A Box of Nothing

As I went past the kitchenette area where I work, I noticed a box on one of the tables, the kind of box that looks like it holds some kind of treat. It could be cookies, or cake, it doesn’t really matter at 2:00 in the afternoon when something sweet would hit the spot. I put on the brakes and made a quick left into the kitchenette to get something before it was all gone. Yes, it was a bakery box!

I took one last look around to make sure no one was watching, like I was doing something wrong (it must be some kind of learned response from my younger years), opened the box, and…it was empty. Empty! Unless you count a few measly crumbs in the corners of the box, it was empty. What a letdown. I thought I was going to get at least a little sugar energy to help me through the afternoon, even if it was just half a cookie or pastry, or even a sliver of a cake or a pie. I felt like the box was taunting me, laughing at me as I walked away.

Why do people leave an empty treat box sitting on the kitchenette table like that? It’s such a tease and such a disappointment. One minute your imagining yourself eating a piece of chocolate cake, or munching a chocolate chip cookie, or being lucky enough to find even a quarter of a cinnamon bun, and the next you get air. A handful of nothing is what you end up with. I guess if you’re desperate, you eat the crumbs, but I wasn’t. Truth be told, I have too much pride to do that anyway.

I had lots of experience with finding something empty growing up in a big family. I cannot even tell you how many times I came into the house to get a cold drink of water, opened the freezer, and found one ice cube in the multiple trays. I’d take the one ice cube left in the top tray, and go to get another out of the next tray, only to find it empty. Someone actually left an empty ice cube tray in the freezer! If I complained to Mom or Dad about it, they told me it was wrong for someone to do that, but could I fill up both trays so the next guy didn’t get the same problem.

For some reason, my parents insisted on buying the ice cream that has vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry in the same package. None of us really liked strawberry, so when you went to get some cold, refreshing goodness in the summer, the vanilla and chocolate were totally gone, like they were never even there. I know, you’re thinking that the container wasn’t empty, that there was still some ice cream left, however, as far as we were concerned it was empty. None of us kids were going to eat the strawberry ice cream.

Mom also liked to get us the variety pack of cereal with the small boxes, which was great for the first week and maybe the second week. After that the only cereal left was Raisin Bran. I don’t know any kid that would take Raisin Bran over Frosted Flakes, or Sugar Pops, or any other sugar-laden cereal. The Raisin Bran would sit in the cabinet getting stale, unless one of us was desperate enough to take it and pick out all the raisins, throw a couple of spoonsful of sugar on it, maybe some sliced banana, pour in some milk, and only then eat it. That’s how you start your day with a good breakfast!

I could go on. There were 99.99% empty potato chip bags; containers of milk, Zarex, or soda with, at most, a mouthful of liquid left; toilet paper rolls with one square left on them and paper towel rolls with no sheets left on them; boxes of holiday chocolates with the only leftovers the kind that old ladies like (my apologies to all the Grandmothers out there). Letdowns one and all.

Over time, though, these letdowns have faded into the background because over time I’ve learned what is more important, that being family. Tasty treats, ice cream, ice cubes, even toilet paper, won’t always be there, but I know my family will.

No Piggybacking

I work for a financial services firm, and as you might expect, they are very security conscious. We’re blocked from all social media on the company network; we can’t get to Yahoo Mail, or Gmail, or any other mail outside of the company’s corporate email; and there are about 27 layers of security when you use your laptop outside the office. Okay, I exaggerated a bit with the layers of security, but they take security seriously.

There is one security issue that I think takes things a little too far. Basically, you are to NEVER hold the door open for someone coming in to the building behind you, or to any other space that requires your security badge. They call this “Piggybacking” and we are to be ever vigilant about Piggybacking. I understand that if someone is coming behind you in full camouflage you may want to think twice before letting them in, especially if they’re carrying an assault rifle. Of if someone is not meeting the dress code, which is office casual, you may be wondering if they work with you. However, I take exception to letting the door slam in someone’s face.

In my family, we were taught to hold the door for people and not let it slam in their face, even open it and let them pass through, especially if they are carrying stuff. Back in the day, that was called being kind, considerate, dare I say, a gentleman! To be clear, if someone is 50 feet behind me, I’m probably not going to hold the door and wait for them unless there are extenuating circumstances. Like, they’re carrying 20 pizzas, or they’re on crutches, or in a wheelchair. Then, yeah, I’m going to hold that door for them. If it turns out the guy in the wheelchair is looking to get some secret information, he’s not going to get far – security is sitting just inside the door at all of our buildings. There have been multiple occasions where multiple people Piggybacked coming into work in the morning and guess who was asked to show their badge? Yup, it was me. I must just look like a security risk.

I have to admit that my parents were against Piggybacking, too, though of a different kind. I’m talking about the usual, kid version, especially when it was in the house. If we jumped on somebody’s back, invited or not, we were told pretty quickly to stop. This was a good thing because either something would get knocked over and occasionally broken, or someone would get knocked over and occasionally hurt. We weren’t supposed to be doing stuff like that in the house anyway, so it only made matters worse if there was any breakage or tears. We were supposed to know better.

I haven’t given anybody a physical Piggyback in years, not since my kids were small, but I still do it at work. Corporate anti-Piggybacking Policy or not, I hold the door for everybody! I don’t know why, but I get some strange looks from some people, like it’s annoying them. However, I also get some big smiles and nice Thank You’s from people, especially those with their hands full. Holding the door open for others is ingrained in my character, courtesy of my parents, who taught me that treating others kindly was more important than following a silly rule. If they were still here, I’m sure they would be okay with my indoor Piggybacking and would have big smiles, too.

Pains

I work for a software company and work in an office so I don’t do any physical work, unless you call carrying my laptop to a meeting physical work. I can also work from home and connect to the office, so if I’m not feeling so great, I can still work. I don’t get sick too often anyway, so I don’t miss many days from work. Add to all that the fact that no one in the media is following me around or analyzing every move I make and I’d say I have a pretty cushy work life. 

Sometimes I feel bad for professional athletes, especially in sports-obsessed cities like Boston. As a former wannabe athlete, I can tell you that no one wants to get hurt and they don’t want anyone to know they got hurt. So these guys play when they’re hurt (hello Patrice Bergeron of the Boston Bruins) and don’t let on as to how bad they really are. At times, they’re not playing well and we find out later that they’ve been battling a serious injury for days or weeks. Then in cases where someone is hurt and they’re perceived as not toughing it out and still playing, they’re ripped in the media and on every sports talk show by every know-it-all “expert” alive (hello pretty much all the major league baseball players).

When I was in high school I hurt my throwing arm at the beginning of the baseball season but I didn’t tell the coach because I wanted to play. When I couldn’t throw the ball from shortstop to first base anymore the coach finally asked me what the heck was wrong with me. When I told him my arm was killing me he wanted to know why I hadn’t told him earlier. I told him that it hadn’t been that bad until the last couple of days and that I wanted to play. What I didn’t tell him was that I had a childhood incident that haunted me and wouldn’t let me say I was hurt.

We were having one of our neighborhood softball games in our backyard on a nice sunny day. We had about five guys on each team, including three of my older brothers. We had been playing for a while and we took a break to get some water. In those days we didn’t go in the house to get a drink of water, we drank the water right out of the hose. There was nothing like a cold drink out of the hose on a hot summer day. Plus, you could soak your hat or your shirt and stay cooler longer. Mom wouldn’t have let us do that at the kitchen sink.

We all got our drinks and went back to the game. However, I think that I drank too much water because when I started running around again I got a really bad stomach ache. When it was my team’s turn in the field, I couldn’t even stand up straight so I lay down on a picnic bench. I guess no one on my team noticed because the inning started and the first batter hit an easy ground ball right to the spot I should have been in. Needless to say, my brother that was pitching was not happy when he saw me laying on the bench.

When he asked me what I was doing over there laying on the bench, I didn’t quite know what to say so I responded in a pitiful voice “I’ve got pains!” When everyone stopped laughing five minutes later, the mocking began. For the next few minutes after that, I was treated to “I’ve got pains” being said in high pitched voices or like a 3-year old. I was just a kid myself, but I was humiliated. I think I heard that wonderful phrase from my brothers for the next five years whenever I felt sick or got hurt doing something.

So when my coach asked me why I hadn’t told him I was hurt it was kind of a matter of pride. I guess in some small way, I didn’t want him to make fun of me for having a sore arm. In retrospect, I probably humiliated myself by not being able to reach first base from shortstop. I don’t know, maybe some professional athletes had similar situations to mine when they were kids and as adults their pride kicks in, too, and they play hurt.

I’m glad that I don’t get sick much and I can take a day off when I need to without being made fun of or mocked. I just hope that as I head into my senior years I don’t have to lie down on a bench somewhere because “I’ve got pains.” 

Back From Vacation

I was on vacation last week with some of my wife’s family and they have younger children in the 6 – 9 years old range. It’s been a while since I’ve had to deal with kids that age, as my kids are now 17 and 20. It didn’t take me long to realize there are some major differences between my kids and the others.

The first difference was being woken up by kids at 6:00 in the morning. At that early hour, they are up and ready to go. You’re still sleeping? Not for long! They tried to stay quiet, but after about ten minutes of progressively louder whispering they started talking in their regular, middle-of-the-day voices. They obviously didn’t get the memo that it is alright to sleep past the normal time they get up for school. I usually get up at 6:00 AM for work, but I’d be very content to sleep past that time for a week or two. So I lose a few hours of the day by sleeping in, but who cares? I mean, it’s VACATION! My son could sleep until 10:00 or 11:00 (maybe even noon) and not feel bad about it. Of course, he’s not going to bed at 8:00 – 9:00 PM either, so I guess there is a tradeoff there.

The next difference is that younger kids go in and out of the house about a thousand times a day. And they slam the door every time! Not long after eating breakfast they are out to ride their bikes (slam!). After a few minutes one of them needs a drink of water, so he or she comes back in (slam!). Guzzle down that water and it’s time to get back outside like there’s a 30-second time limit on the break (slam!). Then someone realizes that someone else just went in for water, so they come in to get a drink, too (slam!). Repeat this process for every kid (slam!) multiple times (slam, slam, slam!) and…well, you get the picture. My kids either stay in the house, or when they go out there’s a quiet click as the door closes and we don’t see them or hear them for two or three hours. When they come back they quietly close the door. Ah, that’s nice.

The last difference is that younger kids get bored during the day. What? Bored? Did I mention that it’s VACATION? I guess that having fun for hours at a time gets old pretty quick for younger kids. You can only ride your bike, play games, watch movies, go to the beach and goof around for so long, and then it gets monotonous. Throw in breakfast, lunch, dinner and snacks in between, and it seems like a pretty good day to me. I have a remedy for the boredom: sleep later and there won’t be as many hours to fill! That would take care of a couple of issues at the same time. We’d all be able to sleep later and the kids wouldn’t be so bored.

Now I don’t want it to sound like it was all bad or negative, because it wasn’t. It was actually a really great week. I had fun with the kids at the beach and I love to listen to them as they tell me about things from their perspective.  I got to spend some time with both my own kids, which doesn’t happen as much as I’d like these days. I got to spend some time with my in-laws, both of whom are kind, generous and entertaining. Last, but not least important, my wife and I got to spend a lot of time together, without the usual stuff that gets in the way at home, like work and schedules. You can’t beat that.

The week flew by and it wasn’t long before I was back to the real world. It’s at times like those that I sometimes wish I was still a kid, where vacation is not just a week or two, but the whole summer, and where I’d have so much time in the day to do whatever I wanted that I’d get bored. I’d just have to remember to close the door quietly on my way out.

A Parable

Once upon a time there was a nice man who started a blog and liked to write posts that revolved around his family growing up and his own wife and kids. These posts made him happy because it reminded him of all the wacky, weird, funny and nice things that happened to him when he was a kid, and they helped him to see how blessed he was to have such an awesome family now. Although this man didn’t have much in the way of material possessions growing up, he had something that many kids didn’t. He knew he was loved by parents who did their best to teach him what was important in life, and by his brothers and sisters, even if they occasionally got into arguments or fights.

The man did his best to put aside some time each week to write his post, to edit it, and to make it just right in the hope that someone would read it and smile, maybe even laugh, or say “Hey, I remember that!” Hopefully there would be only good memories, because in his mind the good had far outweighed the bad. Not that everything was perfect growing up, far from it, but isn’t it easier to recall the good and the positive than it is to scrounge around the depths of your brain and relive the bad and the negative? Posting to his blog pleased the man, for he loved to write and to share with others the things he had done and been through as the eighth of nine kids. He wanted others to know that family was and always would be one of the most important things in his life.

Then something terrible happened to him. It was a project at work, or more importantly, a project deadline. His usual writing time was taken over by work related activities because this project “just had to be out the door” by a certain date. He was okay with this for a short time, but then the deadline got moved out by a couple of weeks. Being the hard worker his parents had taught him to be, he kept up the crazy schedule in order to make the new deadline. Much to his despair, the deadline was moved out a couple more weeks with the expectation that it would take the same effort to meet the newest deadline. Weekends became more time to work instead of spending time with his family.

Not wanting to leave gaps in his blog, the nice man hastily threw together a few posts and put them up for everyone to see, knowing in his heart they weren’t his best. “I guess it’s better to have a mediocre post than no post at all.” he thought. This comforted him and helped him to make it through the long days spent at his work laptop, doing what he had to in order to keep a steady paycheck. Yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he could somehow make some time to work on his blog. There just had to be a way.

However, when he sat down to write something for his blog, there was nothing but an empty screen staring back at him. It seemed that his blog posting days were over, gone like the long summer days that he missed out on because he was working to meet a project deadline. This made the man sad, for it took away the pleasure of writing and the happiness of recalling fun times with friends and family. “It’s over.” he thought. “I’ve lost my creative drive. I’ve got nothing to write about.”

The moral of this story: All work and no play makes “8 of Nine” a dull blog.

Home Alone

My wife, my daughter and my son were all out of town the week before last, but I had to stay home because I couldn’t get the time off from work because of a major project we’re working on. There are times I enjoy having the house to myself because sometimes I just want a little peace and quiet. I can sit and read a book without being interrupted or having to switch rooms because someone wants to do something in that room that is noisy. There’s nobody there to ask me to do something for them, whether it’s driving someone somewhere or helping move something or helping cook something. I don’t have to do anything for anybody and I can just relax and take it easy. I know that sounds a little selfish but, like a lot of other people I know, I really don’t get a whole lot of down time so it is nice when I do.

I knew I would have to work some extra hours, so I thought it really wouldn’t matter that much that no one else was home. I’d go to work, come home and eat dinner, and then I’d do some more work until it was time for bed. I had dinner planned out for a couple of nights by just eating some leftovers, and I figured I could eat some food at work on Thursday because we have a “Happy Hour” where there is always some kind of food (pizza, a bunch of appetizers, pasta or Chinese food) and multiple beverages. In addition to all that, I had a company party on Saturday afternoon/night where all the food you needed was provided. That covered more than half the nights I would be responsible for my own dinner, so I knew I wouldn’t starve.

The first couple of days went OK and things seemed to be going along well. Two days had flown by pretty quick. As mentioned previously, I was working some extra hours due to a deadline, so it was work, eat dinner, work, and go to bed. Surprisingly, when I woke up on Friday morning it all sort of hit me: I’d been alone all week, the weekend was upon me and I was still going to be alone until late Sunday. I’ve heard of people who love the single life, being on their own, and doing what they want, but I guess I’m not one of them. I hate being alone for more than a couple of days.

In a previous post, I mentioned how much I hated how quiet it was when everyone but my younger brother and I had moved out and we were the only kids left with Mom and Dad. This was even worse, because when I woke up no one was in the house and when I came home no one was in the house. It was just so…empty. Even though I was seeing people at work every day, not seeing my wife and kids made feel extremely lonely. And even though I was speaking to my wife on the phone or by text, it just was not the same. The last couple of days seemed to stretch out forever.  

Though this seems like it was all doom and gloom, something very positive did come out of my week alone. It helped me to remember how much I love my family and how much I love to be with them, both the kids and my wife. My wife is my best friend, and there is no one else I’d rather spend time with. The day she came home just happened to be our 23^rd anniversary, so to say I was happy to see her would be a huge understatement. My parents were married for more than 50 years when my Dad passed away and I look forward to my wife and me reaching that milestone. Spending the week alone gave me a glimpse into what my life would be by myself and it wasn’t good. A little down time and some peace and quiet is good for a day or two, but I really hate being alone for much longer. I’ll take the noise, the driving, and the errands and, most importantly, my family over an empty house any day.