirts. And I really have Obi Wan…ur, Tiffany to thank for it. Well, and myself, for putting in the time. But if anybody needs a personal trainer recommendation, I’ve got one for you. And you won’t even need your light saber. But be prepared to be humbled by measurements. And then astonished at results.

From the mouths of babes…..

From the G-Man, my 5 year old son:

“Bad guys are trying to kill the kitty waiters.”

Now, the context:  He pretends that our dining table is a “ship carrying a hotel,” and he waits on us while we eat, which is freaking hilarious.  “May I serve you?”  So I order pretend caviar and champagne, which he brings along with my pretend bill.  Pretend caviar is quite expensive, let me tell you.  Anyway, so today at lunch he announced that “all the waiters are kitties,” and that our ship was being invaded by bad guys from a bad guy ship.  Thus, the sentence above.

Don’t you feel much more informed than you were before you read this post?  Happy New Year.