Little LIAR

Some folks don't like reading "kid entries" but I find them a good springboard to related, sometimes deeper thoughts.

My three (3) year old is a liar. Mark this date--well, about a month or two back--he told his first lie. Sure, it wasn't very convincing, but it was a milestone. I've been pondering this ever-since...how did he come about this business of lying? (Certainly not honestly!) I guess, maybe, it has been modeled by television characters, relatives...maybe even by me(?) but how could such a wee one pick up such a devious craft by observation?

My wife had a good theory: self-preservation. In order to avoid pain, he fabricates. He's been telling stories and using his imagination since he could utter, and she thinks he is simply applying story-telling to avoidance.

I take a darker view.

His innocence is gone. Vaporized in a few short, twisted, untruths. No longer is he the pure little innocent who would fess up to anything. Now he has joined the ranks of the enlightened. In this little way, he is matured. I wish he would always have been honest. I did not know how attractive that quality was until I experienced it through him. (I've not known anyone else who's purely honest, ever!) Now, another little bit of him is...gone.

It's as if he's taken from the tree of knowledge, and he's learned deception is the order of the day. Now he will begin half-stepping and half-truthing his way through so many perils, complicating his life by having to build lie on top of lie. His world will now be eggshells. He will be ensnared in lies. He will be tripped up by lies. He will, if he has not already, be injured by someone else's lies.

At first I was amused. "Did you poop your pants, son?"/"No, Roger [our beagle] did it."

Now, I find little humor in even his most inventive lies. I see them for what they are: grown up.

Moving

Spent the morning moving, rather than grading. I tell everyone it's my last move. I'd even like to be buried on this place, back in the trees, maybe turned into mulch/fertilizer for the garden some day.

Whenever I move, I am amazed at the accumulation of stuff. I wrote about stuff a few weeks ago. Anyway, the most interesting things resurface during a move. I'm finding some of my most prized possessions. I am an admitted packrat, and I've got boxes with nothing but trinkets and memories--for example: my grandfather's old shaving brush, a tap dance heel from Lana the dance teacher (fashioned into a key chain fob), a dozen scrapbook pages my son made when he was 2-3...and that's not all, I've also gathered up a lot of other people's old stuff. It's like pseudo-memories...things they should have found memorable but put in garage/estate sales. I've had my eye on a fez for some time at an antique store, for instance. Why would anyone need a fez, you (and my wife) ask?

Who wouldn't want one of these babies?

Anyway, I know I should have a garage sale, but now I have outbuildings and 11 acres to fill, so I don't see myself ever, ever having another sale. Let the kids sort it all out in a few decades, I say! Meanwhile, I'll just keep accumulating stuff that might have some interest value or function some day...and hope I never have to move again!

The Day After

Well, as anticipated, I survived my concert. I had an extra hour to practice my little ditty on the vibes before the show, thinking that I would nail it in concert--well, that didn't happen, but I did feel comfortable that I did my best. We had a reasonably-good-sized crowd, under 100 but somewhere over 60-ish; about 25 of those were my family and students. I could not believe, on the way home, just how relaxed and calm I felt. Today is the same. "I feel good," as the Godfather of Soul (or is it Funk) James Brown, would say!

I think the title of this entry is good in itself, reflecting my survival of the thermonuclear terrors of the TMU concert; however, when I typed the title, it reminded me of The Day After (1983) (TV) , which I vividly recall after seeing it telecast in the '80's. (We all watched it at Kansas State together, eager to see KU vaporized--which I now realize is maybe a bit callous.) I find it strange that nuclear obliteration is not given much attention these days. Sure we hear of the up-coming threat of a "nuclear Iran," but from my (admittedly limited) knowledge, we're surely well-armed globally to still toast the planet. [Read some Jonathan Schell...The Fate of the Earth scared the pee-waddin' out of me 20 years ago.]

For now, however, instead of looking to the skies for falling missles, I think I'll go home and play with my kids. Like everyone else, I guess there's no point getting all worried about it right now, eh?

Heebie Jeebies

I wonder about the origins of the phrase "Heebie Jeebies," don't you? Regardless, I've got 'em in aces today, for tonight is another TMU concert and I've got to play a vibraphone (like a xylophone that echoes). Otherwise, I'm not that uptight, not more than for any other show.

You'd think I could control my anxiety; after all, I'm a seasoned speaker and veteran teacher. I'm over 40 for cryin' out loud. Nonetheless, I'm as nervous as a turkey at Thanksgiving (it's the best I could come up with right now, sorry). I'm documenting these fears here, for hereafter, I'm sure I'll look back on the moment and laugh.

For now, however, I feel like I'm going to be revealing my privates for a very discriminating audience. I feel like I did when I took my MA exams. I am more tense than I can ever recall.

The piece in question calls on me not only to pick out two notes at a time on an instrument I do not know (me, who can't read music), but also to follow a script, to recite my lines, to even throw jelly beans at the crowd. We're to be mic'd, a la Janet Jackson (headset mic's), so all my counting and cursing would be broadcast over the auditorium. We're not anticipating a big crowd, but I have sent press information to four newspapers, a dozen radio stations, several online media, etc...so who knows? Maybe it's a slow night in the entertainment world, and we'll pack the house. (?) Our early concerts were usually about balanced between crowd and band members. Last December, however, we had over 100 in the crowd.

For some reason, I'm most concerned about letting down our fearless leader, for this is a piece of his own creation. I want us to give it a good debut. He's confessed that we're less polished than for any concert he's led us into previously, which does nothing to build my confidence. He's usually good at providing members feedback, but Tuesday nothing was said to me, not even "That was excrement, Jarvis." I take this as a very bad sign, as if he's given up on me or just letting me ride. The result, for me, is redoubled effort to do my part well...but I have absolutely no confidence.

A week or so back, I wrote another entry on this experience (when I was not so mortified) at our band blog Open Source Composition. You can access it here, if ever you would want to.

Today, at any rate, I'm just trying to keep the faith. I've been at work since 430am, and our show's at 730pm...hope I can be fresh and alive for that, when the moment arrives.

Meanwhile, I'll fret and smoke and fritter and stew--wow, there are a lot of words for my condition!

May Day! May Day!

Yes, it is the first of May, that is, May Day. Hooray. I learned more about May Day at Wiki and other sites. It was on this day in history that Elvis married Priscilla. "Citizen Kane" first had a debut.

I am reminded, vaguely, of war movies, where anguished and anxious airmen screamed, "May Day! May Day!" (I don't know why they didn't just scream: "Oh $%^&_()^*%, we're getting hit!" or something...Curious still as to the reasoning behind "May Day" being some kind of alert?)

"May Day!"
Personally, the scheduled marches, etc. for the rights of Mexican workers in the US have me on alert. Yes, there have already been some demonstrations, but today's walk-outs, boycotts, and marches (should they come to the head they are anticipated to) really give me cause for alarm. Things may not escalate as I imagine; I doubt there will be thousands of cars torched as in France last summer. I don't suppose the nation will be crippled by a "Day without Mexicans," as they, themselves, described this day. I'll still be able to work away at my desk, slavishly grading essays...

...however, I do belive that "Times, They Are A Changin'"
When I was a child, growing up in the Midwest, rural, agricultural setting of SW Kansas, I knew of today's "undocumented workers" as (pardon me for trampling your sensitivities)...wetbacks. When I heard the term "illegal aliens," I looked to the skies, wondering how many aliens lived among us legally. When the border patrol wagons hauled off all our "migrant workers" and my father for interrogation, I was alarmed, for I did not even know it was wrong to hire people who wanted to work. All the euphemization of the issue clearly points out, at least to me, that it truly IS an issue. Public venacular is veneered by political and media connotating the heck out of things with euphemisms.

Thus, to use the now-out-of-vogue term "illegal aliens," I have to say: "You had me at illegal." This will cast me as a rabid republican, I'm sure (though I am not)...but to my mind, if these folks, these 11 million people, are here illegally, well then...treat them like felons. Clean up the situation. Or change the law and the status and (as is already happening) the language.

This is my blog's first toe-dip into political issues, but friends, we need to be wary. According to the 2000 census, "12.5 percent of respondents to the 2000 Census identified themselves as Hispanic, up from 9.0 percent in 1990, making them one of the fastest growing demographic groups in the United States. The Hispanic ethnicity category on the Census includes Mexicans (7.3 percent of the total U.S. population in 2000), Puerto Ricans (1.2 percent), Cubans (0.4 percent) and a host of other Latin and South American ethnicities." If an additional 11 million people are illegal aliens (that is, likely NOT part of the census)...and if that demographic keeps growing as it has...

People, "you'd better start swimmin' / or you'll sink like a stone," as Dylan warned. It seems to me that our nation moves at the speed of lag. I am the same way, if one were to personify a nation...when something is bothering me, but I don't feel up to coping with it, I put it off, bury it a while, look the other way. It was thus with the grass growing up through my driveway, and it is now with the papers I should be grading. Likewise, it seems our leadership (and generally, our citizenry) has feigned ignorance and apathy about as long as possible. Now we're in a maelstrom, a tight spot, a real pickle...and things are getting turbulent, uncomfortable, and sour.

Political pundits will variously report that the other party refuses to act on this for their own party's self interest. (That sentence is about as convoluted as I see the whole situation.) It does, indeed, seem we are at a legislative stand-off. Obviously, nothing is going to come from the Executive branch, and it's too early for the Judicial bunch to accomplish much...

...that leaves the people. Right now, it seems to me, the only people taking much action are those out protesting today.

We'd better wise up, embrace our fellow man, and move on.