Mr. Christensen of Ridgefield, Washington is proud to say that he is perfectly normal, thank you very much.
Now his kids might disagree, in fact they might think their dad is quite strange. Sometimes he dances around the house with moves that make them cry, and not the good kind. Other times he sings loud and boisterous songs he makes up off the top of his head about whatever his kids were up to that day. Most of his songs make no sense, but sense isn’t to be expected in a dad who cheers embarrassingly loudly at soccer games, uses 90’s slang to be cool, and doesn’t understand the intricacies of emoji communication.
But there is one silly thing this dad does that seems to have paid off in some oddly fulfilling, emotionally satisfying, non-financially profitable inspiring way.
He reads to his kids in different character voices.
It’s unclear when the phenomenon started- but by the time these kids were old enough to handle the magical world of Harry Potter, reading in a boring dad voice simply did not suffice. This simple muggle father seems to have tapped into some kind of wizard power procuring his vocal Patronus, repelling the gawky nasal of his natural tone, and replacing it with all sorts of variations, pitches, and accents sure to offend many cultures of different lands.
As for these kids, they didn’t necessarily want it. They certainly didn’t ask for it. But the dad wand chose the kid wiz, and they’re stuck with him whether they like it or not (but they seem to like it!)
Having just wrapped up the Order of the Phoenix (the longest and most difficult read of the series) last night with the boys, they are anxious to find out what happens next (although it’s possible they already know, as the book is nearly 20 years old and someone in the extended family may have spoiled poor Dumbledore’s death).
It’s worth noting, this dad has grown up with these books as they were released, attended every midnight showing of every movie as it was released, and has listened to the Jim Dale audiobook versions more times than perhaps he is willing to admit. Is it possible that some of the voices imitate versions of on-screen actors or audiobook characters? Yes. Is it possible that those voices occasionally change throughout the story because he forgets what someone is supposed to sound like? Absolutely. Do these kids make sure to call him out on it when he gets a voice wrong? All the time.
But the fact that they do, means they’re not only paying attention to the story, but the characters and the narration, as well as how and what is being said. They’re engaged, attentive, and content.
It’s a time of bonding, creativity, wonder, excitement, and happiness. This dad LOVES reading to his kids.
Yes dad does silly voices, but he always has, and this odd little quirk has actually become quite useful. That’s not to say it’s easy, it’s actually quite challenging. Switching in and out of characters can really strain the brain, but it’s slowly become 2nd nature. Now if only someone would pay him to do it.
Often we’ll be sitting around and these kids will request a voice. “Dad, do Hagrid!” or “Dad, do McGonagall!” (those are some of the more fun ones to do). It’s always a blast.
More importantly, there’s only one first time with everything, and more than anything this dad feels honored to be able to share these stories for the first time with his children. He looks forward to reading to them as often as possible, and the wizarding world of Harry Potter continues to bring magic into the life of this family.
What exactly is compassion? And how can I show more of it?
I often find myself writing down thoughts of things I need to work on. Lately those thoughts have revolved around how I can be a more compassionate human.
Overall, I think I’m generally a decent person with an ability to feel love and show compassion to anyone around me. I’ve never doubted for one second the love I feel for other humans in my life, especially my wife and children. That love is unconditional, of course it will always be there, no matter what. But the older my children get, and the more strenuous the turmoil they tend to put me through, I often find myself realizing that I need to work on my own compassion.
If love is a deep and lasting feeling, compassion is how that feeling is expressed.
There have been moments when a child of mine has expressed that they don’t feel loved by me. This causes me enormous pain and confusion because it’s so ridiculously untrue. I can’t believe my child could actually feel that way. And it’s in these moments that I have to evaluate how I show love to each of my children, my wife, and other humans in my life.
I know that I love my family, and I try to express that to them verbally and daily. Verbal expressions of love are the low hanging fruit on the tree of compassion. But how do those verbal expressions of love stack up against the many other memorable and/or unfortunate expressions throughout the day? Expressions of frustration, annoyance, impatience, intolerance, and even anger. If I do an honest intake of my interactions with my children at the end of a difficult and stressful day, from the perspective of my child, it doesn’t take long for me to start to feel guilt for the many mistakes I often make as a parent.
To a child, verbal expressions of love are slippery, they might go in one ear and out the other, like most words a parent speaks to a child. However, visual and tonal expressions of anger are sticky. They don’t go anywhere for a while. There have been several times when my young children have reminded me of some mistake I’d made in the past that still sits with them. It breaks my heart. But it also provides me an opportunity.
I can’t go back and change any mistakes I’ve made. But maybe I can create new memories of sticky compassion.
“Your compassion is a weakness your enemies will not share.” -Ra’s al Ghul
“That’s why it’s so important. It separates us from them.” -Bruce Wayne/Batman
It’s a classic quote from a fantastic movie. And 100% true. Compassion is not weakness. It’s strength. Strength to not react to the anger of the moment. Strength to take a step back and consider the effects of my actions on others. Strength to hold my mortal tongue from speaking words I will regret, and may remain imprinted on the minds and hearts of someone I love.
Of course that’s not to say that we should never feel or express those feelings of anger, frustration, or pain. Holding in frustration and anger creates longer lasting damage within ourselves and likely those around us at some point when we inevitably explode.
But the few times in my life that I have been able to temper my emotions in the moment and allow myself to feel love and express compassion to that person I love, that’s a moment that sticks with me. Whether it’s acknowledged or not by the person to be loved, I can feel the strength of the moment. The strength of compassion.
Like a muscle, I feel it get stronger every time I’m able to do it. It gets easier the next time I feel the weight of the moment. Sometimes it’s too much for me to bear, and I give up and don’t push through the pain. And that’s ok, life is just plain unbearable sometimes. The weight is too heavy. And in those moments, I have to remember to be compassionate with myself. I’m often too hard on myself, or get in my own head with the woulda coulda shoulda’s.
In those moments, I look to others. Who seems to show this strength of compassion better than me?
Sometimes it’s the very people I’m struggling to show compassion for, like my wife and children. For me, a gentle hug from a child instantly kills any and all feelings of frustration. It invites forgiveness and magnifies compassion. I’m grateful for amazing children who’ve given me this gift many times.
Of course one of the greatest examples of compassion is Jesus Christ. He is not remembered for his wielding of earthly positions of power, political prowess, or unmatched strength of legions and armies, besting his foes and parading about as a man of great pride with important possessions. He’s remembered for his compassion. For his humility. For his ability to feel love for his fellow man, and express that love with a perfect strength of compassion. And he taught us how to do it.
I’m a witness that it’s easier said than done, and that I’m far from perfect at it.
But there is strength in compassion. It may not be flashy or bold. It might seem quiet and content. And some might even call it weak. The loud voices of arrogance tend to drown out the whispers of compassion. So often humility is a hard pill to swallow, but it’s the fuel that keeps the strength of compassion burning.
I will never understand someone else’s life experience. I’ll never be able to feel everything they feel, or know why they make the choices they make. And I can (and have) easily sit back and judge people from a distance. From my limited world view and understanding. And unfortunately we live in a world today that not only praises that kind of behavior, but encourages it, and even claims it as necessary righteous dominion. Holds it up as a thriving and positive way of life. Something to be exonerated and worshipped.
But it’s dispassionate, unkind, and causes tremendous pain.
I firmly believe there is a whole world, an entire life experience, that we have just barely scratched the surface of. There’s a power that’s waiting to be tapped into. And the only way to tap in is to access our own internal sticky strength of compassion. It means letting go of judgement. It means finding some common ground. It means learning from someone different than you.
I hope that, especially as a husband and a father, I can increase my own strength of compassion. As I get older, I’m learning that the main purpose of me being alive is to show love and compassion to everyone around me.
That’s it. Anything else is secondary.
If I can do that better, maybe it will stick, and others can do it with me.
The story of my experimental lifestyle change of unplugging from my phone to recharge my life.
For the past month or so I’ve been experimenting with a new lifestyle:
I ignore my phone as much as possible.
Let me explain…
I Hate Cell Phones
I bought my first cell phone in 2007 at the age of 22 when I was in college. From the moment I walked out of that Cingular store til now, I’ve hated the idea of having a cell phone.
Up until that point in my life, I had never needed nor desired a device on my person that would put me at everyone’s beck and call anywhere, anytime. Up until that point, if anyone wanted to reach me, they could call my home or apartment phone and if I happened to be there, I would answer. If not, too bad, leave a message I’ll call you back whenever I get to it. I didn’t realize it at the time, but there was something freeing and liberating about this way of life. And it wasn’t unique as it’s how everyone lived an operated until some time in the 90’s when I remember my parents getting their first cell phones.
Don’t get me wrong, as a kid I was fascinated by the technology of cell phones. I was a master of the classic game “snake” on my mom’s Nokia. As a teenager I enjoyed calling my girlfriend from my home phone to her cell phone and chatting for hours, possibly wishing I had my own cell phone so I didn’t have to worry about my parents breathing on the other line listening to my inspiring, eloquent, love-captivating, flirtatious sweet nothings whispered through the electromagnetic radiation waves of technology.
Besides that, I don’t remember ever asking my parents for a cell phone or ever feeling like I had to have one. And for that, I’m grateful. I may have been part of the last generation of teenagers that spent our high school years happily without a cellular device.
After high school I spent 2 years in Ecuador as a missionary and when I came back to college in January of 2007… EVERYBODY HAD CELL PHONES. Apartment landlines became obsolete and I was forced to buy calling cards just to use it. As if I didn’t have enough financial stress as a poor starving college student, I caved and found myself buying a cheap flip phone on a basic plan, something like 250 minutes and 250 texts per month.
I reluctantly entered the next technological paradigm shift of my life.
Dumb Phones
Dumb phone, oh dumb phone, I miss you so,
Your screen was so grainy, your buttons so small,
The satisfying feeling of snapping you shut,
Your cheap plastic shell was more than enough,
Your camera was crappy, your service was bad,
Your buttons were clicky and sticky and sad,
But hey, I could text just about anyone,
With eyes closed, one handed, with only my thumb,
You served your purpose, no more and no less,
You felt no desire to technologically progress,
When “smart phones” arrived, therefore labeling you dumb,
You took no offense as you knelt to succumb,
And now, in a world where smart phones reign supreme,
Surrounded by videos, noise, GIF’s and memes,
I recall the sweet silence that felt just like home,
Of using a boring, plain, quiet dumb phone.
Smart Phones
Some time after college while working in my first job in 2012, I decided it was necessary for me to finally upgrade to a smartphone. An iPhone seemed like the logical choice, and while I’ve occasionally drifted into different android and Google phones over the years, iPhone has really been my solid foundation. And for a while, I was a sucker for anything and everything that had to do with the iPhone. I wanted the latest iPhone as soon as possible, the newest software, the best features. I would watch the Apple events and even download the beta versions of iPhone software updates to experience them first.
I was hooked. There was just something about having that little expensive rectangle in your pocket that affected the way I felt about my life. I became dependent on it. Addicted to it.
And not just the phone, but everything ON the phone. Apps, games, and social media. In a matter of almost no time at all, the distractions of everything I could do on my iPhone that kept me so connected with the world, actually disconnected me from the world and most importantly the people in my life around me. It became an escape, a dopamine fix, a place to temporarily sooth my shallow soul while I looked at everyone else’s glossy life and hoped for more comments and likes on my own shared social media.
Any feeling of pleasure I’ve ever derived from any app on my iPhone is very short lived and kept me coming back for more. I hated that his little device designed for communication became like an all-powerful evil genie, pretending to grant me wishes and trapping me in it’s lamp.
Smart phones are the epitome of phenomenal cosmic powers trapped in an itty bitty living space.
Dumb Parents
As I’ve become a parent heavily involved in my children’s lives and activities, I’ve had to learn to be more and more cautious about the use of my phone. I’ve seen way to many dance performances, touchdowns, and soccer goals from within the frame of my 6.1″ display. In my effort to capture the moment, I miss the moment, and I can never get that back. Sure I can watch it later on my screen, and maybe post all over social media for other’s to enjoy, and I know there’s a time and place for that, but… I felt like I was missing out on a lot of real time moments that would be more impactful if I would just put the phone down and take the experience in.
I needed to stop capturing moments in 1080p and live in moments of full HD. The resolution from watching something happen live with my own eyes beats any kind of resolution replayed in 4k, 8k, or even a 120k screen.
Also, I hope I’m not the only parent who experiences this, but one of the negative effects of posting photos and videos of your children to social media is that your children will start to think that EVERY photo and video you take will end up on social media, and they (smartly) don’t want that! We’ll be on a family walk, and the kids will start saying or doing something funny, and I’ll pull out my phone to capture the moment, but as soon as they see that I’m recording, they’ll stop and insist I delete whatever I recorded because they don’t want it shared to the world. Most of the time, in those kinds of moments especially, we as parents have no intention of posting anything, we just want to capture a fun family moment. But the moment is ruined by a fear of potential social media posting, and the result is we aren’t able to capture what would have otherwise been a funny thing to enjoy again later as a family.
How many goofy and silly pictures and videos did we all take as children and teenagers? We felt free to be ridiculous, creative, and funny on our 80’s and 90’s camcorders because we figured nobody would ever see it but our ridiculous, creative, and funny family. The idea that any of that could be potentially shared with the world on a public platform wasn’t even a thought.
But now, it is. And it’s ruining some of those moments.
On top of that, there’s also an emotional effect that occurs inside me that connects me to my child, in that moment, where nothing else matters but my full attention and focus on my child. A smile and a cheer from the sideline or from the audience, feelings of pride and happiness expressed without distraction or interruption. Allowing myself to be fully present.
Then there’s the example I set to my children as a parent. How often do they walk into a room and try to talk to me and I’m on my phone? I may even be doing something productive and healthy, like listening to a good audiobook or uplifting music, or catching up and responding to important family messages and events. It doesn’t matter what it is, I have to pause or stop and say to my child “sorry, what was that?” They don’t know what I’m doing on my phone, they just see me on my phone, and in their eyes, mom and dad are always on their phones, and they will follow that example when they someday get a phone.
I have a teenage daughter who has a phone and preteen son who has a watch. Now these are very limited devices and can pretty much only text and call, NO INTERNET WHATSOEVER, but even still, they are drawn to them. We can’t keep them off them! We give them a little bit of freedom with a communication device and they very quickly feel entitled to use these devices however they damn well please.
And why not? We’re kidding ourselves as parents if we think that we can expect our kids to not want to be on phones or communication devices constantly if we ourselves are on them constantly.
Smart Parents
I finally decided it’s time to be smart, and I hope it’s not too late. I don’t want my kids to see me on my phone anymore. I don’t even want to carry it with me when I leave the house. Maybe if they can see that I don’t need to be on my phone all the time, they don’t need to either.
I understand that especially as my kids get older, more and more of their friends will have phones at younger and younger ages. My third-grader informs me that kids his age on the bus regularly watch episodes of “The Last of Us” on HBO Max on their phone. I’m in a loosing game here if I think my example can compete with that of their peers.
But at least it’s something. Maybe they’ll remember me as an always present non-distracted father, maybe they won’t.
More than that, I want to be accountable to myself. I want to eliminate the distractions for myself. I want to empower myself to function in the world I live in without being so heavily reliant on or addicted to my phone.
So how do I do this?
After some research on the internet of how other people have taken similar approaches, I landed on the best answer for me.
Apple Watch.
I learned that I could leave my iPhone at home, or even turned off and tucked away in my drawer, and still have a fully functional communication device in the form of my Apple Watch.
For a few years now, Apple Watches have had the ability to have their own cellular number or companion connection through an iPhone to function away from your iPhone. Due to cost and unnecessary hassle, I never bothered to look into it much. It seemed like a luxury service. But now that I was considering using my Apple Watch as my main communication device, this seemed like a viable option. I did some research, found a very affordable way to make this happen (US Mobile), and now I barely touch my phone. I answer all calls and texts, listen to music, audiobooks, podcasts, access maps, etc on my Apple Watch, without the need for my phone close by.
I ignore my phone as much as possible.
There’s some sacrifices (if you can call them that). No more sitting and scrolling through Instagram, Facebook, TikTok, or YouTube. No Netflix, Prime, Max, Hulu, or Disney+ whenever I want. The longer I keep my iPhone tucked away at my bedside, the easier it is to ignore it.
The biggest drawback is if you have any texts from your green bubble friends, Apple being the way it is, they won’t come through to your Apple Watch without your iPhone nearby. So occasionally I do need to turn my iPhone on and check messages from my long lost android and google phoned friends. Incidentally I’ve learned how few people I know and regularly communicate with that DON’T have an iPhone. So this hasn’t been a dealbreaker for me.
The only other drawback is taking photos. If I’m out and about with my Apple Watch, I’m unable to take any photos or videos. At first, I was really worried about this, especially with all of my kids in sporting and dancing events. I’ve always been the screaming dad behind the camera filming my children doing every little awesome amazing thing.
Now, after a little over a month, it’s totally fine and I addressed my feelings about that earlier in this post. If I feel that strongly about taking photos or videos, my wife has her iPhone or I could bring my phone along for photos. Or I could go buy an actual camera (something I’d love to do!). I’ve basically learned for myself that I don’t need to take as many photos and videos as I think I do.
Other than that, if there’s something that I need to accomplish on my iPhone, I’ll just do it on my iPad. Or my MacBook. I go to my home office and do those things. I typically don’t carry those devices around the house.
Unplug to Recharge
I realize this lifestyle change just plain won’t work for everyone. For example, thus far I’ve failed to mention that I do actually have a day job that requires me to use the phone a lot, and I’m fortunate in that my job provides me a separate work phone to do that. I’ve had past jobs where I’ve had to use my personal phone for work purposes, and ditching my phone at home all day trying to operate on a watch just wouldn’t be possible no matter how much I might want to.
I do still post to social media when I upload a song, or a post like this one. I do enjoy using Marco Polo still to connect with friends. This isn’t 100% all or nothing solution.
This post is less about the means and more about the problem I was facing and feeling, and how I chose to solve it. And I’m far from perfect at it. I still have to watch myself constantly and stay vigilant.
I’ve read that if you keep a phone plugged in at 100% capacity at all times, this accelerates chemical aging and degrades the battery’s capacity faster. Today’s cell phones have protections built in to prevent this, but we’ve all had past phones with rapidly declining battery capacity.
I don’t think we’re much different. The more we stay plugged in to our phones, these lighted screens in front of our eyeballs, we drain our capacity. To function, to succeed, to get through the day with enough energy to survive. I’ve been raising 3 kids for 13 years now, and it’s utterly exhausting. I falsely believed that the solution or at least minor relief to my exhaustion during or at the end of the day was to relax and look at my phone for a while, but now that I’m doing that much much less and instead finding other things to fill my time, I am less exhausted. I feel more capable. My capacity seems to have increased.
The more I unplug, the more I’m recharged.
More than anything, I’m allowing myself to be alone with my thoughts more. Heaven knows there’s nothing wrong with listening to a good book or music or podcast, and I generally still do that quite a bit. But more often than not nowadays, it’s just me and my brain. Doing the dishes. Making dinner. Mowing the lawn. Cleaning the garage. Playing with my kids. All without the distraction and buzzing of a phone in my pocket.
I don’t have studies and I don’t have science or facts, but I’m pretty sure that sitting on the toilet without a phone not only enhances pooping efficiency, but also enhances brain stimulation and activity, lowers your water and electric bills, saves the whales, cures cancer, and slows climate change.
I’m still in my experimental phase of this lifestyle change and it’s safe to say that thus far, I think the experiment is going well.
I was terrified. Of being a dad. Of feeling helpless at the hospital. Of the earth-shattering life change that was coming.
Then, all of a sudden, pure joy. The world stopped as I watched a tiny head and delicate body immerge from an opening that should defy the laws of physics. It shouldn’t be possible. But somehow it was, and I saw it happen. The image is burned in my brain and imprinted on my soul forever.
A child. My child. A taste of creation.
I had never seen anything so incredible in my life. A healthy, beautiful, baby girl.
My amazing wife. How the hell did she just do that? My love and appreciation for her as a woman, my wife, and now a brand new mother, deepened. Everyone faded away and it was just me, her, and our newborn baby.
“Dad, do you want to cut the cord?” a male voice asked from somewhere.
“Huh? Dad?” I mumbled, my eyes glued to my daughter. My DAUGHTER. I’m a DAD. Wait, who was speaking? I really wasn’t interested in anything that didn’t involve staring at this child.
I re-awoke to the reality that there was a doctor in the room and a nurse standing next to me holding up a tray of sterilized surgical instruments, indicating to me what looked like a small pair of scissors. Honestly, I didn’t really want to, but I was so hypnotized by what was happening that I unwittingly just went along with whatever he said. He probably could have asked me for my wallet and the keys to my house and I would have given them to him. I grabbed the little sterilized scissors from the sterilized tray, he pointed where to cut, and I cut, and set the now unsterilized scissors back on the sterilized tray. Oops, I guess I wasn’t supposed to do that I thought to myself as my eyes caught a quick glimpse of panic in the doctor’s face staring down at his now tainted tray. Well, he’ll figure it out because that’s all the energy I could put towards anything else in that moment. My focus returned to my family.
My FAMILY. No longer just my wife and I. Just like that we were now a family of three.
Little cries filled the room as the nurse handed our baby girl to my wife. A precious moment. This tiny human, miraculously grown and carried inside her body for the past 9 months, now being held in mother’s arms.
“Hello there” my wife says as she embraces our daughter, the first of many consoling hugs to come. Already connected and familiar, just seeing each other in a new light.
What happens next is something that I’ll never forget. Something that will grow to define our daughter for years to come.
She’s placed on a scale, poked, prodded, and cleaned up. Nurses lovingly work hard to making sure our baby is healthy and strong. Often babies cry big gulping cries when all this is happening (this is exactly what my boys did when they were born a few years later). They’re naked, cold, and scared. But none of this seems to bother our little girl.
She doesn’t make a sound. I get up close, my first real good look at this heavenly creature, and I see these big beautiful eyes. How can her eyes be this big? Immediately it’s her most defining feature. These eyes are darting all around the room, taking in everything she can from her surroundings. I know she only sees light, dark, and blurry shapes, but I get the sense that she is not going to waste any time to take in and take on the world around her.
She’s perfect. And in that perfect moment, her eyes tell me exactly who she is. It’s as if she was saying “Hello daddy, I hope you’re ready to show me all the beauty here on this earth, because I can’t wait to see it.”
Feelings of terror resurface like waves pounding on a warm beach. Am I ready for this? I have no earthly idea. But maybe this heavenly human will teach me to overcome my earthly ideas.
We spend the next few hours feeling all the joy and fear of new parenting. A strange powerful feeling enters into me. It starts small, but slowly electrifies my body. I’ve felt slivers of this before, for my wife, my family and siblings, my baby sister, and even other small children. But that feeling really pales in comparison to this. What is this?
It resembles the feeling of love, but it’s more than that. Connection. Belonging. Furious and raging. Then gentle and soothing. She is a part of us. A part of me. Something that can never be separated. The feeling was expansion, like the Grinch, my heart grew three sizes that day. All of my heart. The pain and the elation. The sorrow and the happiness. The fear and the fierce. She tugged on every emotion. She picked up the violin of my heart strings and let me know she would not only become an expert musician, but she would turn this into a symphony.
We named her Zoe. Can’t explain it other than it just felt right.
Zoe Dance Christensen
Beauty Mark
When Zoe was four years old, my wife took her and our two boys to the zoo. It was a weekday and I was at work. Sometime in the middle of the day I got a stressed phone call from my wife that Zoe had climbed onto a big rock and fell, cutting her forehead just above the left eyebrow. It was a deep cut and there was a lot of blood. I left work and met up with my family at the urgent care.
There was a panicked calm on my wife’s face as she dealt not only with the stress and sadness of the situation, but also 2 little boys clueless to what was going on. She took the boys home and I stayed with Zoe to meet with the doctor who would let us know what the best course of action was.
Stitches.
While we waited for the doctor, I chatted with Zoe about what happened. She said she climbed on top of a rock to see something and then lost her balance and fell. I asked her if it hurt when she fell, she gave me a 4-year look of duh dad, of course it hurt, what a dumb question. It was a dumb question, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t going to ask it. I’ve never cut myself so deep to need stitches, I live life much too cautiously, so I genuinely wanted to know how it felt. At the age of 4 she had experienced an injury that I, at age the age of 30, had never experienced, and I was curious.
Overall, she had cried her cries and was in a good mood. The doctor came in and let us know that she would need some stitches. Zoe, a much braver soul than I, sat nervous but calm in the chair while the doctor went to work. I watched her face while each stitch went in. I could see her reaction to the pain and her tears leaking out slowly as he went. But she endured it well and within seconds of completion, jumped up at me for a hug. I was truly impressed. Wow, how did she do that?
9 years later, a tiny scar remains. Over the years, I started calling it her “beauty mark.” Obviously she is beautiful with or without the scar. It’s more of a reminder of the beautiful life that she lives. Zoe is adventurous, daring, always wanting to try new things, and not afraid to get hurt along the way.
The reminder really isn’t for her, although it can be if she wants. But her memory of that day has faded. She now only knows what we have told her, and seen the evidence and photos. No, the reminder is for someone like me. Someone who looks at her. That there is beauty in imperfection, and she is proof of that.
Her scars don’t make her more beautiful (that would be quite impossible!) but rather her scars show anyone that sees her or spends time with her that Zoe knows how to live, and that life is beautiful. All of it. Including the painful parts.
Matilda
When Zoe was 9, she surprised us when she expressed interest in wanting to try out for a musical production our local theater group was putting on of “Matilda the Musical, Junior.” She had been involved in dance for a few years, living up to her middle name, and put on a few performances with her dance studio, but she hadn’t yet showed an interest in theater. Since my wife and I both grew up doing theater, we of course encouraged her.
Now this was during the early years of COVID. So auditions for Matilda were held virtually. First she submitted a song and a monologue. Now I knew my girl could sing, I’d heard her many times and she had even sung with me a few times on my YouTube channel. Singing with Zoe is one of my favorite things to do! But I did not know the full extent of her ability to be a little expressive sassy convincing actor! My wife says that Zoe inherited my facial expressions and mannerisms so combine that with her inherited gift of dance from her mom and Zoe’s outgoing and explosive personality and, well, we may have created a theater monster!
She blew us and the directors away with a great audition tape and then virtual callbacks. It was her first show audition and she was cast in the ensemble AND Matilda understudy! Wow! We did not expect that for her first show! For the next few months we dropped Zoe off every week to rehearse. Because of COVID, we were unable to enter the building and watch any rehearsals whatsoever. So we really had no idea how things were going besides listening to her practice at home.
When Zoe wants something, she will work incredibly hard at it and give 110%. As Matilda’s understudy, she had the opportunity to perform one show as Matilda, and we were so nervous and excited. Performing on stage and especially playing a main role is incredibly nerve wracking! I’ve been there, but not at the age of 9!
It’s another one of those moments burned into my brain. I’ll never forget Zoe entering the stage, all eyes turn to her, she literally steps up onto a box, the center of attention, and she starts to sing. Solo. I’m sitting close enough that I can see her shaking, I hear the nervous pauses in her voice and breath. I’m on the edge of my seat. Is she going to make it through? Of course she does. We applause. I’m crying cuz my heart to tears valve broke a long time ago.
I’m so proud of my baby girl. She is so brave. I’m in awe of her.
Zoe singing her solo “Quiet” from Matilda the Musical.
She sang with heart. She performed with confidence. And she had a blast doing it. For the next few years, theater became her thing.
Heart
Look I could go on and on gushing about my daughter. Music, dance, theater, piano, saxophone, flute, cross country, basketball, track… It really doesn’t matter, if it’s something new and there’s a chance Zoe can experience it, she will, and nobody can stop her. Her talent, creativity and imagination knows no bounds.
She has incredible heart.
If you’re lucky enough to know her, you don’t need me to tell you any of this. You already know. Her eyes to heart valve is wide open. One look and you see exactly who she is. She’s your friend. She can talk with you. Whether you’re 5 or 50, she is fun to be around.
I love being with her. I love giving her rides to dance or church activities. Sometimes we chat. Sometimes we sing Taylor Swift songs. Sometimes she reads in silence and I just enjoy being next to her.
Today, my baby girl, my little buddy, my cuteness wonder, today… she turns 13. I feel like she’s already been a teenager for a while now, she is so grown up. But today it’s official.
I’m still that same terrified father. I have no idea what comes next or what to expect. But I do know Zoe. And that’s reassuring.
Because Zoe lives with her eyes and heart wide open.
Me, at the beginning of my innie work day at the office, wearing my leather jacket I found at Goodwill.
“What indeed is YOU? How can you mean different things to millions of readers around a vast earth? And perhaps most importantly, who are YOU?” -Dr. Ricken Lazlo Hale, PhD
If you’ve read the ridiculous and presumptuously profound book by Dr. Ricken Lazlo Hale, PhD, you may know what I’m talking about. Or you may not, as the book makes almost no sense.
If you haven’t read it yet, I highly recommend it. It’s a real treat (and it’s free right now on the Apple Books app!). From odd bee metaphors, to weird film analysis of the movie Sister Act, to hilarious commentary on sex, witless self encouraging poetry, and much more, it’s absolutely worth the read. I smiled the whole time.
One of the reasons I find this short read so delightful is because I’ve gotten to know the author, the character of Dr. Ricken Lazlo Hale, PhD, from Apple TV’s hit show Severance. If you’ve watched Severance, there’s just no way not to love Ricken. He is unassumingly odd, obliviously self-aware, graciously gentle, and modestly self-deprecating.
The book serves as a companion piece to the show so if you read this book and haven’t watched the show to familiarize yourself with Ricken’s personality quirks, you’ll undoubtably be very confused. Hell, even if you’ve watched the show, you’ll still be confused, but readers everywhere will at the very least be illuminated and amused. Especially if you listen to the audiobook, read by none other than Dr. Ricken Lazlo Hale, PhD himself.
I have a lot to say about Severance, but I’m saving that for another post at another time. For now, I simply want to bask in the enlightenment channeled by Dr. Hale and provide my own take on the me I am.
Who am I?
The book is all about YOU and diagnosing who YOU are and what that means. For a long time I pondered daily who I was. The simple answer was something engrained in me since I was a child, singing in primary: “I am a child of God.” And while that provided some peace and comfort to the extent that my adolescent self could comprehend my own existence, 39 years of life have taught me that there is much more to me than that. After all, my own children are not just children of me, they are their own little people with personalities, talents, brains, hearts, words, thoughts, ideas, and feelings. I don’t want them to just be a product of their parents, I want them to be who they are. And I hope that that person is very different from me.
But as for me, who am I?
Michael
Who is Michael? A name my mother only called me when I was in trouble, which if you’ve read any of my posts about my childhood you would know, that hardly ever happened… 🙂 It’s a proper name, reserved for legends with last names like Jackson or Jordan. It was also #1 name on the list of most popular baby boy names the year of my birth, 1985. I guess my parents were goin’ with the flow that year. Michael also is of Hebrew origin and means “who is like God” or “gift from God.” But I don’t aspire much individual connection to that as I’ve already stated we are all children of God and all children are truly gifts from God. Also, people at work sometimes call me Michael as that’s the name I put on my resume, and sometimes it just sticks.
Mikey
Who is Mikey? For my family and friends that grew up with me, I’m commonly known as Mikey. A name I enjoy still to this day (hence the title of my blog- a play on words from a long running popular 1970’s Life cereal commercial) and has always been more acceptable by those who know me on a personal level. To this day, if I run into anyone I’ve known since elementary school, they’ll still call me Mikey and it’s totally fine. There have also been friends I’ve met as an adult, and since my wife calls me Mikey, she will introduce me as Mikey to her friends, her friends become my friends, and voilà, I’m almost a 40 year old grown ass man people still call Mikey. Sounds strange, I know, but it works.
Mike
Who is Mike? At some point during my teenage years, I started to go by Mike. It felt weird to make friends and introduce myself as “Mikey.” So for as long as I can remember, when I make new friends, meet new people, or talk to others in a professional environment, I introduce myself as Mike. Short, sweet, simple.
The only times this presents a problem is when people from these different areas of my life collide, and they all know me by their version of my name. It doesn’t happen often, and it’s sometimes entertaining to watch people all of a sudden question themselves in regards to my name.
In reality, I don’t really care what people call me because when it comes to who I am, I’m more than just my name.
Somebody That I Used To Know
Last year was my 20 year high school reunion. 20 YEARS! Yikes. Well, I wasn’t able to make it. But I messaged a few old friends, and saw the Facebook photos, and it was fun to remotely reminisce about those days and the people I knew.
KNEW. I intentionally say that in past tense because, since I haven’t kept in touch real well over the years, I really don’t know them anymore at all. My version of who they are more than likely no longer exists.
Hopefully, they’ve changed.
Think about someone you know, but haven’t seen or talked to in a while. What are they like? Who are they? You really have no idea. They are just somebody that you used to know. Have your friends collect your records and then change your number.
Change
We live in a world where we can often digitally observe other people’s changes. Physical changes, political changes, spiritual changes, or whatever people are willing to share over the internet.
Like a picture of themselves (above) that clearly shows a wrinkled face, emerging grey hairs, and one eyeball that refuses to open as much as the other. The moles look questionable, the eyebrows like furry caterpillars, and Indiana Jones called, he wants his jacket back. That right there is a different looking person than the awkward, nerdy, skeleton of a boy that graduated high school over 20 years ago.
But more than that, the man pictured up above thinks different. Has different habits. Has a changed perspective of priorities and goals. Has new responsibilities and challenges thrust upon him. He has 20 years of experiences. He may not believe all the things he believed 20 years ago. Or even 10 or 5 years ago. He’s probably changed his mind on all kinds of social, political, or religious points of view. If you sat down and had a conversation with him today, you might be surprised at something he says, believes, or does today. He might not fit the past version of him that you may have had in your mind.
Acceptance
This is what acceptance is. Accepting and loving someone as they are, not as they were, or who you’d like them to be. As they are, right now, in front of you.
It’s human nature to put people into boxes and label them. It simple, easy, and doesn’t require much effort on our part. It streamlines our worldview. Especially if we think we know everything about someone after a brief conversation, or worse, a social media post of some kind. Social media is the epitome of a floating iceberg. What we think we know about someone just barely scratches the surface. I know I do this. I’ve got someone neatly tucked away in my brain as a specific kind of thing and label, and then, all of a sudden, they go changin’ on me and I weirdly act surprised by this?! How could they! I maybe even get a little judgy in my mind. Wow, that person did that? Said that? I never would have thought! They pulled out my neat little box, ripped off the label, and emptied it all over the floor. Then lit it on fire.
It’s hard to accept things we might not understand, even though we actually do it all the time. I don’t understand how cell phones work, I just know how to use one. I don’t understand how gigantic metal shafts full of people are able to fly in the air at crazy fast speeds, but I’ll watch a movie and sleep soundly in my barely reclined chair as I gaze down upon mountains below, like a mythical Greek god. I’ll never understand how a woman’s brain operates (and I’ve been married to one for over 16 years!) but I accept that somehow the female species can manage to think, speak, listen, and act simultaneously on a regular basis and still function. Not only function, but thrive.
Accepting people, not what they do or say, but who they are, may or may not help us understand them, but it will increase our love for them.
Beeeeee Yourself
So who am I? No idea. I don’t ponder this question daily anymore. The less time I spend worrying about who I am, and the more time I spend just being myself, the happier I realize I become. I like myself. Whoever that is. You can put me in your box and label me, stick me up on your shelf. You can judge me all you want or think you’re better or worse than me, whatever that means. We all do it, myself included.
It’s simple and perhaps cliché, but just beeeeee yourself. Whoever that is. Roll with the punches. Change. Accept. Love. Look forward to a time where you can look back and be proud of how much you’ve changed.
If you can do that with yourself, I think you’ll find you can do it with other people around you. Let others beeeeee themselves. Whoever that is. Roll with their punches. Their changes. Accept and love them. Be proud of how much they’ve changed.
The more you allow them to be themselves, they’ll allow you to be yourself, back and forth like a symbiotic dance where change, acceptance, and love deepens. You care less and less about The You You Are, and more and more about the love you have.
For others and for yourself.
So I’m Sorry Dr. Ricken Lazlo Hale, PhD, as much as I absolutely love you and your fictional self, and as fantastic as your book is, I don’t want to spend any more time thinking about the me I am.
Mikey He Writes It 