Be proud

Case,


Becoming a man is a long, sometimes difficult process. You'll find that it's rarely easy, and you'll spend your share of time wondering why you are the way you are (apologies in advance for my particular influence in such introspection). But, at some point, you will wake up and look in the mirror, and looking back will be a fully formed man -- of strong opinions and serious convictions -- who, despite his all-too-human faults, believes in himself. When that day comes, what you see won't be perfect, and it won't be without blame. But it will be you. In all your glory. When you finally see yourself, son, be proud.


Don't try to fend off your instincts and senses
No need to mend those artificial fences
Stand up real straight and walk tall
If they don't like it
Well, they don't matter much at all

Don't pretend to be the person you are not
Do not defend the quirks that you have got
Be your own man and have your say
If they don't like it
Well, you don't need 'em anyway

Plenty of people in this world
who will tell you how to act
what to do and what to say
even dress as a matter of fact
Sometimes it seems you'll never win
But remember you're the only one
who has to be comfortable in your skin

You don't care when they're staring
but you never cared to dance
You don't waste time on phonies,
never give them half a chance
You're measured in your dealings
but you'll sing a song out loud
You're happy in your element
Of all these things be proud

Plenty of people in this world 
who will want to change your ways
where to walk and when to talk
even how you choose to spend your days
Sometimes it feels like fighting no more
But remember the face in the mirror
is the only one you answer for

You don't believe in fiction
and you play it by the book
You're not about to suffer fools
who don't deserve a second look
You're the center of attention
but yet you hide in crowds
You're finding peace in solitude
Of all these things be proud

You're impatient in the moment
but in no hurry to commit
You have no use for arrogants,
the pompous and half-wits
You're open to the future
but maybe not as you once vowed
You're not afraid to be yourself
Of all these things be proud

Don't try to fend off your instincts and senses
No need to mend those artificial fences
Stand up real straight and walk tall
If they don't like it
Well, they don't matter much at all

Don't pretend to be the person you are not
Do not defend the quirks that you have got
Be your own man and have your say
If they don't like it
Well, you don't need 'em anyway

Plenty of people in this world
who assume they know it all
why you drink and how you think
even those whose names you care to call
Sometimes you ask why you wear these scars
But when it's all said and done
ain't nothin' wrong with who you are


Love,
Dad

Exhaust fumes, Thin Lizzy instead

Case,

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6HmHKwYRP9k&feature=related

Love,
Dad

A time to cry

Case,

It's been a while, Magoo. I was focusing on finishing that albatross of a World Lit class the last couple months, so I haven't been hanging around this corner of cyberspace. Actually, the class turned out to be pretty cool. Hopefully you'll discover the joy of classic authors like Voltaire, Tolstoy, Conrad, Joyce, Kafka, Faulkner, etc. long before your procrastinating Dad. I'd also like to request that you do not take 22 years to finish college (don't tell your Mom I just admitted that, OK?).

Anyway, I had a long drive to work this afternoon, and the '80s mix I made for my Ipod didn't quite hold my attention on the open road for three hours. So, typically, I started to think. I thought mostly about you and your Grandpa Pallister. We're going to see him next weekend. He's in a nursing home, trying to regain use of his legs. The doctors told us that is unlikely, but your Grandpa Pallister has never been one to shy away from a challenge. It doesn't matter that he's 81 years old, his life nearing its end. Thinking about what a struggle it must be for him daily, I'm reminded of the three words he used to repeat to me as a boy when things weren't going smoothly: Never give in. He's following that advice to the very end. You have to respect a man for that.

I am prone to thinking ahead. Often too far ahead. But in this situation, I can't ignore what the future may hold. I've been incredibly lucky to have lived 40 years without anyone close to me dying. But after rushing to Chicago a few weeks ago to spend time with your Grandpa in the hospital, I can't stop thinking about what life will be like without him, and I keep returning to this image of myself, standing in front of a crowded church, trying to explain what your Grandpa has meant to me. I have no idea if I will be asked to deliver any sort of eulogy on such an occasion, but I've largely written it all in my head countless times. And there's one part that I cannot get past without getting emotional. I want to tell the crowd that as sad as it is to no longer have my father around, what truly breaks my heart is that neither you nor he will know the joy of each other. I imagine looking at you in that moment and breaking down, thinking of a future in which the greatest man I've ever known is not part of your life.

If that comes to pass, I will almost certainly try and stop it, but, ultimately, I hope to embrace it. There are countless moments of happiness in our lives (many we never realize before they're lost to the past), but life, no matter how great we make it, presents us with times of sorrow. In those times, it's all right to let go. You can spend your whole life trying to ignore your emotions. But it's not healthy, and it's not fair to those for whom your heart wants to cry. I will do my best to teach you how to be tough, how to be strong, because you will need to be. I will do my best to teach you to be the kind of man William Mark Pallister has been for more than eight decades. And if I tear up occasionally while telling you about Grandpa and the lessons he taught me, don't hold it against your father. Sometimes, it's OK to cry. And if anyone ever tells you otherwise, you point them out and I'll kick their ass. :)

Love,
Dad

A lucky fool

Case,

Tomorrow is Valentine's Day, which means finally I can stop reminding myself to buy a card for your mom. Actually, I haven't been putting off buying the card for the usual reasons -- I always remember important things at the worst possible time (I tend to be reminded of what I need to do between the hours of 11 p.m. and 2 a.m. when doing them is impossible) and I have made a frustrating sport of procrastination (I apparently don't have enough deadline pressure at work). No, I've been putting this off because I wanted to write something more than "I love you, baby" on the card. I've written thousands upon thousands of words over the last six years. Writing saved my life. But your mom showed me why it was worth saving. I feel bad that I've been so busy that I haven't come up with another poem or song to write on that card (sorry, baby; I really do love you -- more than ever). So, in lieu of that, I'm going to leave you with a few words I wrote about your mom when I first realized she was the one I wanted to put off buying Valentine's Day cards for (side note: don't ever let anyone tell you you can't end a sentence with a preposition). When you get older, I can show my "work" from the days before your mom came along. It's important to me, and I think much of it will be useful to you. But until then, trust me that what you are about to read is a seismic shift in how one man sees the world.

Four in one

You don't just make me laugh
You don't just make me smile
You make me feel like new again
despite the many miles

You don't just give me hope
You don't just give me praise
You make me feel like I can't wait
to greet the coming days

I've known smart and I've known funny
I've known beautiful and cool
But to know all four in one
I know I'm a lucky fool

You don't just make my day
You don't just make my night
You make me feel that in between
I'm doing something right

You don't just give me hope
You don't just give me praise
You make me feel that I have reached
the end of this long maze

You don't just take the cake
You surely take the time
And unafraid you ventured in
with quick wit and like mind

You see me like a scope
without a hint of haze
The focus of a pretty sight
on which I fix my gaze

I've known smart  and I've known funny
I've known beautiful and cool
But to know all four in one
I know I'm a lucky fool

You don't just make me laugh
You don't just make me smile
You make me feel like new again
despite the many miles

You don't just give me hope
You give me something more
You make me feel like I have found
what I'd stopped looking for


Love,
Dad

Poe, boy

Case,

Been a little busy lately; sorry I haven't stopped by.

Nothing significant is coalescing in this big brain of mine at the moment, but our recent trip to Baltimore and unsuccessful attempt to eat at an Edgar Allen Poe-themed restaurant reminded me of a writing from a few years ago.

I couldn't sleep after a long day of work and I ended up watching an educational video on the (in)famous writer. I've been a fan of Poe since my teens, and I found out early in our relationship that he is your mom's favorite writer. I had no idea when I started watching, and it turns out this writing is the first thing that led your mom to think it was worth pursuing an NFL-obsessed, fashion-deficient guy who could turn a rhyme now and then. The show was interesting enough that it got me thinking -- and pacing -- at 3 a.m. After about an hour of milling around my small apartment to keep the creative juices flowing, I looked down at the notebook I had been scribbling intermittently on this is what I had:

(I know this is a bit dark, but so was Poe. To me, his significance lies not in the macabre themes he so often mined, but in his love for the act of writing, which I believe, despite the subject matter, was therapeutic and necessary for a man beset by misfortune, whether by his own hand or simply cruel fate. I'm mot trying to compare myself to Poe (I have much nicer hair at the moment and I would never live in Baltimore), but I understand what it's like to use writing to clear your head (or, as your mom might put it, to get out of my own head). Poe lived a rough life, but it was writing that saved him (for a while) from slipping into the darkness that seemed to surround him. I don't know if writing will be part of your life, but we all have creative endeavors that serve as a catharsis, that allow the record (or CD, or whatever it is you kids listen to these days) to get unstuck once it starts skipping. It's funny that I got off on this tangent because it reminds me that it wasn't so much that I've been busy as that I've been stuck in the same groove (google "what is a vinyl album" and you'll get the reference). Now that I've emptied some more thoughts (many of which I didn't even know I had) onto this page, I feel liberated. I feel good. I feel like I want to write more (and I will later, but I have to leave soon and go to the gym; I don't want to go to the gym). I'm guessing that Poe, given his history, felt the freeing effects of creativity, even if he was writing about the death of his one true love. So whether you gravitate toward writing or painting or cooking or calligraphy or glassblowing or whatever, make time to do the thing(s) that makes you feel good. Even if that thing is writing -- as Edgar and I did -- about what's making you feel bad. Because the bad will always fade, one way or another, while what you create -- whether you're a struggling, snakebit writer who becomes wildly famous after death or a regular guy just trying to leave something special behind for someone -- lives forever.)


Edgar was a genius

Edgar was a genius who died penniless and drunk
Every ship he tried to sail inevitably sunk
Edgar stood on principle but fell more than he should
With all those smarts he couldn't help himself -- and he never would

Edgar went to Washington in hopes of finding work
He showed up stinkin' drunk; it was sabotage not quirk
Edgar met the president when he got a second shot
But he tried to sell him magazines ... I kid you not

The Raven was a masterpiece
The monkey killed them all
The heart would not stop beating
The red death cast a pall
Anabelle lay by the sea
in a lonely sepulcher
Ed's premature burial 
began when he lost her

Edgar was a letters man, a man before his time
He invented the detective who figured out the crime
Edgar could be arrogant, insuff'rable and rude
A professional antagonist, he was never in the mood

Edgar didn't know it on that street in Baltimore
He'd someday get his due, respect, much praise and even more
Edgar had his share of loss in which he was to wallow
But his words live on into this day and many since have followed

The Raven was a masterpiece
The monkey killed them all
The heart would not stop beating
The red death cast a pall
Anabelle lay by the sea
in a lonely sepulcher
Ed's premature burial 
began when he lost her

Edgar loved his mothers and also loved his cousin
He hated all his daddies, lived heartaches by the dozen
Edgar had his issues but had plenty love to give
But everyone he gave it to was destined not to live

Edgar had the Midas touch if Midas were the Reaper
Fate was not a friend; his bride he could not keep her
Edgar never understood what life was all about
His logic turned to madness before the lights went out

The Raven was a masterpiece
The monkey killed them all
The heart would not stop beating
The red death cast a pall
Anabelle lay by the sea
in a lonely sepulcher
Ed's premature burial 
began when he lost her

Edgar was discovered in the outfit of another
He spent most of his years not too far from that damn gutter
Edgar had imagined all our final destinations
He needed for the afterlife to not be his creation

Did his nightmare finally end
when he left this mortal coil?
Did he find the peace he sought
no longer playing life's sad foil?
Did the darkness that had set in
with him six feet under soil
release from his torment,
his trouble and his toil?
Or did death extend its welcome hand
to one who'd been so loyal?


Love,
Dad

Dog day

Case,

We've already talked about the importance of keeping gas in your car, lest you run out and look foolish. But I recently learned the hard way that there are other hazards related to ensuring your tank does not run dry.

On Friday, I managed to get locked out of my car while at the gas station. How did I accomplish this? Well, I didn't. Your big brother Edgar was responsible. That's right, your dad got locked out of his car by a pug.

I thought it was hilarious while gassing up that E went nuts trying to bust through the driver's side window to get to the electrician working in the Exxon parking lot. A minute later, when I found the door would not open upon pulling the handle back, well, that was less funny.

I'll spare you the details of my 90 minutes waiting for a locksmith (15-minute response guaranteed, my ass!) in 30-degree weather, except to express the sad irony that I spent a good half-hour trying to get the door open with a slim jim. No, not the tool that police officers and firemen use to open locked vehicle doors, an actual Slim Jim.

I did not attempt to use the processed meat stick to unlock the door. Instead, I tried in vain to use it as a means of getting E excited enough that he would again inadvertently step on the door-lock button and I could get back into the car and regain feeling in my fingers. Unfortunately, pugs and their noses are ill-equipped to track the scent of food through a pane of sealed glass. He just sat there, staring at me, his eyes saying, "Hey, I'm just a dog, what do you want from me?"

So, in closing, I guess what I'm saying is that if you ever decide to take a dog for a ride to the gas station, make sure it's wearing its seat belt.

Love,
Dad

Sleep/Walk

Case,

You wake up at 2:30 and there's much work to be done
The pacifier's hidden and the sandman's on the run
You stumble to the kitchen, you fumble for the light
Your pupils dialated on another weary night
You slowly gain your focus as the room comes into view
This is your great challenge; now what's a man to do

The past is far behind me, while the future's all too near
And the moment can escape me in a thousand thoughts and fears
Days go by in double-time, so fast it's such a shame
But I'll face what's in front of me; my dad he did the same
I'll slowly gain my focus as the world comes into view
This is my great challenge, and this is what I'll do

I'll sleep in a decade
I'll sleep when I'm dead
I'll sleep like a baby
when I have a clear head
I'll walk with a purpose
I'll walk through the haze
I'll walk, shoulders heavy,
right on out of this maze

You wake up at 6:30, still 10 minutes from the sun
Your selfishness forbidden by the greatest thing you've done
You loudly pick yourself up, yet proudly hold your head
A baby and an ego they both need their daily bread
You slowly gain your focus as the room comes into view
This is your great challenge; a man knows what to do

I'll sleep in a decade
I'll sleep when I'm dead
I'll sleep like a baby
when I have a clear head
I'll walk with a purpose
I'll walk through the haze
I'll walk, shoulders heavy,
right on out of this maze

You wake up at 10:30, there was silence now there's none
A little bit guilt-ridden, counting noises one by one
You're rolling with the changes, no controlling this ride
No use for fond reflection on the time you used to bide
You slowly gain your focus as the room comes into view
This is your great challenge; now what's a man to do

There's lessons I have taken and advice I've just ignored
Made promises I've broken, but I've fallen on the sword
I'd like to be the hero all seven days a week
But I'll settle for the father who knows of what he speaks
I'll slowly gain my focus as the world comes into view
This is my great challenge, and this is what I'll do

I'll sleep in a decade
I'll sleep when I'm dead
I'll sleep like a baby
when I have a clear head
I'll walk with a purpose
I'll walk through the haze
I'll walk, shoulders heavy,
right on out of this maze

Love,
Dad