My Father had a peculiar way of teaching me things. I have come to call them "Hand Grenade Lessons". He'd pull the pin and toss me a nugget and later, sometimes years later, they would go off. I learned a lot from the old guy, but almost never at the time he tried to teach me. He set the bar very high and until today, left me wondering if I would ever feel the pride of a Dad done good.

My oldest worries me a little. He is forgetful, lackadaisical and can't remember to turn off lights, but he can figure out a video game with complexity of the Rosetta Stone, before the shrink wrap hits the pile of dead laundry on his floor. He does his homework while watching "C.S.I." and hardly ever brings home less than a 3.5 G.P.A.. I still feel a duty as his father, and to my working class Irish heritage, to raise his "dude quotient" to a respectable level. It is imperative that all men with my last name, accumulate tales of unbearable forced child labor, to pass on to their ungrateful sons.

The youngest, his Mom, and I, built a half pipe two years ago. He saved half the money and I put up the other half, plus two more halves, and so it was built. He was a good skater and I wanted to make sure he had the best of everything, that's how I roll. Now my if I had asked my Dad for a half pipe, he would have bought me a hammer and some plans and wished me luck. It was his way of throwing whatever noodle I brought to him (and there were many) up against the wall, before my enthusiasm and his wallet drained. These are the subtle arts you learn after raising six boys and one girl. Home boy had skills. They were lost on me, and I frequently played the misunderstood brat, to his Yoda.

I decided after the oldest over filled the pool twice in one week, that he needed to learn how to pull off a project. I announced that he needed to disassemble the ramp. The remnants needed to be stacked into piles for several other ill planned projects, to further ruin our back yard. We agreed on a price, negotiated a labor agreement between he and the youngest, and I gave them the tools. Now you should know that this kid lets out huge amounts of air when asked to participate in anything other than consuming pizza or my money. He is a world champion procrastinator, and an Olympic eye roller. He and his brother get along about as good as two cats in a sack and they can't agree on anything except their mutual hatred.

Words cannot capture my joy, after waking up at nine, and finding them hard at work, a pile of removed wood, rising in testament to my superior Dadness. They worked till they got hot and then took a swim. They forgot to eat lunch. They laughed and posed for ....wait for it.... A PICTURE! They worked together like brothers, a feat never before seen in this house. I had to let go, stay out of the way and let my boys work it out on their own, it's the hardest thing for me to do. I watched from the window, drank my tea, and beamed with pride. My boys were behaving as I always dreamed they would. My Dad would have loved it, I know I did.

Happy Fathers Day.

W.B.Z.N.

Closing Time

Taking some time to think. I hope you are here when I get back.

W.B.Z.N.

Doctor Wu

"So why are you here?"

My demeanor didn't give me away. I was shocked. I figured my expression alone would qualify me as a research subject.

"I'm hurting and I want to fix it." I looked at her and waited for a reaction. It probably takes an awful lot to impress her, she is a professional.

She looked right at me, but avoided anything I would consider staring. I wonder if they teach you that in school: Non Invasive Assessment Observation 101. I assumed she was looking for flaws, without giving away the knowledge she was gathering. I sat like a specimen and waited.

"Today we are only going to do a basic evaluation. It may take a long time to get to the root of the pain. It may take even longer to come up with a strategy to correct these issues, after all it took a long time to get here and it will take a long time to improve. With a little work you can improve and hopefully the pain will be reduced too. What would like to accomplish with this therapy?"

"I want to feel good again, like I did before. I want to be strong. I want to prevent this from happening." I said. It feels worse when the words actually come out of your mouth.

"Well it's important for your recovery that you realize it could happen again and that you may not ever get back to how you felt before." She smiled knowingly. She had seen my type. Unrealistic and angry, in dire need of being broken down and built back up with a different skill set. She knows what the patient needs. I suppose it means more when we get there on our own. It must be hard to watch as we build the little castles, when she knows the tide is rising.

"How did all this happen?" she said in an obvious open ended way.

"Years of abuse, bad habits, and a few accidents. I never really considered being forty six. I was always going from one fiasco to the next. I never took the easy road to anything, and now I am broken. I'll do what you tell me."

"Good. There will be times this is going to hurt, but I promise, it will get easier." She sounded confident. I wondered if there was ever a cool way to be weak in front of a woman. If there was I hadn't found it. I fidgeted like a child, aware of my every mannerism.

"Lets do some exercises and see how you react." She made me do ridicules things. Some hurt, some seemed silly, some were hard to replicate. I did them all, and slumped when it was over. I let out an airy sigh.

"I want you to do these exercises and I will see you next week." She punctuated the sentence, and I knew it was time to leave. Like a robot I stood up, thanked her, and walked towards the receptionist. More appointments. Something else to remember. One more thing I don't want to do. One more reminder, I am not who I once was. Time to make another bargain.

Sooner or later we all find out we can't do the same things forever. Repetition Stress Disorder: doing the same thing over and over until it causes injuries. We either change or continue to fail. Either way it hurts.

W.B.Z.N.

One Of Our Submarines

Today was a pretty cool day. My sons band played at the school talent show. I finally got to see Lil W.B. lay down some sick beats. He has barred me from all the previous performances based on a nervous disorder he claims I cause in him. He needed me and I could help him, which is all a Father wants. The guys played great and didn't win, continuing a family tradition for another generation. My first band lost under similar circumstances almost exactly thirty years prior. I explained to him that the Irish were put on earth to suffer, and this did not help.

The crew made a huge bid for me to attend this weekends festivities at Bump and Grind in Birmingham. They mixed just the right amount of humor, abuse, and crew love, but sadly I have to (for the first time ever) err on the discretion side of valor. Once again beer will be the spackle that hides the rough spots. I plan to stay in various states of inebriation (like sleeping on a long car trip) in the hopes of getting to Monday with a minimum of wailing and gnashing of teeth.

I rode with the boys tonight, so they knew I wished them well, and that I hope to keep my seat in the back of the Bike Chain bus. Kick ass boys! Bring me back the heads of our enemies and the gold of a battle well fought and won.

Slade, if you are not top five, we will never speak your name aloud again.

Silk,...dear God! Win for the love of ALLA!

Worm, this is your race. Please run tubes and try not to throw up, crash, or break a chain.

Frog Legs, don't leave nothing on the table, forget the Garmin and go all Wakulla on those mofo's.

Berg, (Yawn) will win, and act like he had a tough time....ya right.

Derwood, will be on a fixed gear recumbent and will kill (even though he hardly rides) in retribution, the crew will hardly acknowledge his existence, and deny him the praise he so desperately wants. The universe will remain in balance for another race.

Lil Ball, please finish and finish well. If you falter again and D.N.F., I fear Big Ball may never drive you to another race.

Red Dragon, you need to at least not be in a skirt, and if you can, seriously take it to 007.

007, if you let your Bro pass you it is your duty to commit harry carry. That's right! I spelled it wrong, because that's how it sounds and that's good enough for anybody from "will kill ya".
Mingo, please catch Dragon, your status is already in jeopardy because I passed you Monday, and no one cares about the time you kicked ass in clogs and a flannel shirt (back in the day). Its the end of the movie and we all need the slow clap. Don't let us, or your son down.

Shanks, just do what you do man. The quiet guy on the box. Ho Hum another race another medal. That's what we dig about you man.

Spanish Mackerel, this is your time Bro. I would have probably done the race if I didn't fear you so much. I am going to bide my time until you are in a relationship, pasty and rotund, before I launch my sneak attack.

If I forgot anyone, please forgive me, the drinking has started and you are probably not important enough for me to recognize. Dude chill, it's the Corona talking. All the best. BCFL!!!

I am already having a tough time with this. I will miss you guys this weekend!

W.B.Z.N.

Cast No Shadow

W.B.Z.N.

Shadows In The Rain

I pried myself from the tentacles of my recliner and the siren song of the idiot box. I crawled onto my bike and slowly slipped away from the comfort of my suburban cocoon. I knew she was waiting. I could feel her heart the closer I got to her. I was an addict on my way to score. I have been weakened to be sure, but with every speed bump and bike icon in the lane, I was getting closer.

Nearing the tracks and finally hidden in the trees, the old feelings began to surface. Echoes of the last words the doctor said were repeated in my mind:
"Don't do anything that hurts."
Life hurts. What am I to do? Live a miserable, safe existence? My neck feels great, but I am unhappy. She alone has the answer. It took me days to recover from my last visit. The better I feel, the more I want. The more I take, the longer the recovery, and the greater the regret. I am powerless, the lure twitches and I move forward, mouth agape. Even the ghosts of what once was great and now lies in ruin, cannot breath reason into my aching lungs. I am in the grip. I am lost. The warnings mean nothing.

I pass people walking, they are clueless to the magic next to them, they don't see it. I take the left and leave the park. I cross the bridge and into the wilderness. I read the signs, I know I should resist but I turn anyway and forget logic. I am back in her arms, the primordial smell of the wet leaves and the closed canopy, are all I feel. I am a man again. Reason is gone.

I remember every part of her, every curve. I know from experience not to get comfortable, not to ignore her, she has punished me before without mercy. It is a delicate dance, and the beauty is in the details, not the destination.

I reach the intersection. The choice is brutal. Go forward and get the immediate gratification, only to suffer for days, or be sensible and head back. I have to ride less, to ride more. I have to be smart and go slow. I have to fight every instinct of what I want. The visceral and cerebral wrestle for supremacy. I take the path of reason, and turn my back on the best of her, laid out before me like a dream. Her skies go grey and heavy. The tears fall gently at first, and then heave in waves of sadness. I retreat back to my world. I can't be with her now, and if I am ever with her again, it may never be the same. I have to live with my inadequacies and face the changes that are coming with or without my consent. I have to lay down with my flaws like an enemy. I have to befriend it and learn to exist in its shadow. I will never be the same again. The adjustments never end. Move forward.

Lightning flashes and the thunderous roar envelopes the air for miles. I am unafraid. To die in a beam of light would be glorious, but I have a new burden to endure and I know I will not be taken. The rain buffets me in sheets and flows by the curb like a river. My sins wash off and float away to the pipes and the ditches, dispersing into distant lakes. I am reborn. I will never take her for granted again, but first there must be pain.

W.B.Z.N.

Lazarus

He has rolled back the stone . Behold, he has risen.

W.B.Z.N.