Manversation

I’m about to share something not many men will openly admit, but I have been known on rare occasions to watch an episode of Oprah.  Well, maybe I shouldn’t say ‘watch’ because that may carry an inherent repetitious characteristic, but when the stars align I can be found alongside my wife, totally enthralled.  Anyway, I caught an episode the other day about unexplained medical mysteries.  They had a 7’3” 12-year old boy with a genetic mutation who couldn’t stop growing and a 3’3” 26 year old woman who suffers from Microcephallic Primordial Dwarfism.  Interesting? Sure.  Did it fulfill my instinctive compulsion for the anomalous?  Not even close.  The next guest, however, did send my mind wondering.  It was a woman who claims she can remember everything that has happened to her since age 14 (surprised it wasn’t a man? Me either.).  Wow!  Can you imagine your life if you remembered everything?  Yes, everything.  At first thought, it would be great, right?  You’d never lose your keys, you’d know exactly where you set your beer, there would be no more embarrassing calls home (while still in the driveway!) asking what it was you needed to pick up from the store, heck, you would excel at Trivial Pursuit.  Life would be grand!  Not so fast.  You would also remember every bad thing, every regretful outburst, every poor decision, every hurtful thing anyone has ever said to you and of course, all the emotions that went with them.  I know I wouldn’t last a week.  Fortunately for most, the brain constructs memory based on personal significance.  I know my oldest, most vivid memories tend to be positive and thus my mottled recollection bears a rosy hue.  Does this mean I categorize my memories differently then how they actually happened?  Do we have memories we can’t access or worse yet, choose not to remember?  As my wife reads this I know she would smirk at this comment, but I do not believe ‘selective memory’ is deliberate.  Is it of brilliant physiological design?  Perhaps, it is the confluence of environmental, psychological and social influences that shape our perception of the past.  We may never really know and quite honestly I hope we never figure it out because I enjoy marveling its mystery.  Why just the other day I was reminded once again how remarkable the brain and remembrance really is.  I live in a house chockfull of “forget-less” women.  My wife is truly an astonishing woman with an elephant-like memory (don’t fear for my life, this is a good thing), but it is actually my oldest daughter, “R” that perpetually boggles my mind.  I have somberly accepted the fact she gets her “talent” from her mother and find myself completely beside myself, yet so compelled to share these next two stories.

#1

I remember when R was just a year old, beginning to experiment with new sounds and learning to explore the house.  Even the sturdiest of doggie gates couldn’t corral her curiosity.  One day, the wife called me at work in a panic, she couldn’t find her wedding ring.  We had been very busy the last several days and my wife was incredibly fearful she may have lost her ring and was worried we’d never get it back.  I hurried home from work that day and we both tore apart the entire house looking for the ring, but to no avail.  We had previously arranged to spend that weekend with her parents and soon had to be on our way across town, unfortunately without the ring.  The entire drive and much of the weekend we spent brainstorming all the possible places we could have lost the ring.  We initiated several phone calls and emails, but surfaced zero leads on the rings whereabouts.  We returned home 3 days later to scour the house one last time.  Our final search turned up nothing and our hopes were dwindling fast as we started getting ready for bed, signifying an anticlimactic end to our journey.  Then it occurred to us to ask R.  Maybe by some bizarre twist of fate she would not only understand us, but be able to lead us right to our pot of (white) gold.  We approached R and my wife asked aimlessly, “R, do you happen to know where mommy’s ring is?”  She looked up with a puzzled gaze, but made no sound as she looked away, seemingly getting back about her business.  The wife and I sat down on the bed, emotionally deflated, pondering our remaining options.  When all of a sudden, R walked back into the room, right up to mommy and dropped the wedding ring into the palm of her hand.  We looked at each other and were instantly overcome with emotion.  I scooped R off her feet showering her with kisses as we all shared a huge hug and joyous tears.  We set her back down and asked, “Where did you find this?”  She instantly turned around and walked out of the bedroom.  We followed inquisitively.  She headed down the hall towards her room, but stopped at the closet door in the hallway and pointed to the lowest hinge.  My wife handed R the ring, she hung it on the hinge of the door and turned back and smiled.  Apparently, while my wife was showering that day, R had wondered into the bedroom and found my wife’s wedding ring sitting on the bedside table.  I can’t ever hope to understand what lead her to hang the ring on a hinge in the hall, but that’s the beauty of a boundless imagination.  R had known all along where the ring was.  I’m certain it was our naïve inadequacy, not that a toddler could wander off with small objects, but that after 3 days and a presumed inability to comprehend, a very young brain could so effortlessly grasp the complexity of the situation.  Truly amazing!

#2

We were sitting around the dinner table the other night, enjoying a typical family dinner.  Unfortunately, a typical dinner for us usually means L, Wife and I finish eating and then I spend the next 30 minutes struggling to get R to eat some of her dinner.  R can be extremely stubborn and it’s not uncommon for these negotiations to transition right to an early bed time.  This night was no different.  We had been battling for over an hour and I was nearing the end of my patience.  I had just taken the last bite of my green beans directly from the pan they were cooked in.  The pan was a small 1 quart, stainless steel, sauce pan with a black handle and wire loop on its end (normally, this type of detail is irrelevant, but in this case it’s needed).  Chewing my last bite and contemplating my concession speech, I looked over at R.  She had that look, the look that suggests she was thinking 3 times as fast as the words that were about to come out of her mouth.  She knew if she didn’t fill the void, I would say something about her next bite and she was not about to allow that.  She pointed to the loop on the handle of the pan and said, “Daddy, what is that?”  Quickly recognizing her developing ploy to distract me from the task at hand, I replied, “It’s a loop you use to hang it–now take a bite!”  Trying to stretch the conversation as far as it would go she commented, “Oh, just like at Chris’s house.”  I stopped dead cold.  Completely dumbfounded, I cocked my head and inquisitively asked “What?”  She confidently explained, “That’s how Chris hangs the pots at his house”.  I was completely in awe.  I proceeded to clear the table and get the girls into bed.  This is where the story gets crazy.  You’re probably thinking, what is so crazy about a conversation about pots and pans at someone’s house?  Let me explain.  Well, Chris (our fellow manversationalist) does have an elaborate hanging pot rack in his kitchen, but this is not the weird part.  It’s absolutely mind-blowing to know R had only been to Chris’s house one time in her life and exactly one year ago (when she was 3) in November of 2007.  I couldn’t remember the date myself (much less the exquisite detail of his pot rack) and so I had to consult my friends about the specifics (Brian/Chris – this should explain why I asked you a series of odd questions last week about a party that occurred more than a year ago).  Needless to say, I am absolutely astounded that a 3 year old took enough interest in a hanging pot rack, at a friend’s house that she had never been to before over one year ago.  On top of that, she absorbed enough detail to understand the mechanics of how a pot could hang and contextually retrieve this information in casual conversation.  This is just absolutely amazing to me!  I was trying to explain this to a friend the other day and the only logical comparison I could draw was in The Matrix when Neo begins to sees his reality in binary code.  Of course, this can mean only one thing, R is “THE ONE”!

In honor of the famed Austin Powers, “Let me introduce you to…um…myself”.  From here on out I will be known as “Bol”. I selected this screen name primarily because it allows a certain level of anonymity to the outside world, but also carries a distinctive classification among my friends and family.  Like the other fine gentlemen on this site, I intend to use this forum to simply share my perspective on various experiences of the modern 30-something male.  Although the men of Manversation share a slightly homogeneous being and share several core principles crucial to long-term friendship, we intend to leverage the various endeavors each has created over the years to offer an insightful and unique perspective.  I am happily married of 5 years (rapidly approaching 50) to a very beautiful, motivated, organized, selfless yet and subtly tenacious wife.  We have two extremely energetic daughters who remind us each day how fast life happens and if we don’t enjoy it every chance we get, it quite simply will pass us by.  Our eldest, “R” is turning 5 this winter and enjoys the typical childhood activities that we all have been forced to try a time or two, but she truly seems in her element at school (more on this later…).  Our youngest, “L”, just turned 2 and is quickly absorbing every habit (the good and the bad) her big sister imposes at every waking moment.  I love being a father and a parent (it’s easy to say now, they haven’t hit the teen years yet) and so you can expect many more postings around this subject.

At 32, I take a lot of pride in acting anything but my age, whether it is playing kickball, enjoying endless bodily function comedic sketches, or wearing shorts when at all possible, (thanks to our “sauna-like” abode) I strive to be ageless.  Since society only allows for a certain level of negligence and immaturity (turning 18 and leaving high school is the socially-imposed threshold) you quickly learn everything you do has long-term consequences.  So, after high school I went on to college (many more posts of this nature down the road) for a bachelor’s in Zoology in ’98, spent 5 aimless years before finding and marrying the wife of a lifetime in ’03.  I was able to sneak in a Master’s degree in Business related management before the kids’ activities took over our free time.  Since then, we’ve been establishing permanent roots in the Denver to leverage the best family and friend network anyone could ask for, and for this we are extremely grateful.  For 8 hours a day each weekday, I pass the time sandwiched in a grey fabric-covered cube just trying to figure “it” out.  I really don’t mind the job itself, but I feel very strongly that I have much more to contribute than my corporation is willing to tolerate.  Nonetheless, I’m looking forward to this blog adventure and I hope that despite my seemingly self-therapeutic posting style, (consider yourself forewarned!) you find my stories better than a stick in the eye!