Retention Deficit Disorder

When I was a kid, I was proclaimed the smartest thing on the planet by my parents and every teacher I ever met.  I was constantly told that I was smarter than either of my siblings (and they both graduated with almost perfect grades), and that I was going somewhere great.  That is a lot of pressure to put on a kid.  I certainly didn’t appreciate it, and I didn’t deal with it very well.  The main problem was that being a smart kid usually means getting beaten up and generally picked on almost every day of your life.  When you add smart to the already lethal combination of being short with red hair, you are guaranteed to be destroyed.

I was in the Talented and Gifted program, of TAG for short.  There were about half a dozen kids from the school who were deemed worthy and we got to get out of class once a week and sit around with some other teacher who ran the program and challenged us to bigger and better things.

How did I cope with it?  Not very well, actually.  I didn’t really enjoy being forced to sit in the back of the classroom reading silently while the other kids learned a task that I mastered several months before them.  I saw who the cool kids were, and what it took to be one of them.   I realized that being smart was not the way to go.

So how do you not be smart, when you already are?  You slowly, gradually dumb yourself down to the level of other kids.  As you are trying to master being average, you also hone your wit to a cutting edge.  You master sarcasm (because no one understands your jokes anyway), and use it as a weapon.  Before you know it you are the class clown, and  no one really knows why they are laughing at you when they can’t understand your jokes.  But you dumb down the jokes enough and people really start laughing.  The same people that were beating you up a year before are now laughing at the things you do and say.  What a relief!  Then you quit the TAG program because it really cramps your style.

It took many years to dumb myself down to the level of people around me, but it worked.  I graduated high school with a meager 3.0 average.  I didn’t go on to college right away, but worked in dead-end physical labor jobs.  Eventually, I went on to college to get a degree in Forestry, not exactly what my parents and teachers thought I would be doing with my life.  After all, I was the smartest and most talented child they had ever seen.  The only problem was, they hadn’t done the right things to encourage greatness.  They pressured for results, instead of encouraging growth and exploration.  I felt trapped in a world I didn’t understand, and even worse, I was alone there.  Maybe the right kind of environment would have helped propel me to greatness.  Maybe I wouldn’t have almost flunked 8th grade because I didn’t care anymore.  Maybe I would have aspired to bigger and better things.

But I didn’t.  I chose the path of least resistance.  I went the way of the clown, the one who everyone wants to be around.  I wanted to be accepted way more than I ever wanted to be respected.  Friends were more important than grades and accolades.

You want to know something else?  I am probably better off because of my choices.  My life is great.  The only real stress in ly life comes from having 3 (yes, 3) daughters.  The stress I feel there is mostly my own fault, because I let the little things bother me, and I am working on letting it go.  I just want to enjoy them, not yell at them for making a mess.

So here’s to all the smart kids out there.  If you’re lucky, you will figure out that friends and family are way more important than getting straight A’s on your report card.  Try to enjoy the little things in life, not fret over them.

A Little Peace and Quiet

I have been out in the forest for the past 4 weeks now marking a rather large and cumbersome timber harvest.  I was somewhat complaining the other day to my wife about how lonely it can be out in the forest by yourself for long periods of time.  I even decided to bring along my PDA for the last stretch since it has Media Player and a large memory card.  That made it better.

To provide some contrast in my life, I finished the timber sale marking today and came home earlier than usual.  I was greeted by 3 screaming, running, eating children that slightly resembled monsters.  They continued to run and eat and scream for the next hour, until I was blissfully remembering the ling lonely hours in the forest where I had to listen to no one but whomever I slapped on to my storage card for the music that day.

Oh well, I guess that’s what you get for having a bunch of kids.  It is my wife that has to put up with them for the most part.  I usually get the evenings, after dinner when everyone is winding down for the day and just want to relax on the couch with a book or a TV show.

I Failed You in So Many Ways…

Jason, you needed a friend. I wasn’t available. When you called out of the blue a few months ago, we talked for over an hour. I should have realized that it wasn’t a call for fun. It was a call for help. We talked about old times and you told me how much our friendship meant to you over the years. It felt really good to hear from you and know that I helped.

Only I didn’t help enough. I didn’t hear the hidden cry for help in the conversation. I didn’t know that you were still struggling. I didn’t know that you needed more than a conversation that day. You needed a shoulder to lean on, someone to help you.

I should have called more often. I should have called even once a year. I didn’t. I ran away. I ran from home as soon as I could find a way out of that town. I sensed danger very early in high school. I felt the cold grasp of drugs on my heart. I watched as friend after friend turned to more dangerous drugs when the old stuff didn’t do it anymore. I ran.

I could feel my weakness from the very beginning. I thought that someday, one of us would be dead because of it. Now, Jason, you are. We all gathered to say goodbye yesterday, to let you know that even though you were gone, you were still here. We told you to clean up all along. We begged you to clean up and stop using. Now, we can’t even tell you that we loved you all along.

I have failed in even the littlest way. I think that I have learned a lesson in all of this. I vow to spend more time with my friends. I vow to appreciate all the time that I have on this earth with all of you, to cherish you. Most importantly, I will let you all know how much you mean to me from now on.

Jason, I failed you in so many ways. But I will not let your passing be in vain.

Nomenclature? No Thanks!

There was a very heated discussion yesterday going on in the blogosphere. One that took place on a variety of sites, no doubt. The problem stemmed from a post at RadicalMama on teen pregnancy (one teen pregnancy in particular). The debate is not one that I would like to tackle here, or ever if possible. I find that arguing with somebody about a topic that loaded with emotion is not exactly a fruitful endeavor.

The issue at hand here is nomenclature, or simply put, words. Words were created centuries ago to convey a meaning, a thought, an emotion. The problem is that words have changed meaning over the past several hundred years, and so have people. Certain feelings, thoughts, and emotions can not be expressed by a single word, or even a whole page of them. Loaded topics are never going to be solved by two people who feel differently than one other using words that don’t really convey the point they are trying to make.

I am not going to use the topic discussed yesterday as my example, for that might destroy my blog and all that it stands for (mostly, for not being a blog!). Instead I will use a topic near and dear to me-one that I have studied intensely personally and professionally. The topic of timber harvesting.

People love to hate timber harvesting (and I use the term “harvest” literally-trees are an agricultural commodity like corn). Most have a knee-jerk reaction to the thought of trees being cut down because they envision a giant redwood (Sequoiadendron giganteum) being felled whilst an endangered owl goes splat! I can use a term like clear-cut in an everyday sentence and not flinch for I know the importance of the act. But, like abortion, clear-cut is a loaded term, filled with emotion (and, no, I am not comparing the two philosophically so don’t bother yelling at me). Both terms have a scientific basis and both refer to a specific act being done. That doesn’t stop people from attaching an emotion to a term based on sound scientific research and practice.

So, I guess the point I am trying to make, and have been trying to make for several years now is that we can never truly evolve as a species if we are to continue to place so much importance on things as trivial as words. Words are only tools that we use to communicate a feeling or a need or an emotion. If we didn’t continue to evolve other tool technology, we would still be using a rock tied to a stick as a hammer. Evolution is unavoidable and necessary. Why do we fight it when it comes down to the most important topic? If we can’t communicate effectively, we are doomed to repeat our past. It seems that we are already doing that on some level (look at the so-called “war” in Iraq). That situation, as much as any other, is loaded with emotion that can not be expressed by outdated words. It is time we stop attaching so much importance on something that can’t even do what it is meant to do. The Chevrolet Corvair failed as an automobile because it didn’t do what it was supposed to do-which is function as a safe vehicle of transport. If our words are going to continue to fail, why do we continue to throw them at each other like some kind of obsolete weapon?

Sometimes I wish I couldn’t remember too…

I was reading at StuntMother this morning, trying to help out with a pesky plant problem, when I stumbled across a very familiar pain. The pain of losing someone close to you when they don’t even know they are going away.

Alzheimer’s and dementia are possibly the worst way to lose someone. They both run rampant in my father’s family, and I know that someday, it will happen to my father as well. The thought of having to go through that again is unbearable. I watched as my grandmother, my grandfather, and my great-aunt progressed (or regressed, as it were) for several years. It is really hard to explain to a child why their grandparents no longer know them. Even as a teenager, it didn’t make much sense to me. But there they went.

This is all I can stand to say right now. I may have to revisit this topic again in the future, now that I realize how much it means to me. It’s strange how we can repress things to the point of not even recognizing them as important. Until this morning, I had not thought much about this issue in several years. I will probably not forget about it for a while now.

Here’s to you Dad. While you are still here.