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Believing…

December 14, 2009 by JC Dolinger

The Large Man Chronicles 

12-13-2009 

Believing… 

My 10 year old daughter has asked the Santa question to my wife already, and she prefaced the question by reminding my bride “the worst thing you can do is to tell a lie”.

We have had that agreement since she was about 5 years old. 

I felt that the agreement was necessary because, as a young person I was such a pathological liar – George Costanza had nothing on me. I once told my mom that my biology teacher entered my terrarium in the state high-school science fair, and that I would be away all day and night on a Saturday, and that it would cost $50. I then went to the local drive in movie with my buddies, drank Malt Duck until I puked, and missed being hit by a car by mere inches. One of many sad and shameful things about this recollection is that I more than likely could have just told my mom what I was doing, (less the Malt Duck) and she would have been fine with the activity. But with the story I used, I had to create more lies to cover the original. What place did I come in? What was the winning entry? Etc. etc. I then had to deal with the guilt of all the lies, and a $50.00 embezzlement from my poor sweet mother. 

That’s just one mildly disturbing tale of many. The BS that I conjured as a teenager and as a young adult was my full-time job. I have since learned why I did those things, and I won’t bore anyone with the psychology behind it all now. I will say that today, trust is fairly sacred to me. For my children to have the kind of teenage years I want them to have, I will have to be able to trust them completely. SO…they should expect the same in return. Right? 

So… what to do? What to do? Santa? Tooth Fairy? Easter Bunny? Wikipedia? Hooters girls are Santa’s elves in their summer job?  Believing in these things is monumentally important in our home – as they are in many homes. I’ve read so many different strategies on how to handle this, and I have listened to many more ideas from well-meaning parents, friends, and co-workers.  This is an issue that nobody can help with, mostly because I don’t want any help. My heartfelt belief is that a daughter’s relationship with her father – when it comes to trust is unique to the individuals involved. What works in some families, would not in others.

Believing…

In the Large Man world, a little girl has to believe in her father, and what he teaches.  Believing that the things your parents tell you are true is a critical ingredient to creating a safe haven for a child. Will the weight of the disappointment of Santa Claus being more of a spirit in your heart than a real person that you can touch, confuse the fact that you really do need to do your homework and go to college because you won’t have a chance in life without a good education? I don’t know. 

No tooth fairy! Really? What other bullshit have you been feeding me dad? Are drugs really bad for you? Should I really wait until I’m 35 to kiss a guy? Am I really safe with you? Are there really and truly no monsters in my closet? Was the lady you were hugging at the mall today REALLY your cousin? 

These are tough things to deal with, and frankly, these things are the reason why I told my wife that wanted to raise bullmastiffs – NOT children. But here I am, too late to turn back, and too early to send her off to the college I have found for her. (I chose an all girl college on a remote island off of the Georgia coast surrounded by sharp rocks, and man-eating sharks. The administration and faculty are all heterosexual virgin women, and all the dormitories are guarded by ferocious penis eating pit bulls. She may never learn how to parallel park, and we’re going to have to pay the out-of-state tuition fees, but when it comes to your daughter’s education you should look at safety and quality – NOT the price tag). 

I remember when my mother told me that there was no Santa; I called her a lying whore, then tried to burn down our Christmas tree. “Lies! Lies!” I screamed in despair. I overreacted. I was 16 and had just failed my driver’s test for the second time, so it was a bit of an emotional day. Based on that memory alone, you can see why I’m a little apprehensive about this subject, and how to discuss it with my baby girl. 

I think we’ll be able to get through one more year. She’s still young enough to trust the grown ups without many conditions. And she is fearful enough to the adage that non-believers get no visit to completely dismiss all belief in St. Nick. But you can see it coming. You see her looking over her shoulder to see our reaction to key moments as we watch Elf, The Santa Claus, and Bad Santa. The theme of all these classic family movies revolves around the premise of adults not believing in Santa Claus. 

I blame my wife for most of this. I assumed when she agreed to marry me when she wasn’t even pregnant that she wasn’t very smart. I assumed incorrectly. My wife finished college in only 4 years! Had I married someone a little bit closer to my IQ level we would be worrying about this 5 years from now.  But thanks to my little swimmers taking a dip into the deeper end of the gene pool, we’ve ended up with a fairly smart child. What to do? What to do? 

Thanks for reading, this one actually will be continued… 

Merry Christmas, 

The Large Man

Posted in Food for Thought, Just Havin Fun, Uncategorized | 4 Comments »

The Things I Love

December 7, 2009 by JC Dolinger

The Large Man Chronicles

12-7-2009

The Things I Love

 

I love beer. I can drink Bud Light, but a well crafted micro-brew is my favorite. Right now, today, my favorite is Dogfish Head 90 minute IPA; they are based in Lewes DE. This favorite can and will change. Honorable mentions are Boulevard Pale Ale from KC MO, Fat Tire from Fort Collins CO, and practically speaking, Sam Adams never disappoints. I could go on forever when it comes to beer. 

I love the way a flannel shirt feels against my chest and shoulders, but I hate the way I look in them. I want to call this a paradox, but I’m not sure that would be correct.

I love the way my daughter says “Daddy” when she is getting ready to ask me a question. The single word tails up like a question in itself. The second syllable goes higher…dad-DEE. Hard to explain in writing, but it melts my heart. I think it’s a natural protection thing too, it keeps me from going ballistic with my reply to the unreasonable question that is about to be asked. Because of the way she says “Daddy”, I never reply with “NO! YOU CAN’T HAVE AN F-ING CELL PHONE! YOU’RE 10!

I love iTunes, Pandora radio, automatic garage door openers, a cooler full of ice, guitars, LL Bean, automatic paper towel dispensers , Bill’s Khakis, button down oxfords, my laptop, Merrill shoes, cotton or wool sweaters from Brooks Brothers, cargo shorts, and long sleeve t-shirts. The only thing about my job that I don’t like is wearing long pants. I think it’s a paradox that I like long sleeve shirts, but hate wearing long pants.

I love to laugh. I am so lucky that I been surrounded by funny people most of my life. My wife can crack you up at any moment. I have a childhood friend that may be the funniest person on earth. I work with a guy whose dry and subtle wit is nothing short of genius.  I’m surrounded by neighbors that consistently have beer exploding through my nasal passages. The funny people I know are one of my life’s greatest treasures.

I love the surprise that comes with each rental car experience when I travel. I drive a different car a couple of times a month. They almost always suck, and yet I’m always hopeful that this time I’m going to get something really cool. I got a Jaguar once, and I guess the coolness of that experience has kept me optimistic.

I love the fact that my wife never gets jealous. I’m a flirtatious dude, and I like the company of ladies. In 16 years with this woman she has been upset about that only one time…and it wasn’t when she caught me in the shower with a stripper. She realized that it was a bachelor party situation, and mostly she was just proud of me for winning the contest that got me into the shower. (I think the fact that I was wearing my boxers may have contributed to her liberal position regarding the incident) She never bitches at me either. Never. I should sit and talk to her about how great she is at the important things, like not bitching at me.

I love my job. The worst day at my job is better than most people’s best day at their job. The only thing about my job that I don’t like is wearing long pants (a point worth repeating).

I love the fact that my father has turned into one of the kindest hearted humans I know. He was the hardest hearted human I knew as a child. I’m not seeing him differently either; he has changed. I don’t know what changed him, but it is a nice thing to see.

I love tacos, pizza with pepperoni, Buffalo wings, a well grilled hunk of salmon, a fresh salad with good homemade ranch or bleu cheese dressing, a Coke with crushed ice and no straw, and olives. I will have to teach myself to like oatmeal and carrot sticks.

I love the books of Christopher Moore, Robert Parker, Carl Hiaasen, Tim Dorsey, John Sandford, Larry McMurtry, John Grisham (early stuff) and any story with cool characters. Atticus Finch is my favorite character from any novel; with Serge Storms coming in second…I’m almost positive that’s a paradox.

I love the Gino Vannelli song I Just Wanna Stop. It may be one of the most lame ass tunes of all time, but I danced with Misty Kepano and Karen Stoutamyer to that song (different occasions) and I remember every second for some reason. I smell their perfume, I feel their arms around me, that great memory hits me every time I hear the song.  I have an affinity for lame ass tunes of the seventies and eighties because of shit just like that. I think this admission could cost me some friends and some credibility…Chevy Van, Undercover Angel, This Time I’m in it for Love, Alone Again (Naturally), 65 Love Affair, Karma Chameleon, Crazy (Icehouse, not Patsy Cline)… I could go on about lame ass music longer than I can go on about beer. There is a girl or an event that I can identify with every song. This portion is a little embarrassing, I hope you all appreciate the courage it takes for a guy to admit he loves a Gino Vannelli song. If you knew Karen or Misty…or better still, if you could see them, you would probably give me a pass.

I love to hear my son laugh. The first time he watched the 3 Stooges he laughed so hard and hearty it made me cry. His laughter is the definition of joy. When I was a young man and I thought about what it might be like to have a son, I dreamed about this boy.

I love when underdogs win, in sports, in court, and in life. I love how they make it seem like anything is possible. At the same time, I love to see winners persevere. I have so much respect for teams, individuals, and companies that set a standard for excellence, and then maintain that standard. Paradox?

I love the word paradox, but I fear that I’m confusing it with conflict and/or contradiction.

I love when you can see the white lace of a bra or kami under a white blouse. I love it even more when someone else is wearing it. 

I love inappropriate language. Stupid as it is, I could never go a day without using the f word. I really love it when pretty women do too. However, I can’t stand to hear foul language from young people. How do I justify that?

I love the smell and the sound of rain when it first starts to fall.

I love when something moves me to the point of tears. When a movie, a book, or a moment can take me to that place, I always feel embarrassed at first, but then lucky afterwards. I’m grateful that I’m wired to feel things so deeply. Laughing and crying at the same time is the absolute best, like the climax moment in Steel Magnolias, or in Major League.

I love Clint Eastwood. Actor, writer, director, I don’t care. Everything he does is great.

I love saying that situations are “just like The Gift of the Magi” (the short story by O. Henry) even though they are nothing like The Gift of the Magi. I say it to be humorous, and I have no idea why I think it’s funny.

I love courage. I love honor. I don’t have a whole bunch of either, but that admiration does give me something to reach for. I also love the flaws that come with being human. I think I’m extremely lucky that I love flaws; otherwise you would be reading words from the most self-loathing person you could ever know – I am far from that.

I love the subtle smell of perfume…the subtle smell. However, when it enters the room before the person does, and stays behind after they leave, it just smells cheap – no matter how good it is. It’s odd; too much expensive perfume smells cheap. THAT’S a paradox!

I love the fact that someone would take the time to read this, so thank you.

The Large Man

Posted in Uncategorized | 8 Comments »

An Evening at the Airport

November 30, 2009 by JC Dolinger

The Large Man Chronicles

11-16-2009

An Evening in Charlotte International Airport

 

If you take the time to look, nothing special can become very special. If you look really hard, nothing special can become downright noteworthy…or blog worthy. (Damn! At least I hope so)

I am at the end of a 3 hour layover in Charlotte, on my way to Dallas/Fort Worth for a week of revenue generating activity. It is 8:00 PM and frankly none of these details are special: I do something like this just about every week. But at the same time, if you take a few minutes to really look, these are the things you might see from a gray upholstered chair at gate B3:

  • A rather tall and striking woman sitting straight across from me in a dark gray business suit…working what looks to be 2 Blackberries and a laptop: its friggin 8:00 PM! I hope she is not a valve & fitting sales person, or a blogger trying to get published. I can’t compete with that kind of work ethic. She seems uncomfortable with my gaze; she must see only my steel-blue eyes and none of the human complexities that lie behind them… so I move on.
  • Two seats down from the gray suited worker bee is another striking woman…but in a different way. She is sort of short and a little more round in her features, she is in black stretchy pants that are too tight. The spandex is SCREAMING for mercy… this pretty woman is not too big; her clothes are just too tight. Her hair is dyed jet black, and it stops just at the shoulders of a perfectly matching black stretchy top. The black top is …revealing. Let’s call it low slung. Displayed within the frame offered by this low slung top is a very large, very colorful tattoo of the sun rising in flames from her bosoms. I guess it could be setting in flames into her bosoms; I’m trying to discreetly figure it out. No matter what the sun is doing now, in about 15 years it’s gonna look like a golden pond in the middle of a burning swamp. You should think about that shit before you invest all that time and money into inking up such prominent body parts. She seems annoyed that I’m staring at her chest.  
  • There is a badass, true Texas cowboy sitting right next to me…starched and creased Wranglers, real boots with the wear of work on them, lines on his face tell a story…tough guy. The tough guy is on his cell phone saying something in a soft voice…daughter or granddaughter is my guess. He hangs up just after, “okay, I love you sweetheart” in a drawl that makes me think west Texas. Now he’s helping the family next to him wrangle their toddler, because they are 2 hands short. I would help, but somebody has to type out the story. This guy is cool, and is completely comfortable if you are staring or not. He’s a tough guy, but he’s a gentleman. I think I would like this dude, but he might not like me. I might be a little talkative for him. I won’t give him my card. 
  • Nestled next to the lady with the sunny bosoms is an art student. I have no proof, but I know I’m right. Same jet black dyed hair, with a streak of purple. She is sporting a tattoo of her own: left shoulder… a spider web with a black widow at 5 o-clock on the web. She’s protecting several shipping tubes from the rambunctious kids that Tex just gave up on. I think I like this girl. She responds to my smile with a smile of her own, so, unlike the worker bee, I’m thinking she has a sixth sense when it comes to men who are noble in their character. 
  • Now just walking up is a polar opposite of the girls in black; and distinctively different from worker bee too. Strawberry blonde hair that could use a little brushing…windblown & outdoorsy. She has a very tight Texas Longhorns tee-shirt on top of a very tight pair of jeans on top of a very tight (as in appropriately cool) pair of cowboy boots. Her tight, is not like Ms. Sunrise’s tight… her tight is like ain’t no one complainin’ tight. I have no idea what her story might be, but she just got Tex’ attention too. Let’s call her Longhorn.  Tex hops up from his place next to me and offers his chair…gentlemanly as it is, it’s a dumbass move because now she’s sitting next to me. You don’t want the hottest chick in B3 sitting next to me…game over.

 This is a rare treat! Usually only smelly fishing bait sales people, or someone with a cold will sit next to me. She has a sweet smell. Not like a perfume, but maybe a nice suntan lotion. Every guy in gate B3 is staring at her, and envying the shit eating grin on my face. I would have offered her my seat, but again, someone has to tell the story. She has a very friendly and easy aura all around her. Not easy as in slutty, easy as in relaxed. Easy as in… if there was no wine left at the party, she would just say “I’ll have a beer”.  Then she would just kinda toss her hair over her shoulder with a smile as she walked away and looked back at you as she said “Thanks”. That move gets me every time! The tossing hair over the shoulder with a smile of gratitude while settling for a beer when you really wanted a glass of wine move. My wife landed me with that move. I think they teach it at finishing schools or something. 

  • As we are all sitting (in Tex’ case standing…dumb ass) waiting for our plane to arrive, I notice a couple of pilots that I had seen having dinner earlier. They are now standing at the doorway to gate B3. Nothing special about that other than I remember thinking these guys looked to be in bad shape – not common for most pilots that I see. THEN, I remembered what I thought while I was watching these guys eat: “Now there’s a couple of heart attacks waiting to happen!” I had a private chuckle over this as I watched them down their Texas sized plate of North Carolina BBQ, hush puppies, slaw, fries, pecan pie, and a 55 gallon drum of sweet tea. I currently find this much less chuckle worthy as I think about them flying me to DFW for the next 2 hours and 35 minutes. This “not so special flight” is now becoming an adventure…and not in a good way. I like Disney World and white water rafting. I hate it when I have to take over the plane when the pilot and co-pilot are having coronaries. I’ve done it like 3 or 4 times*, and it really sucks.

I look back at “Sunrise” and she is still giving me the stink-eye. What the hell? If there wasn’t a family in the general vicinity I would challenge her on her aggressive posture towards me. Sunrise and I have a policy conflict. As a general rule, I will discreetly take a gander at a woman’s more striking features; it is part of being an American male…a civic duty if you will. Paint certain features up with an orange, red, and neon yellow fiery sunrise and the same policy applies, just remove the discreetly part. Frankly I’m a little hurt…if Tex were participating in the activity would she be as angry? I’m not even staring in lust, okay… maybe a little bit, mostly it’s just curiosity.

Oh it gets better…

So, they call zone 1 to board the plane, I am shutting down my remote office, I pack up my laptop, and as I walk by the row of chairs in front of me,  Ms. Sunrise says, “I hope you enjoyed the show little man”.

Huh? Excuse me? WHAT? Little man? (Obviously she’s not on Facebook) She makes this statement in a very passive aggressive voice. Loud enough that I could hear something, but not loud enough for me to be sure of what I heard…or so she thought. Because I lost my sense of responsibility at an early age, all of my other senses are more finely tuned and acute. I have the hearing of a whale, better than a guinea pig…better than a wife in the next room at a party when you are planning a fishing trip with the guys. I heard her just fine.

I want to respond…I (now) want to ask some questions. Why? You are a beautiful woman, why the ink? But if the ink is your thing, bless you, you have every right. I love expressive people. But when your posture and presentation says, “look at me”…don’t get mad when I do.

But I say nothing. I’m not in a confrontational mood, and what if she kicked my ass in front of everybody? Well let’s just say as good a story as that might be; it’s a Large Man Chronicle that I just don’t want to write. Getting my ass kicked in front of the Longhorn girl would be something you could never get over.  If you roll through the 3 levels of humiliation on The Large Man Humiliation Scale, it doesn’t get any worse.

  • Level 1 humiliation…any ass kickin.
  • Level 2 humiliation…ass kicked by a girl.
  • Level 3 humiliation…ass kicked by a girl in front of a bunch of women, children, overweight airline personnel, real cowboys, and hot chicks that smell like suntan lotion.

…this can’t happen. So I withhold a retort. I really don’t want to create bad vibes for myself or anyone…I’m going New Testament, and turning the other cheek. This is better for everybody.

So as I swallow the urge to engage the angry exhibitionist, I refocus on the pilots. Where are they? Are they really our pilots or are they just hitching a ride? I find them at the end of the jet-way…the answers are very clear. They are here, and they are taking me to Texas. My panic reflex starts to wiggle, throat tightens a little bit, that “need to pee” feeling starts to take over the lower half of my body. White knuckle grip on the brief case as I walk onto the plane. Because of a lot of miles flown, at least I’ll go down with the ship in first class. Just don’t lose it in front of everybody, I think to myself as I stow my briefcase and settle into the soft roomy seat. Maybe Longhorn is flying first class? My mood begins to improve with that thought, just as I start to get a little excited about that notion (and the fact that the seat next to me is empty), I look up to see Tex walking onto the plane with her right behind. HE takes the aisle seat next to me after he turns to her and says, “Nice to meet you, I guess I’ll see you when we get on the ground. I’d offer you this seat too, but the flight attendant said I couldn’t”.

She just walked past and smiled back at him as she tossed her hair over her shoulder and said, “Thanks, I like the window seat anyway. I look forward to that beer when we get home”.

Damn!!…maybe I should have offered my chair. I could have chronicled this later! Probably would’ve been a better story! Oh well…at least now I can include my wife on the distribution list.

We made it safely to DFW, no coronaries, no conflicts, maybe a love connection after we hit the ground. I didn’t see Tex, Longhorn, Sunrise, or the art student in baggage claim. I did see the worker bee…cell phone in her ear…making it happen.

If you just take the time to look, nothing special becomes something. 

As always, thank you for reading.

The Large Man

*ok that was bullshit. I’ve never really taken over a plane for a pilot that had a coronary. But I would if called upon.

Posted in Just Havin Fun | 5 Comments »

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