No Title 5

And so it has begun. First, the Eibergers have their little girl. Then, the Cains get pregnant and have their little girl. Then Kyndall's bother has his little girl. Then the Mirakian tells me they're having one, and now Schwepler, too. Shoot, even Dave will have a daughter in a few months.

It looks to me like the whole lot of 'em are jumping off bridges and everyone looks my way to see if I wanna try for a swim. It's silliness. Let's see, who's left? Jason, naturally, he's single - for a while, at least. Then Paul seems to intercept the whole subject matter in plenty of advance. Then there's Mayfield, no-wait, he has one. Niccore's ... well, they're pregnant in New Zealand.

Ah, Steve Porter - he's bound to not be pregnant, being a man and all. (a man and tall?) So, let's see, Greg's not - now, wait, I can't go counting all the single people I know and say the numbers are looking better for the unbirthed. Sticking to non-singles counts out Steve, of course, and Jason and Greg - and all the others on the list.

Sheesh, Helms has a huge litter and the Whitlocks are Three's Company. James is on my side, but that's not by choice. My only compatriot seems to be Paul. Everyone else is changing diapers at midnight.

Well, the facts are simple. Time and tide wait for no man. I guess we have the Getchells here in CO, so we're up to ... two. Now, come on. Two?

It's a fertility festival out there, and I'm getting scared to open the door in case to catch a cold or something. Let me tell you, man, how questions seem to inordinately surface in conversations with family and in-laws after a sibling bears forth from seed. It's scary.

Something like, "How's the weather, are you thinking about children?" Or, the old faithful, "So, you're pregnant? No, wait that was another friend, but while we're on the subject..." or the insidious "Don't you like children?"

Everyone thinks they are oh-so clever. A little too much Sesame Street in online greeting cards - ya know? Who's the one who looks like the retard in this picture? Me? Is it my hair or something? We're getting out of hand with this power of suggestion stuff.

Well, Kyndall is out of town this week on a tour in DC again. She's been gone since way too early on Sunday (I drove her to the airport) and well, absence not only makes the heart grow fonder but absence is a great motivator for abstinence! Ha! No products from that equation; let me tell ya.

So, I have been catching up on lame science fiction movies while Kyndall's been pushing around little ones from monument to monument. We get the sci-fi channel here, and man, there's a lot out there. I watched the Babylon 5 movie, as well as six others I rented on Monday. The plots in sci-fi movies are either obvious or spectacularly unexpected, however, the formula is always the same.

If it's aliens, there's either a war or an invasion. If there's time travel, there's always a paradox. If it's magic, there's always a nemesis. And, no fail, there's always a girl scene. I don't get it, really - they never add to the plot, but I suppose if I think of the Joes who are the sci-fi type, an alien in a mini-skirt may be the closest they come to kissing a girl anyway.

Then there's development. You know, I am a web developer - and that's what I do; develop. So, there're all these little projects out there I want to finish 'em all, but I can never focus on any of them.

You'd think - well I would at least - that while Kyndall is gone and the mice can play, all sorts of things that are labeled "for later" would get pushed to the top of the stack, right? Instead, I'm the one re-wearing yesterday's socks, and rushing to take out the trash before she walks in the door on Thursday. It's silliness.

So, I end up staying late at work. And for what? Am I paid by the hour? No. I am not. I just sit there, google-eyed at my laptop thinking that the next link will take me to that one Omega Particle of a web page that will make a 12 hour day of surfing worth while. Silliness.

But, ya know, I am not complaining. I am really lucky, and I know it. I get to come in late and leave late from a job I love to do. I love to do it and I am even a little talented. I work with good people, and probably will be involved in some cool projects soon.

Ha, it's like that kid in that song "Hello Mudda, Hello Fadda" who says, "Camp is great, and the counselors say we'll have fun when it stops raining!" That's a pretty cute song; I had it on a record (will my kids even know what that is?) - who mentioned children? See what I mean?

Did I mention that Microsoft purchased my old company, iCommunicate? Yep, it's true. Effective like a week ago or something, and they all moved to Redmond. Is that crazy or no? I asked myself, if I were given the opportunity, would I move to Redmond? I don't really know. Well, shoot; I probably would in the fullness of time.

Well, this has been a stream of consciousness entry. Hope you don't mind.

What I need is more

I was talking to a co-worker the today about the decadence in our city. I was trying to convince her that it was a common thread in all cities, even small towns. People simply aren't content with what they have been given.

It's difficult, she explained, when you go to a friend's home and see some 20 fold your own situation; naturally, we begin to consider the necessary change of our life to bring us to that higher level of comfort. It just happens.

Then, I came up with a pretty good test. I said, picture a truly poverty stricken person, who, because of horrible circumstances had been dealt, was guaranteed a difficult life.

Now, try to picture giving that same person a tour of your home.

When you open your stuffed closet, describe your plans to get a newer car, and reveal your hidden displeasure in the smallness of your home, do you begin to get embarrassed?

I do.

Sometimes I wonder who really has the higher comfort level.

If they were right, I'd agree

There's a very cool song by Kat Stevens called Father and Son. if you have ever heard it, you know it is pretty neat. The premise is that a father is singing to his son, and is very frustrated how much he has all of his flaws. But there is this one line, and it is so very cool--it goes: "From the moment I could talk, I was ordered to listen."

You know what, a few days ago the Dean of Student Affairs of my college (William Jewell College) died from a sudden heart attack. Let me tell you something interesting.

When I was in college I didn't get in much trouble--only because I was not caught. One time, though, I was. Somehow the school's mainframe-administrator's login account got written on the palm of my hand, and all the wrong people found out about it.

Naturally, I was to explain what I had done and, in a way, stand trial before the Dean of Student Affairs. He was unhappy, not only because my conduct was a little unbecoming, but his good friend was the technology director whose professional career may have been tarnished by my indescression. I suppose I didn't, and probably still can't convince myself of the severity of the situation, but it was. Clearly.

Two too many of my friends were accidentally associated with my activities, and this unnecessary strain on our friendships was a real problem. I began to resent the Dean of Student Affairs for his seeming exaggeration of the situation based primarily on the resulting division between some of my best friends, who were not keen with their potential punishment for something I did.

My grandfather (who passed away six months ago) was a feisty lawyer, and one of my best friends who I quickly informed of the situation and who insisted on coming with me to meet with the Dean, helping to ensure everything happened in my best interest. I was pretty lucky.

In the middle of the meeting, the Dean suddenly asked my grandfather if we could have a minute alone. My grandfather turned up his palm in agreement, and I found myself alone with the Dean, pacing from wall to wall.

He said, "Jerry, lawyers don't scare me. Your grandfather isn't doing anything I couldn't anticipate." I twisted my hands together as I listened with saucer eyes. "You know what, the facts may not hold up in a court of law, but I am the judge and jury in this matter, and there is nothing but trouble for you." My throat sent a quick signal to my brain requesting emergency fluid in the mouth! Meanwhile, he continued, "However, there's an grandfather in lobby. And it's all too clear to me, in his eyes his grandson can do no wrong." I began to blush considering the point. "And," He explained, "I'm not going to be the one to destroy that."

I frowned in confusion, but knew this was my one chance to ask the question. With a fierce blink, and a quick lick of the lips, I blurted, "My friends are clueless about this stuff, and if they get in trouble, many will lose their financial assistance." I began to crush my teeth together and paused. I tried to have a humble demeanor, but I really needed him to understand my point.

That's when he surprised me again, saying, "Being friends with you has a cash cost, thanks to this, doesn't it?" I grimaced at the though, but clearly he had gotten my point. "Let me talk to them first, Jerry, I am very unsatisfied with either outcome of this situation. Frankly, I am embarrassed for my friends involved in this also, but i can't let that vary my actions here."

Finally, he allowed all three of us involve to come up with the punishments that would suite the crime. Naturally, my friends walked away with nothing - a perfect solution, and some weird moral sense drove us to convict me to serve some community service time - regardless of my previous conviction of my own innocence.

In the end, I ended up nearly hating the Dean for putting us through the act self-judgment; I just couldn't really except that he had made the situation worse because of his friends involvement, and his own concerns for the peripheral conditions.

Then, I surprised myself. In a sudden case of conviction, I found myself massaging the steering wheel of my Ford as I drove up to campus two years after my graduation. I approached the Student Affairs office, asked for the Dean and sat down, fidgeting with the seat cushion until he saw me in. I swiveled the chair a bit to get comfortable, told him what I had been up to, and quickly got to the point.

I leaned forward, "Remember the thing?" I said, as he smiled with a face surprise and nodded. "You know, it lasted a long time, and I really built a solid hatred for you - not your office, but for you, personally." He pushed out a smiled, but still not seeing where this was going, he asked me. I answered, "Well," I said with a gulp and a flushed brow, "I'm sorry." I slouched my shoulders, waiting for comment, and the following conversation was one of mutual and genuine appreciation for each other's actions in the event across the years.

I can't tell you how my life changed after that, but it did. People were surprised to hear me speak differently about him in conversations. I began to defend him when I thought it appropriate, and refused to partake in anything that would bash his credibility or sense of right and wrong. That was a significant change in action, but even my heart was different.

Then, let me tell you how happy I was to remember the last chapter of those events when I heard he had died unexpectedly. Too many people apologize to grave stones and old photos. Thank God, I paid attention to the Spirit's nudge and sought his forgiveness while I still could. And, I can honestly say something I could not have before, "I grieve his death, and even the loss for my college."

Now, not only do I not hate anyone, I have learned that I don't even want to ever get to that point. It was an important lesson I learned. I am glad I did.