Case,
A few words to live by:
* Don't be more concerned with looking the part than you are with doing your part. I mean, it would probably behoove you to dress better than your old man (I'm wearing a respectable shirt today, although I wore a Patrick Kane shersey to work Thursday), but it's much better to be mocked for your fashion sense than your work ethic. The workforce is littered with people who look good doing terrible work. Don't be one of them.
* Don't forget where you came from, but don't be afraid to leave.
* Don't put ketchup on a hot dog. Or much of anything for that matter. Ketchup is for hillbillies. (The exception is your Grandma Pallister's meatloaf. It's so awesome that it makes ketchup work.) On a related note, don't eat pizza with mandarin oranges on it. You will regret it.
* Don't drink scotch. It gives you a weird hangover and will make you pretentious. Also, don't drink beer with fruit in it. I shouldn't have to explain that, no matter how young you may be when you read this. On second thought, don't drink. As your Grandpa Pallister said to me many times in his later years, "I never got into any trouble that wasn't the result of drinking." Wise words.
* Don't listen to music at an acceptable volume. There are two kinds of music — bad and loud.
* Don't take every pitch. The best you'll do with that approach is drawing an occasional walk. The worst you'll do is spend years watching strike three go by. You can't hit a home run if you never swing. Sure, you'll still strike out, possibly often, but at least you'll strike out swinging.
* Don't wear white after Labor Day.
* Don't fold clothes haphazardly. If you're going to do laundry, do it correctly.
* Don't forget to turn off the coffee pot. And the stove. And the oven. While you're at it, just unplug everything before you leave the house.
* Don't take pride in being an idiot. We all have our quirks and eccentricities and many of them make us endearing to those closest to us. You should never be ashamed of those. But some aspects of our personality make us a**holes. Don't be an a**hole just to be an a**hole. For instance, stop throwing trains when you're denied a third cupcake. Pick your spots.
* Don't root for any football team that ever employed Michael Vick, the Packers, the Cubs or Gwyneth Paltrow. Seriously, you can become obsessed with soccer for all I care or immerse yourself in fantasy NASCAR, but for God's sake, have some standards! On a somewhat related note, your mom and I attended RavenCon this past weekend. It was a gathering of, um, eclectic folks who like to dress up as characters from the science fiction realm. I saw a large-breasted Klingon, I learned Bobba Fett drives a Dodge and I snapped a great picture of a half-naked man riding a hobby horse. Initially, I just shook my head and wondered how these people could take themselves seriously when they choose to lose themselves in such an endeavor. But then I realized that we all need an escape. Your mother has books. I have sports. Really, anyone who has ever painted their face to support their favorite team can't mock a guy who wears his stormtrooper suit every once in a while. Find the escape that suits you and enjoy the hell out of it. Don't worry about what other people think.
Love,
Dad
Monday, April 28, 2014
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
The game of life
Case,
I just realized I haven't posted on your blog in a month. I've got plenty of stuff in my head, but I'm in one of those stretches where I just feel like keeping it all up there. Needless to say, the attic is crowded. I promise to start clearing it out now that spring seems to finally have arrived.
Anyway, I logged on today and saw that a year ago I wrote the following:
I just realized I haven't posted on your blog in a month. I've got plenty of stuff in my head, but I'm in one of those stretches where I just feel like keeping it all up there. Needless to say, the attic is crowded. I promise to start clearing it out now that spring seems to finally have arrived.
Anyway, I logged on today and saw that a year ago I wrote the following:
Case,
It's sad, but also very fitting that Major League Baseball's Opening Day falls on what would have been your Grandpa Pallister's 82nd birthday — the first since he passed. My fondest childhood memories involve playing baseball with your Grandpa. In fact, my first baseball memory involves a trip to Shabbona Park in Chicago. I was 6 and just learning about the sport. Before we started playing catch that day — an activity I looked forward to more than anything in those early days before organized baseball (and sometimes even after that) — Grandpa pointed to an older boy catching fly balls in a nearby field. The boy probably wasn't more than 9 or 10, and the fly balls were just high tosses from a man who likely was his father. But that boy looked like a giant to me, and each time the ball seemed like it would never come down. But as fly balls landed repeatedly in the boy's glove, Grandpa must have noticed my awe. "Matt," he said, "someday you'll be catching fly balls like that. All it takes is practice and desire." I never forgot those words, and I owe whatever I have accomplished and will accomplish in life — personally and professionally — to that advice. Just like all those subsequent afternoons when he would spend hours hitting me ground balls — constantly reminding me, "Stay in front of the ball! You don't always have to catch it. If it hits you, you've done your job." — Grandpa was teaching me how to play baseball, but he also was teaching me how to play a more important game.
Love,
Dad
It's sad, but also very fitting that Major League Baseball's Opening Day falls on what would have been your Grandpa Pallister's 82nd birthday — the first since he passed. My fondest childhood memories involve playing baseball with your Grandpa. In fact, my first baseball memory involves a trip to Shabbona Park in Chicago. I was 6 and just learning about the sport. Before we started playing catch that day — an activity I looked forward to more than anything in those early days before organized baseball (and sometimes even after that) — Grandpa pointed to an older boy catching fly balls in a nearby field. The boy probably wasn't more than 9 or 10, and the fly balls were just high tosses from a man who likely was his father. But that boy looked like a giant to me, and each time the ball seemed like it would never come down. But as fly balls landed repeatedly in the boy's glove, Grandpa must have noticed my awe. "Matt," he said, "someday you'll be catching fly balls like that. All it takes is practice and desire." I never forgot those words, and I owe whatever I have accomplished and will accomplish in life — personally and professionally — to that advice. Just like all those subsequent afternoons when he would spend hours hitting me ground balls — constantly reminding me, "Stay in front of the ball! You don't always have to catch it. If it hits you, you've done your job." — Grandpa was teaching me how to play baseball, but he also was teaching me how to play a more important game.
Love,
Dad
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)