A note on fathers

[Added from journal notes on the road, but published with the appropriate date]

To his credit, my father didn't blink once that I'd spent the entirety of Father's Day on the road, out of touch, calling at the very last second to wish him a good one. He's never been one for the holiday. Or birthdays. Or gifts. So that I sent him a card with a short note was probably more than he was comfortable with, though he was obviously happy about it.

It took years for me to get close to my father. Not because he was distant or cruel or differed so fundamentally from me. Growing up, my father worked a lot. And when he wasn't working, I was often doing my own thing, having had wanderlust from an early age (and back then, you could be eight years old and vanish down the street for hours). Sometimes he worked two jobs; often he worked evenings or nights. When I was really young, he spent some time overseas in the military. He didn't like "things," but we all did, and he made sure we had what we needed and a lot of what we wanted.

Though he grew to hate it, my father read the same book to me every night for ages, if I wanted to hear it. When I got my dog when I was 32, he asked what I'd named him. And when I told him "Max," he groaned a little (but there was a laugh buried in it) and said, 'That damn book. 'The night when Max wore his wolf suit and made mischief of one kind...'."

He doesn't remember doing it, but I do.

He doesn't remember most of the good advice he gave me, but he gave me a lot of it. He once told me, "When there's a problem, you can try to get the other person to change or you can think about whether there is some way you can. Which one seems more likely?" He was barbecuing me a hamburger at the time (the only thing I'd eat at that age) and looking over the car he wanted to fix up. The words "effortlessly wise" pop to mind thinking about it now.

So maybe it is no surprise that when I did come in the door and pick up the phone to call, he wasn't worried about Father's Day. He wanted to know how the trip was, and how the show went. He wanted to know about the drive and my car and whether I'd watched the Celtics beat up on Kobe. He wanted to know, but was decent enough not to pry, about the girl I like. He was, as always, patient and happy with what he had.

I aspire to that.

Happy Father's Day.

A Note About Moms

Since it's Mother's Day, and I've mentioned not only having the Multiple Moms but also the hassle (a pain but worth it) of trying to get gifts off to 'em both, I thought I should take a moment on the blog to tell a tale or two in honor of 'em. There's a bit of a chronology here, but the mystery is good for you, trust me.

I am, as you may have guessed, a lot to put up with as a child.

Okay, I'm a lot to put up with now, too. But let's assume that's my fault and not theirs.

In spite of that, I don't ever remember my mother losing her patience with me (at least not until my teenage years). What I do remember is that she let me be curious about whatever I wanted to be. My father worked a lot, and so the day to day of dealing with me (as with so many families) came down to my mother. My father read bedtime stories, but my mother put up with all the questions, the exploration of rules, and the pushing of boundaries. She was the first one to have to deal with my wanderlust and sometimes ridiculous desire to explore.

I had a lot of fairly big medical difficulties as a kid, and it would've been easy to have been handicapped by them. A lot of parents would have needed to watch my every move or to have kept me out of things. But though I know my mother was often afraid for me, she never showed it and never stood for me being afraid.

And while the other mother didn't come into the picture until much, much later, there are things to be thankful for there, too. My other mother had to step out of my life before I ever knew her, and I'm sure - because we've talked about the circumstances - that it was the hardest thing under the worst conditions she could have to do. She was given a tough choice, and she made the right one though it was the hardest for her. We didn't meet again for twenty-five years, and when we did, it was obvious that she'd missed me every moment of that time. And though it wasn't easy, she accepted that I couldn't give back those years or those memories, and she was willing to start from there.

So thanks, Moms, for making me better and for making the hard choices. Thanks for always trying to do the right thing by me, putting up with me, and for all the times you've had to watch me go.

Happy Mother's Day.

Why "Curmudgeon," Curmudgeon?

Tonight seems like a good time for a little explanation.

Having spent a little more time splashing about the blog-o-sphere (doesn't that spelling just beg for someone saying it like Mr. Burns?), one of the things I've appreciated elsewhere has been some note of introspection from the people whose stuff I'm reading (Dr. Crazy gives a good explanation about what her blog should do by explaining the transition from one blog to another as does Tenured Radical in her "About Me" page). And once, I promised to explain a little bit about what my greatest gripe about teaching is (this post won't exactly answer that, I don't think, but it might be as close as I get).

So here's what I'm shooting for with the post:

• a brief bit of explanation of who I am which won't actually reveal who I am
• an explanation of the ethic of the blog
• some sort of amusing moment that might also be an epiphany

Let's see how it goes.

First, the name. After having read a post about the literary canon and the subsequent comments and categorizations of academics in that discipline, I find myself a little nervous over the use of the name Dr. Curmudgeon. I was shooting for fun and a bit of irony. I considered Dr. Cranky - it is probably taken but it also sounded a bit petulant (not that I'm not, but...). What I wanted was something that gave me a notion of being both disgruntled while hopefully being amusing and lovable. What I wanted was a sort of academic version of Statler and Waldorf from the Muppet Show. I'm hoping it doesn't imply - as the word curmudgeon seems to in that thread - that I'm insular or afraid to roll with the punches or the times.

And I wanted to be anonymous. I cannot stress this enough, though Dr. Crazy's thoughts that led to her move to Reassigned Time have me thinking.

For me, this blog is intended to be cathartic more than anything. You'll see the impact of that in a few ways. I don't edit so much here. There are posts with grammatical errors and leaps of logic that make my head and heart cringe. The posts are, in some ways, a form of intellectual shorthand. At other times, the blog is my virtual bobo doll experiment (I hope it is more Bandura than B.F. Skinner anyway). That it has - or might - draw an audience is both a thrill and a fear.

Here's the thing: I like where I am.

Sort of.

My department is great if sometimes dysfunctional, disorganized, and set in its ways. My Dean generally looks out for me and has the same priorities I do. After that, things get hazy. And if you go up a level, beyond the university, things get downright ugly. I like where I am. I just don't like where "where I am" is.

So the anonymity isn't just about protecting me - though let's be honest, that's the biggest part of it - it is also about making sure that I give a fair shake to those around. One thing that I've noticed so far is that by adopting the anonymous pose, I have to spend some rhetorical and cognitive effort to write what I do. Sometimes that has resulted in my finding a more equitable but less obvious spot to pin my gripes to. With that in mind, not every event I tell you here is the capital-t truth. I'll change a name or hide an event where I can when I think I need to to help keep me anonymous. And I'll do it to help make sure that someone who isn't a part of this forum gets as close to a fair shake as they're going to. That also means as people comment, I'm moderating them with the thickest red Sharpie this site allows. Having readers - and reading other people who are talking about the same things - has helped. And like I said, that's the biggest goal of the thing: to organize my thoughts and to keep me grounded.

As for me, I'm the first kid in the family to have made it through college. I'm the only one to have gone to grad school. I did it all on student loans because it was the only way to do it. I did it because this was the Olympics I could qualify for, the thing I had enough chops to have a shot at completing that would require me to push myself. I believe in education the way some people believe in Religion. It has sent me places I never thought I'd go. I've met people amazing people, and I've discovered just how often I'm only the smartest aleck in the room but not the smartest. It has come with a price - I can give you a figure and I can tell you the other parts - and most days it has been absolutely worth it. I've found a career that I like, even if it doesn't pay the tolls it took to get here.

There are some things I should apologize for - or at least note - in advance. I'm bad with names. My mouth - and my keyboard - often works faster than the rest of me. I decided when I was very young that if I couldn't laugh at it, I was afraid of it, and sometimes I take that too literally. I'm private to a degree that makes the notion of a public journal absolutely laughable (I'm serious: many of my best friends do not know my birthdate, when I'm dating, or who I'm likely to date). I can be too literal at the wrong moments. My Meyers-Briggs switches (usually, I'm ENTP or INTP or ENTJ or INTJ). I'm not above selling out exes, friends or family for the sake of a story. While I recognize that my taste in books is idiosyncratic, I'm convinced my taste in music is superior to everyone else's. If you recommend something to me too much, too often, or too strongly, I might ignore you just for spite. I like food baseball metaphors and movies but not the actual game. I love food that makes me cry. I may be a little too thrill seeking for my own good.

So that, my ducks, is a sort of introduction. Hope it fills in a gap or two without scaring anyone off.