Work

I had a revelation last week, but I'll have to give the context in a lengthy ramble.

I finished school in April and I now am (apparently) a certified teacher. Upon reflection, the year was largely a waste, save  but the three months of placement in various high schools around the Niagara region and the piece of paper with my name printed on it. While my dearest wife did warn me before the program started that the year would be full of dull, uninspiring busy-work, I decided to remain optimistic like a hungry child anticipating red bean paste. The initial weeks satisfied the scholastic hunger, while the remaining six months were spoonful after awful spoonful of cynicism, uninspiring professors, and common sense dished out in the form of various two hour classes.

But when that finished, Autumn was no where to be seen, and my role of being a Grade 7 teacher had yet to begin. Thus I found myself in the awkward in between stage of summer work. I started to work for my father-in-law digging trees at his business, and successfully pulled out my back within three days of working. Apparently I have I herniated disc, which, when agitated, give me permission to spasm about at random. As a side note, when playing basketball, I defend in a position similar to figure Figure 1 below (sans cane), resulting in the affectionate nick name of "Old Man James".


Figure 1: Old Man Back

So, with my disappointing performance on the digging crew, I was promoted to listen to Latin polka music while performing back-friendly tasks with a group of Mexican workers. It's good. I'm learning more Spanish, and I'm able to feed my family. Chalk two up for the senior.

All this to say, work is satisfying (the revelation alluded to in the first sentence). Although my plans are not to make a career as a Latin gardener, there is something deeply satisfying and enjoyable about putting in a good day working with your hands.

If anyone has experienced being unemployed, or at least having little to do for multiple weeks, a restlessness sets in, as the enjoyment of leisure once looked forward to now becomes a tired activity that neither brings rest nor joy. Instead, it breeds discontent that only meaningful work can satisfy. As as a Latin gardener, I feel tired, but satisfied. Ask me in a couple months however, and we'll see how I'm doing.

Dem's Be Children, Agnes

I have two children. That is slightly more than one, but definitely less than three. Let me digress.

Jesse: Also known as "The Guinea Pig" for Rebecca and I. He's two now, and it's tricky to remember what he was like as an infant. I can catch glimpses in my mind of first baths, steps, and bloody lips, but most of my grasp of Jesse rests in his present state. He is a talking, laughing, crying, juice-drinking, outdoor loving, male incarnation of Rebecca. He seems to be completely different from me, but in all the most entertaining ways. He is a total boss.

Anneliese: Also known as "baby", as Jesse has a hard time pronouncing her name. She's my little girl, and not in the overly-sappy "let's get a picture frame for father's day" kind of way, but more of a "she's my first daughter" kind of way. Slightly different. She is the opposite of what I remember Jesse being as baby. She's quiet, content, and loves snuggles. And while the thought of putting her to bed causes me as much anxiety as hearing our car making funny noises, she is my little girl.

Let me contrast two types of non-present thinking, both which involve a double portion of ego with a pinch of humble pie. The first is the reflection of past athletic feats, such as the certain plays that you have completed that you were particularly fond of. One such scenario that comes to mind for myself was a turnaround fade-away in a playoff match in high school. While not game changing, that play has stuck with me as a proficient measure of my skill at the time. However, I own a copy of the game tape with that play, and upon review all I saw was a shaggy teenager who's awkward shot somehow found the basket. Humbling to say the least.

The second type of thinking is a future anticipation of certain skills that you expect to have. For example, you might consider yourself an expert knitter after having watched all the YouTube episodes from the "Nietzsche Knitters" (a surprisingly critical series of videos). However, when the time comes to put those knitting needles to work, your skills do not equal your apparent knowledge, and reassessment of your abilities comes into play.

I'm sure that as a parent, the impressive feats of Jesse's infant days were nothing more than a clumsy parent getting lucky with their kids behaving well. And likewise, my skills of parenting have nothing to do with whatever knowledge I think I possess, as what really matters is how well you act in the present.

I think I have a fear of being a lame adult because I have kids and most of my days have a very similar pattern. That is the motivation for reviving these pages. I don't want my mind to go to mush, only to be squished into a mold of thirty-somethings trying to balance marriage, family and faith. I want to be able to reflect, look ahead, and enjoy the present, all while writing with proper grammar, punctuation and spelling. Here's hoping.