In Irons

I did a thing today, something that I am unsure about. You see…

 

            For years people in my life have been calling me smart, intelligent and that I should seek out a higher education. When I left the Navy oh so many years ago, I tried to get some sort of education. However, I ran out of money. Quickly. Education costs money. Money, I do not have even though I am more financially sound today than when I was over thirty years ago.

            However, after being pushed and prodded by my brother Brian, his wife, my pal Nicole, Dan, Tim, Sue, Goose and way too many other people in my life I have signed up and paid for one course at the local community college.

            College Composition 1 is the class I chose, it was the writing course or the math course. As of this writing, I am more comfortable with the writing aspect and its influence in my life. After all, for most math these days, there is an app for solving simple mathematical problems as well as the even more abstract equations.

            So, I looked up what the course entails, primarily what are the expectations of a student. The information I learned was a bit overwhelming but not in the least bit off putting. My concern is I will lose interest or just plain get frustrated out of sheer ignorance and walk away.

            After all, I am fifty-four years old, I am twenty-six years into my career and I am not used to being on the receiving end of information by others. Normally when I want more information about something I just pick up a book or find reliable sources of information on the internet and never just one source.

            I am always trying to learn something that piques my interest. Well, interests to be truthful.

            So yeah, I am nervous, not excited, not fretful. Just nervous.

            “It is only one class” I keep telling myself. It has become a mantra really.

            My family is happy for me and fully supportive. Even proud of me you could say. Total support it seems. This also makes me uncomfortable. After all, what if I fail. They all say I won’t, but… I am just unsure of myself and my ability to be taught in a professional manner.

            Also, did I mention this is the accelerated eight-week course instead of the normal sixteen-week course? Yeah, I chose it for a reason, to try and get this behind me as quickly as possible in case I fail. However, if I don’t fail, if I actually succeed then I will take the math course. If I succeed at math, then the next course and the course after that.

            I mean, I do have an ultimate plan with a degree or two as my reward, yet my life has always been a bit hectic, chaotic and unpredictable. If this occurs, how will this affect my education? If taking courses becomes a financial burden, which I know it will, how will I be able to move forward? Will I even have the resolve to complete one class? One semester of classes over the course of my life? Hell, even the determination to get one or more degrees?

            I do not know.

            I seem to have wandered willingly into an unknown aspect of my life. I am on new ground here for myself. I do not like this feeling.

            Yes, I want to learn, but I am unsure of my ability to actually absorb and apply the knowledge I am being taught.

            There is a saying amongst sailors “Getting stuck in the irons”. I do not expect you, my dear readers, to understand that metaphor. The gist of it is that you are stuck in one spot until the wind comes up or you get assistance.

            I am in the irons as of this writing.

            I am going to wrap this up because I feel like I have done nothing but complain about my truly first world problems.

            My name is Skip and I am a fifty-four-year-old college freshman.

 

Have a great week.

 

A Past of Lies and What we tell ourselves

          After twenty-three years I finally succumbed to going home and attempting to see my father, step-mother and step-brothers. For the record, I have two step-brothers. In preparing for the trip I was not as enthusiastic as I believe most people are when they get to go home to see family.

 

          No, I suppose you could say I traveled halfway across the continent to see if I could be the good son, the good brother, the caring man a person of my middle age is supposed to be. You see, it is no secret to anyone I know that my relationship with my family, on both sides, is one of tentative convenience.  For all parties involved.

 

          I mean, after all, we are all adults in our 50’s which is my step-brothers and sisters, well, all but my youngest sister. But we won’t focus on my sisters, after all, they were not part of this trip. However, I digress, my Wisconsin family is primarily made up of my father, Al, step-mother, Marlene, my step-brother, Brian and my other step-brother who I found out is now my step-sister, Patty. So, just your basic modern blended and mixed immediate family.

 

          Brian, a great guy who has traveled the world, adopted a great boy with some amazing talents and gifts and has a loving wife with her own two sons, were gracious enough to open their house to me for five days. I am sure there is some sort of proper protocol I broke by staying there that long. But, hey, it is me, how often do you think I listen to Emily Post?

 

          The day I arrived we went to see my ailing father and his wife. They were in good spirits and we had some nice conversation over a fine dinner and several hours. I remember remarking to Brian on the way to his home at how frail they both looked. Much different from the last time I had seen them. Yet my father still had his corny dad jokes to tell and my brother and I. No new jokes, just the same tired ones I have heard most of my life from him. They were corny and comforting at the same time, and to be honest, just a little sad. My step-mom, was warm, charming and sweet all at the same time. Like a hot fudge sundae, you just can’t be upset when you are eating one.

 

          As the trip grew longer, so did my brothers and my conversations. Stories of our shared childhoods, of our solo adventures into the world and the discovery of the loves of our lives echoed through the car and around the campfires. In an odd way, our bonding as brothers grew deeper. We both expressed regrets and fears from when we were kids. Frustrations with each other born out of misunderstanding motives and even how quick and when our survival instinct would kick in. It was very enlightening and wonderful to be around him and his family.

 

          The second visit to my father did not go so well. After a few hours I was getting frustrated and angry. So much so I was begging for an excuse to get out of the house for a while. Which is funny to me because I had a built in excuse.

 

          I had reached out to a high school friend and she had agreed to reach out to others of our class and we were to meet up. When time came for me to say goodbye to my family for a few hours I was relieved and happy to get away for a while.

 

          I got to spend ninety lovely minutes reconnecting with a few of my classmates. Classmates I had not spoken with in years, well, with the exception of social media. However, having the chance to sit down, talk, laugh and just tell stories from our lives was an opportunity to not be wasted. We didn’t. That meeting was truly one of the high points of the trip and I have to say well worth the frustration of traveling in this era of facemasks and impromptu body searches at the airports.

 

          I missed them as soon as I started to walk away from them and the absence of them in my life is a bittersweet sadness filled with wonderful memories and hours of laughter.

 

          The feeling of elation was as short lived as the drive back to my fathers. The reality of his and his wife’s situation is an ever present brick wall I seem to face daily. The issues they have, are going through and will go through will only get worse. And my brother is there doing all the dirty work. Alone.

 

          I can’t help, I am a half a continent away with a life and family of my own. Our sister Patty can’t help. So Brian has taken this responsibility of becoming a parent to our parents. Mad respect for him. I have seen how hard he works in his professional life and how hard he works on his family life and now he has added elder-care to his portfolio of responsibilities. Where most people would hire a nurse, a housecleaner, a cook, a yard keeper, he has taken on those tasks and performs them as if he were standing in the shade on a warm Wisconsin day and sipping a cold glass of lemonade. He makes it look easy. We all know it is not. He knows it is not. To be honest, I am sure not many folks outside the immediate family know what he is dealing with.

 

          He has truly become a great parent to his family and his parents.

 

          I don’t know if I could do it.

 

          I have my own issues to deal with when it concerns my father. No time to get into that here.

 

          On one hand, I have kept a working communication with all of my family. The terms of the communication are simple, if you want to talk to me, call, I will answer my phone for family. If I want to talk with your, I will call and if you answer we will talk. If I am in town I am always willing to see you. If you are in town, I am always willing to see you.

 

          Simple, just express a desire to see me or talk with me. That rule is not always understood or even conveyed back to me. That is okay. We are who we are and we are all going through some emotional, physical and sometimes mental pain.

 

          Sometimes, it is self-inflicted, sometimes it is not. Sometimes you get one or two types of pain and the world is dark. On rare occasions, you get all three and if it received at the hands of the same person, you shut down. You move on, you go into survival mode and you leave your town, your state, your country.

 

          You move forward, you lie to yourself, you build a new life with a new family. You don’t look back. On rare occasions you ask yourself “I wonder what ever happened to so-and-so” but you don’t dwell on those thoughts.

 

          You lie to yourself that you are okay.

          You lie to yourself that your past is dead.

          You lie to yourself that it wasn’t as bad as your brain makes it.

 

          Then you go home and realize you have been lying all your life.