normal

Laura and I had lived in NYC for over a year when we made a return trip to Texas to visit my mom and dad. While they were mostly prepared for our visit - the backyard oasis was in pristine condition, the house cleaned, the fridge and pantry well stocked - mom had failed to pick up one essential ingredient for the night’s fried chicken feast. And so off I went to the one and only grocery store in Tahoka, Texas - Thriftway - so that we could indulge in the artery bursting but oh so scrumptious southern meal.

As soon as I exited my dad’s pick-up at the grocery store, I was approached by a family friend. I shook his rough, calloused, overworked hands and immediately felt less of a man. What does he think about my soft, Lubriderm lotion coated hands? I thought nervously to myself. In the midst of the small talk he finally got to the question I knew he wanted to ask the moment he saw me drive into the parking lot.

Joe, are those people up there, well, are they normal?

I kinda chuckled in an effort to collect myself and to buy time so that I could discern what reply would be appropriate.

That’s funny, they ask the same about you guys here in Texas?

No, they aren’t normal. In fact, they are completely clueless about how this world works and you should see the way these people dress and what they eat. I think they are from Mars!

If I told you the answer to that question, I would then have to kill you.

So after chuckling a bit and shuffling my feet and discerning that none of the above answers were appropriate I said, If you can tell me what’s normal anymore then I’ll take you over to my house tonight and my mom will serve you up some fried chicken!

He laughed and said, I guess you’re right. But I could tell he wasn’t convinced. So I said that in the same way he worries about his crops and whether there is enough rain or not enough or too much, my friend on Wall Street worries about his position at Bear Stearns. I was about to give more examples of how similar the worlds are of one who makes their home in the city as compared to one who makes their home in a rural town but I could tell that we had gone beyond mere small talk and truthfully, neither of us had time for that. I had to get home and provide that final ingredient so as to make our meal complete and he was whipped from a hard day in the fields. As we shook hands to part ways I felt a little more secure in who I was because I realized that even though our lives look differently on the outside we are much the same on the inside. Our worries, our fears, the joys we experience, the desires we have, well, they’re pretty darn similar. In that way, we’re all pretty normal.

this and that

I can’t, for the life of me, put together coherent thoughts on one subject and so you will be made to read my random garbage.

I’m totally psyched to watch the Lakers and Celtics play. For those who are crying that this won’t be the match-up that it was back in the ’80s - no frackin’ duh! But it will still be good. Whatever you make of Kobe as a person, you have to give the dude props - he’s amazing to watch on the court. You don’t have to like him but you have to recognize his athletic genius. My pred? He’ll retire not quite on the level of Jordan because we won’t allow that (Kobe isn’t as like-able) but Kobe’s incredible numbers and his Jordan-like killer instinct will make the debate interesting.

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Sophia was in a play recently. She was the Mother and Queen in the pre-k rendition of Rapunzel. She handled the two parts magnificently. And yes, there were more cameras at this pre-k play than at the Oscars. Seriously. One of the pre-k parents heads up a production company and brought in a small crew. And that’s not even considering all the other hand-held cameras. Trippin’.

—–

On Memorial Day we went into Manhattan to take in Fleet Week. We toured the USS Kearsarge. I was in total awe of the enormity of the ship and tried to imagine myself living life on it for days on end. Amazing. Maybe even more amazing was that as we toured the ship, I could name the guns that soldiers were carrying. I knew these guns from playing Call of Duty on the XBox. Okay, so maybe that’s not at all amazing. That’s just sad.

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I’m on Season Four of The Wire and I’m starting to like Marlo. I know I’m not supposed to but I can’t help myself. He’s just so darn cool.

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After a horrible week at eating school (the feeding clinic calls it Feeding Camp, but we call it “eating school” because we thought he might feel like he’s doing a big kid thing by going to school) we were able to have some positive eating sessions this past weekend. This week is Ira’s last week and then it’s up to us to keep up the routine. That’s going to be a lot of work but what about Ira’s life hasn’t been a lot of work thus far? Bring it on. We kinda think he’s worth it.

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And finally, the last bit of random garbage. (If you’ve made it this far, you are either very bored, neglecting work or in need of a psych assessment.) Laura and I love our Lab Retriever, Jersey. As much as we love him, it might be possible that Ira loves him more. I can’t even begin to describe for you the connection those two have. Nor can I describe for you what I believe Jersey has done for Ira’s well being. I wasn’t surprised to come across this NYTimes video today.

spent

My lack of posting as of late is indicative not only of the business of life but also because I’m spent. My mom wrote me an e-mail today saying, “I know when my kids are struggling because they clam up.” She’s probably right. She usually is. Shhh, don’t tell her I said that.

This whole feeding thing is hard. Very hard. This past weekend was traumatic on many levels. You see, when we go home for the weekend, we’re instructed to keep up the routine - three eating sessions a day for thirty minutes a pop. Thirty minutes may not sound like a long time but it is when you have a kid who absolutely hates eating. To top it off, it was an extended weekend. You may have loved having Monday off but not us. It just meant another day of warring with Ira.

When I’m not concentrating on Ira’s feeding issues, I’m constantly thinking of the tutoring center dream that CCFB is chasing. It’s on my mind from the minute I wake up to the time that I finally close my eyes in the evening. We’re giving it a big push right now and hope to have something in place by the time school starts up in September. This could be huge.

With all of this, Laura and I are feeling really homesick. Another holiday weekend without family didn’t help. Laura and I both want nothing more than to be with family. And we’re both kinda sick of the city at the moment. We need a break. Thankfully, we have trips to St. Louis and Tahoka scheduled in the next couple of months.

I’m not asking for your sympathy here. You’ve dolled that out in large proportions for us over the past few years. In telling you about all this, I’m assuming that some of you are spent, as well. I want to remind us of a truth about God - He will, at the appropriate time, provide for the weary a cleft in the rock in which we can rest. He will cover us with his hand and will go ahead of us and prepare the way. And when rest has come, he will draw us out and lead us into that place he has prepared for us.

Bring on that cleft in the rock.

happy bday, bklyn brdg

It’s a little past midnight on Thursday. I just got home and did so by driving over the Brooklyn Bridge. It was beautifully lit with huge blue-green spotlights. Other spotlights were beaming into the air off of the bridge. All of this pomp for the big birthday bash being thrown for the bridge tonight. It’s 125 years old today.

People, if you are coming to the city you must, MUST, walk over The Bridge. Even though it’s a good little hike, you will not regret making the trek. (And while you’re at it, come see us. We don’t live that far away!)

Happy Birthday, Brooklyn Bridge. Happy Birthday.

pred

Based upon last night’s performance, David Archuleta will be crowned our new American Idol. However, he will soon be lost in a music industry that does not know what to do with him (see Clay Aiken) while David Cook goes on to sell millions of pop-rock albums.

country

She may take to the country yet.

buckle up

It’s my day at the feeding clinic. (We call it Eating School.) It’s about 2 and I’ve already watched them feed Ira three different times. One more to go this afternoon. Here’s how the feeding sessions go down:

The session begins with Ira choosing a toy and a book. The feeding therapist then straps Ira in a high chair. The strapping mechanism is like a car seat and they treat it as such in that Ira is so secure that he can hardly move. Then the feeding begins.

Ira opens his mouth just fine and allows the therapist to enter his mouth with a spoon. The problem is the tongue. Ira retracts his tongue in an effort to defend his airway. And when he doesn’t retract it, the tongue is hardened. Neither retraction nor hardening of the tongue is good. And so for now Ira’s tongue is the main focus in these sessions. They aren’t worried about the mouth closing or swallowing at this juncture. In fact, there is very little substance on the spoon at all.

With one hand the therapist holds Ira’s chin and says, “flat tongue.” She waits for Ira’s tongue to go flat and then lays the spoon on top of the tongue. She does this thirty times. In between each “bite” Ira is allowed to play with a toy or look at a book. But just for a second. And then the therapist says, “my turn.”

The therapist gives high-fives and shouts “good job” after every bite. Ira’s loves it. And for the most part, he does really well. After the second feeding today, the therapist told me that his tongue is softening. And only after two days!

I witness all this standing in a hall while looking through a one way window. There are two other rooms where therapists are working with kids. Those parents are standing at their windows as well. The two doctors of the clinic go from window to window explaining what the feeding therapists are attempting to accomplish. I’m very impressed with the program.

What I’m not so impressed with is Paterson, NJ. Ugh. It is Paterson and other cities in NJ like it (think Trenton) that earn NJ the moniker The Armpit of the US. But within this black-eye of a city lies the feeding clinic that is successfully teaching children of all types what most of us take for granted. And for that, Paterson and the clinic will always have a place in my heart.

intelligent

My two older sisters were smart. I wasn’t. My mom and dad did their very best to never compare me to my sisters and they valued me for who I was but the system can be cruel. It was painstakingly clear that I just didn’t have the intellectual chops that my sisters possessed. They both graduated as valedictorians of their high school classes. Me? I was lucky to be in the top ten…of a very small graduating class. Very small. Did I mention it was small?

Then I made the Dean’s List after my first semester at A&M. The Dean’s List of those on academic probation, that is. I came home that Christmas break with a stellar 1.8 GPA. I don’t really remember Mom and Dad’s response but I’m sure it had something to do with the old saying, Shape Up or Ship Out! My mom was fond of saying that. I decided to shape up and from that point on, I took the pursuit of all things academic seriously.

It was during this time that I read Howard Gardner’s book Multiple Intelligences. In the book, Gardner challenged old-school notions that intelligence is a single entity that can be measured using standardized tests. He proposed that there are actually seven types of intelligences - two of which we usually associate intelligence with (linguistics, logical-mathematical), three associated with the arts (musical, bodily-kinesthetic, spatial) and two called personal intelligences (interpersonal and intrapersonal). His hope was that educators would straighten up and take note that many of their students possessed intelligences that were outside the scope of the old-school understanding.

Because I had such a hard time in school and because I know the world values “smart” people I want Sophia and Ira to excel in the traditional academy. And while they may do exactly that, I can already see these other intelligences rising up within them. The education system may not value them but I’ll take my cues from my mom and dad and value my kids for who they are. And really, at this stage of the game, isn’t that all that matters?

denton, texas as a hotbed for music? really?

Who knew the indie music scene in Denton, Texas was noteworthy? Apparently one of my basketball teammates here in the city knew that. On assignment for the Travel Section of the New York Times, Lionel flew to Denton to check out the music scene. You can read his article here.

Denton? Really?

don’t mess with me

It started innocent enough. Sophia was reading books to Ira. It was such a great moment that I got the camera out to film the scene. For about fifteen minutes they sat on the couch reading peacefully…until Sophia started dictating what would be read. Ira didn’t agree. She tried hiding a book from Ira. He wasn’t having it.