October 21, 2005
Fuck, I'm my Dad, but Gay
For the longest time I used to despise my Dad's choice of time management. I often felt that he placed work above family and his children. (There is of course the balance that work is to provide for family and children.)
I spent last Friday in Dayton, among other things participating in career day at my upper school, The Miami Valley School. It wasn't always exactly pleasant, and it was odd admitting to my teachers that some of my habits (preparedness) haven't exactly changed. (and somebody had the idea to play a sick joke on me and have me present in Mr. Romeo's room. Romeo is your classic hard ass English teacher. I failed two out of three terms of his class and the school fudged the requirements to have me graduate.)
Besides the lack of preparation and a few hard questions, one student asked the question I would've asked, "Are you happy?" I pseudo-feigned a yes. Its not that I'm not happy, but there are major areas of my life that are missing. (namely something resembling a coherent personal life.)
I place a high importance in my work. (whatever that may be at the time, Lambda, McDonald's, Citigroup, Chiquita, Relay, theatre, etc..) So this explains why I'm at work at 9:27 pm on a Friday. I'm making sure everything is ready to go for our ship next week. Its one of those special oddballs that makes hurricanes at Chiquita so much fun. (The Wild Lotus if you must know.) To top this off the usual suspects who would run this are not here next week, so it falls to me; I don't want any surprises.
Okay getting to the point. I'm realizing that I'm like my dad, a work-aholic, career guy. Given all the discussion about moving to Atlanta or South Florida and I'm very seriously considering and planning on moving with the company. I guess this shouldn't be a surprise, but its one of those ah! ha! moments.
but I'm not sure I like it.
At risk of exposing myself for the old fogey that I am, let me assure you these "fuck, I'm my Dad" moments will come with greater and greater frequency as you age. They also seem to coincide with increasing appreciation and respect for the old man, so it's not exactly as frightening a prospect as at first blush may appear. Just think how awful it would be to be constantly thinking "fuck, I'm Dick Cheney," after all.
Surely there must be at least 300,000 people around Cincinnati who would KILL every January for the chance to be living in Atlanta or southern Florida. On the other hand, there are probably 3 million people in Atlanta and southern Florida who would kill every September to be perfectly hurricane-safe in Cincinnati. Well, no, Chicago or Minneapolis, maybe; but probably not Cincinnati...
:/