Say What???

Communication is the key to a good marriage. At least that's what my dad has always told me. And I always believed him because he was married and I wasn't. So, really, he could've said anything and I would've believed it. "Blue cheese is the key to a good marriage." I don't know that doesn't sound like...oh well, he's married and i'm not, so he must be right.

But once I got married I got the chance to try out my father's advice, and oh boy, did i learn a thing or two. The first thing I learned is that whereas blue cheese is a tasty addition to a variety of meats and dressings it is, in now way, beneficial to marriage. Strike one for dad. But I've come to realize somewhere in the last seven years of marriage that, unlike blue cheese, communication has proved to be quite advantageous. However, sometimes communication can be just like having an elephant for a pet. Sure he's helpful carrying things to and fro, but you have to live with the fact that if something goes wrong the same friend that has repeatedly showered you with delightful baths from his trunk and whom you fed peanuts from your very hand could turn on you and you would be no better off than the naive little boy who unknowingly thinks he'll give it a try to, just once, tell his mom, "Shut up. I don't take no orders from a woman." Ouch.

This is my experience of communication. I love it. I treat it like family. I work hard to make sure that its working right. And what is my reward? I end up stuck to the bottom of its shoe like an annoying piece of gum. But what can I do? I can't ignore it. I can't starve it and let it die. It's just a danger I will forever have to live with. But sometimes it's easy to forget the danger that resides in my own home.

Let me illustrate how this could take place. Imagine an average day in a home where a husband and wife love each other and seek the hapiness of one another. Life is great as they sit down for a meal together and the conversation begins very pleasantly:

Husband: Well, today really was a hot day.
Wife: Yeah, it sure was. A day like this makes it hard to get anything done.
Husband (half interested): Oh yeah, so is that why the dishes aren't done?
NOTE: This is where things go wrong for an unsuspecting husband trying to enjoy his supper.
Wife: What??!!?!! Oh I suppose you can do a better job cleaning the house? Maybe you would like to try cleaning up after a total slob all the time. You're right, maybe I should just slave away all the time and never take a break. Maybe I should get a maid outfit too.
Husband: No...I mean...I didn't...
Wife: Oh, I'm sorry sir, I'm taking too long eating my supper. I should get back to work. Is it okay for me to get up from the table now?
Husband (playing with his food, mumbling): I'm sorry...I think you are a great wife...I love you
(The rest of the meal is accompanied with awkward silence and an occasional deep sigh while the wife thinks about how much of a jerk her husband is and the husband thinks about that maid outfit)

The poor husband never knew what was coming. He failed to realize the importance of every word that was spoken and in an instance he went from being the kid on his dirt bike jumping off a dirt mound sailing in the air enjoying life, to being the kid who slips while in mid air and lands stradling the bar that means the difference between a girls bike and a boys bike. Trust me, there's a big difference between the two.

But it's not only the man who must succesfully manuever in the minefield of communication. Sometimes the woman finds herself in the very uncomfortable position of having to figure out her husband. Most of the time this is unnecessary since the husband clearly communicates through a series of grunts and sports idioms, but ocassioanly a woman may find herself, as my wife has, dealing with an emotionally fragile husband who seeks affirming but doesn't always receive it. It looks like this:

Husband (flipping through amagazine featuring "Hottest Athletes"): Babe, do you think I was as hot as these guys when I was in my prime?
Wife (chuckling): Well, I wouldn't really say you were hot.
Husband: No, not now. I mean in my prime.
Wife: Yeah, I know. I wouldn't say you were hot, but you were really cute.
Husband: I was what???!!!
Wife: Being cute is a good thing.
Husband: No, cute is what you call the guy that you just want to be friends with.
Wife: Oh sheesh, here we go again.
Husband: Really? Really? I was cute? Really?
Wife: Give it up. You were hot, okay.
Husband: Cute??!!?? Cute???!!! I can't believe you said I was cute. The dog is cute. A dollhouse is cute. Cute???!!!
(The wife rolls her eyes and walks away looking for a quiet place while her husband mumbles the words "cute, cute, cute" while looking in the mirror for the next few hours)

And so we continue in this dangerous world. We live with the beast every day knowing that at any given moment, when we become too careless and sloppy, the beast could kill us. But what can we do? We need communication. It feeds the family. And that's the fragile balance, needing something for your existence that could possibly threaten the very way you live. But luckily for me, because of my dad's advice, I have mastered this craft.

Robin: I'm going to bed. Are you coming?
Tristan: Hmmm. What?
Robin: Sheesh, do you ever listen to me?
Tristan: Yeah, yeah. I'm doing something.
Robin: You've been on that computer all night. You've hardly talked to me.
Tristan: Come on, I'm writing something in my blog.
Robin: What are you writing about?
Tristan: I don't know, nothing really.
Robin: I bet it's cute.

Lord of the (pop) flies

When I look back, it seems like it all started so long ago. I used to be a normal person with a normal life. A wife. A child. A home. I had hopes and dreams. I thought I knew what I was doing, what I was meant to do. That is, until that fateful day when everything changed.

It seemed like every other Monday. The weather was exceptionally good, but other than that, nothing was out of the ordinary. I spent some time with my wife and son that day. We enjoyed the outdoors as we walked around the neighborhood and I pushed my son in his swing. We laughed and enjoyed each other's company, unaware of how the events of that evening would unfold.

When the phone rang I thought nothing of it. It was one of the highschoolers from church. We chatted for a while about what we were doing and what we did last night, as if to confirm that yes, I do lead a very boring life. But as the conversation came to an end he asked me, "So, are you coming tonight?" I was caught off guard by the question and I didn't know how to respond. "Ummm, I don't know. I don't feel too comfortable with the whole thing..." I fidgeted nervously, hoping that he would leave it at that, but he pushed the issue, "Come on, it's not that big of deal. It'll be fun." Hesitantly I responded, "Well, I suppose it couldn't hurt." He seemed happy with my less-than-enthusiastic response. "Awesome. We'll see you at seven o'clock then."

The hours passed by quickly and before I knew it, it was 6:00 p.m. I told my wife that I had to be there by 7:00 so she suggested that we cook up some hot dogs on the grill real quick. As I ate my dinner, I savored the tastes. I enjoyed every bite I took knowing that it could indeed be my last. I finished up dinner and we all jumped in the car. On the ride over I tried to fill the quiet moments with conversation of the mundane in an attempt to avoid the truth of where it was we were going, but before I knew it we were at our destination. We stepped out into the open air. We crossed a busy street and we walked onto the grass. My wife and son seemed pleased at the prospect of enjoying a nice evening at the park. But joy was the furthest thing from my mind as I gazed with dismay at the fate before. I had tried to prepare myself for this inevitable crisis, but now it was here and all I could do was stare at it in all its horror. There before me was my doom and there was no turning back. There it was. Softball diamond 3.

I saw a group of men from my church huddled together on one side of the fence. They were adorned with the classic, barbaric attire: cut-off tshirts, shorts, baseball caps, and the ocassional knee brace. I walked over to their cluster and said hello. "Oh, hello Tristan. Are you going to be joining us tonight?" The fear wouldn't allow me to speak, but somehow I think my body revolted against me since I nodded in the affirmative. "Great, we could use some young talent."

Talent??? I think not. You see, some of you may be wondering, "What's the big deal? This is softball, right? Isn't it a game for old fat people?" And that's what I always thought until I tried to play once in college intramurals. I grew up thinking I was somewhat of an athlete. I loved playing football in higschool and I also enjoyed wrestling. And ever since high school ended I have really enjoyed playing basketball, and sometimes I can be pretty good at it, if I'm lucky. But somewhere along the line I passed over baseball and it's slower, sloppier cousin, softball. I thought it was one of those sports you could just pick up. Plus I always saw people with these gigantic scab on their legs and they'd say, "Oh, that's from sliding in a softball game." And I'd shake my head and think to myself Sheesh, what a stupid sport. But, I'll admit I tried it once in college at the urging of some friends. It was a disaster. My wife, girlfriend at the time, laughed at me the whole time and still talks about it to this day. Pop flies landing right next to me. Me swinging and striking out when the ball is going slower than an 85 year old woman swimming in a pool filled with jello. The only thing I managed to do was to ruin a perfectly good self-esteem. It was a disaster. And I swore I would never put myself through that again.

So, here I was at softball diamond 3 with the guys from church. Some of the older guys were stretching. The younger guys were tossing a ball back and forth. And I was just standing around not knowing what to do unitl finally, the game started. Our first batter was our pastor. He stepped to the plate, hit the ball fairly well, and went running to first and then to second. But on his way to second base the other team threw the ball and it hit him right in the face. Smack Everyone could hear it. Ouch. He was bleeding in his mouth and was obviously in some pain. I looked around at the other guys for support. What is this? What's going on? "Yep, that'll happen in softball." one guy said laughing. I wanted to leave. I wanted to run to safety. I knew my face would be next. But I couldn't run. There was nowhwere to go. I was stranded on this remote island called a softball diamond and I was being forced to play this cruel game.

In the second inning it was my turn to bat. I had actually gone to a batting practice with a friend and I did pretty well. So, I was thinking this part wouldn't be so bad. I was wrong. The first pitch came and I don't know what to look for so I swung. I made contact but the ball went straight to the ground and rolled toward the pitcher. I ran as fast as I could toward the base and out of the corner of my eye I could see the pitcher throwing the ball my way. I had visions of the ball coliding with my face. Having my jaw wired shut. Having reconstructive surgery. Going into a coma. I did what any sane man would do when faced with those potentials. I ducked. But I forgot I was running. And I learned that it is not good to duck while running on gravel (something I probably would have known if I had ever played softball). Needless to say, I ended up doing a belly slide for a couple of feet. But hey, I was safe. Plus I got a free base because of an overthrow. It wasn't that bad. But when I got to second base the second baseman looked at me and said, "Ouch" I wasn't quite sure what he meant, but then I looked down at my leg and I saw that I was bleeding. Evidently, when I slid, I braced my fall with my knee. The second baseman laughed, "Oh man, that's going to leave a gigantic scab." Oh great, the one thing I detested about softball, the gigantic scabs, and now I was going to be the poster boy.

When I got back to the dugout my knee was starting to hurt. The blood mixed with the dirt and rocks was making a painful combination. But then something weird started to happen. The guys on my team started to huddle around me lloking at my wound and laughing. They were making comments like, "Yeah, that'll hurt for a long time." or "Ha, ha. Rookies" I think one guy even tried to poke my knee with a stick. Suddenly, being stranded on this island wasn't just scary it was bloody. And the sight of blood had brought out the beasts. I was taking part in some sort of tribal, manly ritual and me and my knee were the blood sacrifice.
I looked over at my wife and she was relaxing on a blanket in the shade. I yearned to be sitting with her, taking the place of a bystander instead of a participant in this sick game, but she was too far away. What else were they going to have me do? What else could they put me through?

In the bottom of the fourth inning I came up to bat again. As I limped to the batter's box I could hear the comments coming from my "friends" in the dugout, "Hey Tristan, try not to fall." or "Don't get any blood on that nice dirt. Ha, Ha, Ha." It was all so funny to them. Once again the pitch came and once again I swung right away. But this time I hit the ball better. The ball went fying up into the air. But I couldn't see it. In my excitement, I forgot where I was and what I was doing. I allowed the momentum of the bat to twist me around in a circle. At the same time I knew I should be running so I tried to run. The result was something of a mess. I didn't see it, but I have been told that it was ugly. Imagine a man twist and turning and tripping over his own feet and finally falling helplessly to the ground at home plate. Then, trying to gather himself together and run to first base only to discover that the ball had already been caught causing an out. I turned around slowly hearing only laughter in the background, not only coming from our fans but from their fans, and possibly from passerbys on the nearby busy road. I didn't look up. I kept my face pointed to the ground and I headed for the dugout. I tried to laugh it off, but deep inside I knew what I had become. Piggy. Somebody on this island had to be sacrificed. Somebody had to provide the blood and the laughs. And it had to be the weakest one. There was no one to defend me. Even my one year old son was laughing. Once again, it was a disaster.

As I sit here typing this I can barely bend my knee for fear that the scab will break open once again. A painful reminder of that fateful day. But a good reminder. A needed reminder. For it reminds me of my weaknesses. It reminds me of my limitations. There are some things that I just can't do. And someday I'll have a scar to prove it. But for now I just have a painful knee. I only hope my knee isn't too painful when we play at softball diamond six next Monday.

Hello, my name is Tristan and I abuse my blog...

Okay, so I admit it. I've got a problem. The only thing that bothers me is I don't know what problem I have. Either, I really don't want to write in this blog but I'm addicted, so once every five months or so I have to leave some little bit of my soul on the internet with the hopes that finally some spam will show up in my comment box, or I am addicted to abusing my blog as if it were some ugly little stepchild that reminded me of my wasted youth.

My guess is that it's the latter. I've thought about counseling, but I'm not sure I really want to change. I'm thinking I'd probably be like Tony Soprano, telling my shrink how bad I feel about knocking off some guy and then, for the sake of ratings, turning around and doing it all again next week. But hey, if I stop knocking off blogs left and right like they're my brother Fredo, then where is all the drama.

Maybe that's it. Maybe I like the drama. When am I going to give in. I pass by my blog several times while I'm surfing on the internet, but rarely do I stop by for a drink and some nice conversation. Instead, I keep on driving knowing that blogs run by other management have better coffee and pie, and they usually have a daily special whereas mine only runs deals once every few mounths. But you know what? I know I'm going to stop by eventually. I won't let the place die. I'll just let it suffer a little. And the drama lies in wondering when I'm finally going to pull into the parking lot of my blog and stay a while. You root for the ugly little stepchild and you hope that someday she'll be loved like she deserves and you know that its not her fault that she looks the way she does. She doesn't have it as nice as some of those other kids. And with that in mind once in every great while I stop by the old place, dust off the furniture and look around, remembering what the place was like in her prime.

It's sobering really. A lot has happened to lead me to this point in my life. But I guess I have no one to blame but myself. So, if step one is admitting that I have a problem then consider it stepped. As I look around this desolate place with nothing but memories hanging in the "Previous Blogs" list and commenters lamenting "remember when" and "what could have been" I realize what I have become. I spoke previously of my blog becoming a monster that I couldn't control. I was wrong. I've become the monster, and it breaks my heart.

I don't know what the future holds for me and Suppository Preaching. I look around and I see changes I want to make. I see remodeling that could be done. I see old paragraphs that could use a good polishing. But my good intentions always seem to falter at some point and I don't think we can go through this again. But I'm optimistic this time. With the help of friends and family I think I can do it. I wan't to do it. I look around and I don't see cobwebs I see the future. I see hope. I see a place that can once again be a refreshing oasis in the often dry world of blogs that just rehearse minute daily life events. And so I guess it's time to get to work. I'll do it. Maybe one day at a time, maybe even one key at a time, but by-gosh I'll do it. And even though there will be hard times ahead I'm dedicated to making this thing work.

So, for all you out there. Sit back and enjoy a nice tall, cold, refreshing blog. Just make sure you do it responsibly.