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”!

My wife and I had a five year plan: once married, we would wait five years before starting a family. We wanted to travel together, experience the journey we embarked upon on our wedding day, and unify our lives together as one. Like most newlyweds we didn’t have much in the way of financial security and most of our energy was devoted to supporting one another while trying to finish college. We wanted to set a firm foundation before even considering a family. I was twenty seven at the time and my wife was 23. Needless to say, we also felt much too young, irresponsible, and downright selfish to bring another life into this world. Naturally, three years into marriage we decided to start a family. However, fate it seems, is keeping us to our original five year plan. In the beginning we were excited and hopeful. I even made the mistake, much to my wife’s dismay, of announcing our decision to her family during a trip to Mexico. We rented a house on Rocky Point, all eleven of us. For a son-in-law, this may be a worst nightmare scenario. However, my wife’s family is wonderful (most of the time) and love to have a good time with plenty of food, alcohol, music and dancing. After a horrendous day of shopping in blistering heat looking at the same trinket in store after store, we decided to relax at a local cantina and enjoy ample libations of Margaritas and tequila. Now, normally I’m a quiet, reserved guy; however, given the correct amount of liquid courage, I can crack open my shell of introverted silence and release all the thoughts in my head, whether for good or bad. On this occasion, seeing as the entire family was gathered and having a grand time, why not announce our decision while spirits were high? After all, we had been trying for two months and my wife could be pregnant even at the moment of my announcement. Well, my wife’s family is not shy by any means, and the can of worms I opened by blurting out “we’re trying to have a baby” was much larger and more explosive than anticipated. Within moments, her family was offering up their rooms for our fruitful conception. Our child was named and their little life was plotted out: who they would marry, and, of course, how spectacular their football career would be. In that one moment, I placed my wife and me into a pressure cooker of baby-making, surrounded on all sides by anticipation and endless prodding. It’s been one-and-a-half years since that announcement. The excitement has faded, replaced by frustration and, sometimes, arguments in which we blame each other for our failure. The endless prodding has ended, and the topic of pregnancy in the family is hushed. I often joke with my wife that we should head out to a bar, pretend we don’t know one another, drink ourselves into a stupor, shoot some cocaine, meet in the bathroom, and then, surely, she will get pregnant. My only saving grace over the last two years is a show I watched on PBS documenting how a woman becomes pregnant. I must say after watching that show it’s a wonder anyone becomes pregnant at all. From the moment the fruit of my loins begins its journey, my wife’s defense network goes into Defcon 1 and the chances my little guys have of survival is dismal. Should one of them succeed, the fertilized egg is still seen as the spawn of Satan and is attempted to be purged from her body. And, if by some miracle, the egg takes hold in the uterus, the process that follows quite frankly is a miracle. A process for which I am quite ready. Our five year anniversary is only a few short months away. Our five year plan is coming to a close, and my wife and I have some tough decisions to make if nature does not cooperate. For those men out there who are also experiencing what I am, then you may know what is to follow…the fertility doctor, the “window of opportunity,” and your wife standing on her head…weird. Next post I’ll talk about the fertility doctor and his “toys” disguised as sonogram equipment.