Case,
I will do my best to teach you to be strong and independent, so that when the time comes, you may face life head-on and fight your own battles. Inevitably, though, there are some battles -- personal, professional and otherwise -- that even the strongest man cannot face alone. Hopefully, those times are few and far between. Just know, son, that I will always be there for you, but I will never force you to turn to me. I want you to be proud of who you are and what you accomplish as you make your way in the world. Be your own man. Live life on your terms. And when the time comes that you need a helping hand or a comfortable voice, I will always be within reach.
Love,
Dad
Monday, December 26, 2011
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Are you ready?
Case,
Saturday marks your first Christmas Eve, but for an even cooler first you won't remember, the day also marks the first time we can share an afternoon of the NFL together. Now, you won't know what you're seeing or have any understanding of it -- which means you and Bears backup quarterback Caleb Hanie have something in common -- but I'm excited to bounce you on my knee while I stifle the urge to swear at what I assume will be the demise of my fantasy team in the league championship game.
Love,
Dad
Saturday marks your first Christmas Eve, but for an even cooler first you won't remember, the day also marks the first time we can share an afternoon of the NFL together. Now, you won't know what you're seeing or have any understanding of it -- which means you and Bears backup quarterback Caleb Hanie have something in common -- but I'm excited to bounce you on my knee while I stifle the urge to swear at what I assume will be the demise of my fantasy team in the league championship game.
Love,
Dad
Monday, December 19, 2011
Curtains
Case,
I'm slogging my way through this world literature class, having just read Moliere's "Tartuffe." It's actually pretty good, as French neoclassicism goes. As mentioned before, I always have so much running through my head at a given time that reading something like this -- easy by world lit standards -- tends to be a chore. When I find something I want to read, I will devour it quickly. But if I have to read something, it can be torture. Hopefully, you get your reading genes from your mom, who's on the other end of the reading spectrum. She just loves to read. Anything. All the time. Of course, your Grandma Pallister is like that, too, so maybe it's just me. Anyway, while reading "Tartuffe," whose theme is about face vs. mask, I was reminded of a writing from a few years ago. I can remember driving down Interstate 44 to your Uncle Billy's and seeing rows upon rows of fabricated housing. I'm not sure why, but I started to wonder who lived there. What kind of people populate a place? The image of the houses seemed so sterile and soulless. Do sterile, soulless people live there? That seemed too simple, though. As the saying goes, you can't judge a book by its cover. You really never know the reality behind an image, whether it be rows of fabricated houses or the face of a random person that crosses your path. And it's dangerous to judge yourself through fleeting glimpses. It's human nature to wonder and want, but it's also human nature to hide. And people hide for good reason. Some things are unknown -- better left unwanted, better left unseen. With that in mind, this is what I wrote:
Curtains
Did you ever wonder
what you might find under
the masks that we wear for the show?
Did you ever ponder
what is over yonder
in places where greener grass grows?
In cookie-cutter houses
filled with Stepford spouses
How do you think that they feel?
With their heart or their head,
through their words never said?
Their act has become all too real
In mansions up on hills
where fame will pay the bills
That must be some kind of luck
But those who have it all
know that if they ever fall
they'll need more than a name to get up
Did you ever inquire
’bout the lack of desire
from those who exist on the bottom?
Did you wonder why
seems they no longer try?
Well dreams only die if you got ’em
Whether box or a palace
we're all subject to malice
Who really wants what they have?
For those with the freedom
to not have cares or need ’em,
what they lack is a rope they can grab
Did you ever think
why the housewife never blinks
when she peeks through the crack in the door?
It's for goodness sake
all the shit that she takes
to maintain and even the score
If your pity's reserved
thinking her plight's deserved
'cause she keeps herself in a haze
Just stop and consider
she numbs to what hit her
Who's not haunted by their better days?
Who knows why it happens or what it is for
Half of us want less, while half wish for more
We're all curious cats, but one thing's for certain
We all live our lives behind some kind of curtain
Did you ever choose
not to win, or to lose?
Sometimes it's not left up to us
You can keep up your guard
You can try twice as hard
But that last card will still come up bust
Did you ever ask
if you're up to the task
of living life outside your cage?
You can follow your heart
Will you still play a part?
Can you hide if the world is a stage?
Who knows why it happens or what it is for
Most find out later, a few learn before
We're all curious cats, but one thing's for certain
What we don't want to see is behind our own curtain
Love,
Dad
I'm slogging my way through this world literature class, having just read Moliere's "Tartuffe." It's actually pretty good, as French neoclassicism goes. As mentioned before, I always have so much running through my head at a given time that reading something like this -- easy by world lit standards -- tends to be a chore. When I find something I want to read, I will devour it quickly. But if I have to read something, it can be torture. Hopefully, you get your reading genes from your mom, who's on the other end of the reading spectrum. She just loves to read. Anything. All the time. Of course, your Grandma Pallister is like that, too, so maybe it's just me. Anyway, while reading "Tartuffe," whose theme is about face vs. mask, I was reminded of a writing from a few years ago. I can remember driving down Interstate 44 to your Uncle Billy's and seeing rows upon rows of fabricated housing. I'm not sure why, but I started to wonder who lived there. What kind of people populate a place? The image of the houses seemed so sterile and soulless. Do sterile, soulless people live there? That seemed too simple, though. As the saying goes, you can't judge a book by its cover. You really never know the reality behind an image, whether it be rows of fabricated houses or the face of a random person that crosses your path. And it's dangerous to judge yourself through fleeting glimpses. It's human nature to wonder and want, but it's also human nature to hide. And people hide for good reason. Some things are unknown -- better left unwanted, better left unseen. With that in mind, this is what I wrote:
Curtains
Did you ever wonder
what you might find under
the masks that we wear for the show?
Did you ever ponder
what is over yonder
in places where greener grass grows?
In cookie-cutter houses
filled with Stepford spouses
How do you think that they feel?
With their heart or their head,
through their words never said?
Their act has become all too real
In mansions up on hills
where fame will pay the bills
That must be some kind of luck
But those who have it all
know that if they ever fall
they'll need more than a name to get up
Did you ever inquire
’bout the lack of desire
from those who exist on the bottom?
Did you wonder why
seems they no longer try?
Well dreams only die if you got ’em
Whether box or a palace
we're all subject to malice
Who really wants what they have?
For those with the freedom
to not have cares or need ’em,
what they lack is a rope they can grab
Did you ever think
why the housewife never blinks
when she peeks through the crack in the door?
It's for goodness sake
all the shit that she takes
to maintain and even the score
If your pity's reserved
thinking her plight's deserved
'cause she keeps herself in a haze
Just stop and consider
she numbs to what hit her
Who's not haunted by their better days?
Who knows why it happens or what it is for
Half of us want less, while half wish for more
We're all curious cats, but one thing's for certain
We all live our lives behind some kind of curtain
Did you ever choose
not to win, or to lose?
Sometimes it's not left up to us
You can keep up your guard
You can try twice as hard
But that last card will still come up bust
Did you ever ask
if you're up to the task
of living life outside your cage?
You can follow your heart
Will you still play a part?
Can you hide if the world is a stage?
Who knows why it happens or what it is for
Most find out later, a few learn before
We're all curious cats, but one thing's for certain
What we don't want to see is behind our own curtain
Love,
Dad
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Too much talk is cheap
It's better to say nothing and let people think you're a fool, than to open your mouth and leave no doubt.
Case,
That was one of your Grandpa Pallister's favorite sayings when I was a kid. As an adult, I find it becomes truer by the day.
(There might be a person or two who read that and think, "What are YOU talking about, Pallister? You never shut up. Granted, I have been known to dominate the occasional conversation, but only in settings that involve a person or persons who know what kind of fool I am and still dig me.)
Anyway, words are like antibiotics. They are vital to maintaining a healthy society, but overuse renders them ineffective. People build up a tolerance to the bullshit of those who talk too much.
Love,
Dad
Case,
That was one of your Grandpa Pallister's favorite sayings when I was a kid. As an adult, I find it becomes truer by the day.
(There might be a person or two who read that and think, "What are YOU talking about, Pallister? You never shut up. Granted, I have been known to dominate the occasional conversation, but only in settings that involve a person or persons who know what kind of fool I am and still dig me.)
Anyway, words are like antibiotics. They are vital to maintaining a healthy society, but overuse renders them ineffective. People build up a tolerance to the bullshit of those who talk too much.
Love,
Dad
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