The Large Man Chronicles

Sometimes it’s OK to get emotional about things that make no sense. Every now and then you need to allow yourself, and the people you care about, to be irrational. My children will be angry about this opening line, because my general modus operandi with them has been, “I don’t nurture irrational behavior.” However, that specific M.O. was a teaching strategy, so as not to raise self-centered, self-absorbed, psychopathic, participation trophy gathering, divas. (I think it may have worked, we’ll see. Those two books are still being written.)

But when dealing with a loved one, a friend, or anyone for that matter…it’s critical to have an understanding that while you may think Chevy Van is the cheesiest, stupidest, pop song of all time, they may have lost their innocence in an actual Chevy van, and that song may evoke a beautiful memory, and that memory may bring a tear. Offer a hug, and let it be…it costs you nothing.

Always open doors for people. Men for women, women for men, men for men, anybody for everybody. It’s just nice, and in a world where hateful and crazy people get all the press, this little act of courtesy and kindness sends a subtle message out to the universe that most of us are good and kind. Acts of kindness and grace are the best way to teach kindness and grace. And when you’ve held the door for several people, and someone grabs the door, and tells you to, “Go ahead…” allow them their opportunity to be kind as well.

Never make a scene at a wedding…especially if it’s not your wedding. Don’t argue with your spouse, date, or table mates. Don’t get drunk and loud and stupid (well…stupid anyway). The bride has been dreaming of this day since she was old enough to dream, and the parents of the couple have just spent a TON of cash, don’t be the reason things weren’t awesome. I just went to 2 weddings that were amazing. Now I want them all to be amazing. If I have to explain this any further, please cancel your subscription to The Large Man Chronicles.

Sometimes commercials are better than the shows they are sponsoring. Insurance commercials seem to have replaced beer commercials for entertainment value. Flo, the Gecko, Mayhem, the Farmer’s guy…each character seems better than the next in that trade.
BUT, there is at least one exception: Dos Equis’, World’s Most Interesting Man. That spot is the best. Everything I’ve ever written (and ever will write) is completely subjective – except for my opinion on the World’s Most Interesting Man. You could make a movie out of that character.

Always lean towards forgiveness. The weight of a grudge is most certainly heavier for the one who carries it.

Never give me frozen yogurt as a substitute for ice cream.

Sometimes it’s okay to stay put.

Always kiss with your eyes closed.

Never kiss with your eyes open.

Sometimes people you love will disappoint you and let you down. You can still love them. But don’t let that love bring you down too. This is a tough one.

Always remember that rules and statistics and facts and figures about people are based on the average, but no individual whom you interact with is “average”. Don’t use a cookie cutter approach when dealing with people – we’re all unique, like snowflakes. Every boss, every teacher, every coach, every doctor, and every mentor, needs to have that sentence coded into their DNA, or at least have it printed on all their letterhead. (After paying the appropriate royalty fees to me, of course)

Never doubt the positive effects of charity. Be as charitable as you can be, and then do a little more. But don’t put all of your hope there. Charity treats the symptoms, it rarely cures the disease. I’m not sure why that is. If you have an example to the contrary, please share it with me. I would love that. But still, don’t give till it hurts, give till it feels good.

Sometimes I want to pinch myself when I consider all the awesome and amazing women I have around me. I would like to pinch them too, but I don’t objectify women – because my daughter says I shouldn’t. I really like the ladies though, probably because I grew up with, and in close proximity to, really strong, smart, and pretty, women and girls. Lucky me.

Always trust your gut. Unless you have a history of making really bad decisions. Then don’t. If you have a history of bad decisions, seek the council of someone who loves you, cares about you, or has nothing to gain by seeing you fail. Don’t seek the council of people who don’t have your best interests at heart. AND PLEASE … don’t pretend you don’t know the difference. You know.

Never give up on yourself. That’s like the worst thing you can do.

Sometimes I hit the repeat button, if a repeat button is available, when I’m listening to Stairway to Heaven.

Always listen to Stairway to Heaven when it comes on the radio.

Never change the station when Stairway comes on.

Sometimes …by Brittany Spears, may be the dumbest song of all time.

Always …is a great song by Stevie Wonder from Songs in the Key of Life.

Never…is a pretty crappy song by Heart. I’m not sure what album it’s on.

Sometimes the grass actually is greener on the other side. Just like a pretty girl, a toasty autumn campfire, and a roaring waterfall, an opportunity is usually worth taking a look at.

Always avoid ending a sentence with a preposition, like I just did with the previous point.

Never let arbitrary grammatical rules get in the way of making an important point.

Sometimes it’s OK to quit. Sometimes; but please apply common sense here… pretty please.

It’s always good to quit doing harmful things to yourself, like smoking, or drinking, or playing the banjo. It’s never good to quit learning, or growing emotionally and spiritually, or to quit playing the guitar.

All I’m saying is that sometimes…when you’ve exhausted every option, and your endeavor is only causing pain, maybe it’s okay to walk away. If your job pays you a buttload of money, but you wake up every morning and then go home every evening hating every minute of every hour in between; stop doing it…quit. If any relationship is unhealthy, has been unhealthy, and has no hope of ever being healthy; stop.

Sometimes we force ourselves to stay put and stick it out in bad situations for reasons we can’t even identify. We do it for a sense of duty, or an allegiance to a standard of living that we don’t even understand, probably put there by someone we don’t even know. Adhering to a code of behavior that serves no purpose to you or your loved ones…well…it serves no purpose.

Wanna know why? Okay…here’s why:

If we’re lucky, we’ll live about 90 years. Also, if we’re lucky, we’ll need to spend one third of that time sleeping. You gotta sleep, and 8 hours of sleep a day is good for us. Most of us will spend one third of those 90 years working, and even the very best jobs in the world are still work. So that just leaves one third of your life to do fun things…to eat steaks, to build campfires, to go skiing, to love your wife or your girlfriend or your boyfriend or your neighbor, or your neighbor’s wife or girlfriend or boyfriend. You only get 1/3 of your life to make homemade ice cream, to watch James Bond movies, or all these new Marvel Avenger flicks…to see the Rocky Mountains or the Grand Canyon, or Wicked on Broadway, or Clint Black in Warren PA, or Earth Wind & Fire at Red Rocks…to cuddle with babies or puppies…or to watch baseball. Only 33.3 % of your life can be spent playing hide-and-go-seek, or ding-dong ditch (ringing doorbells and running away), or building model cars or airplanes.

You only get one third of this life to just sit and stare at the ocean. ONE THIRD! Shrimpin’ boat captains get more ocean time, but you know what I’m saying.

If you are lucky enough to live to be 90, after sleeping and working, you only get 30 years for fun. Sometimes, it’s OK to quit things that aren’t fun…sometimes we should dare to be happy.

Always share The Large Man Chronicles on as many social media outlets that will support the format. Facebook is a good one. If you want to tell me how much you love it, post it on Facebook. If you want to tell me how much it sucks, send me an email at thelargeman@gmail.com …. Nah…I’m just kidding, you can say it sucks on Facebook too. I enjoy having my soul crushed in a public forum.

Never get in a car driven by someone you don’t know if they have tattoos on their face, or drink milk more than a week past its expiration date, or ask a woman if she’s pregnant, or fight with your mother, or go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line, or think that I don’t appreciate your attention to these Chronicles I love to write.

I think that’s it…
Big Love,
TLM

I knocked off work 2 hours early so my son and I could play some golf on a lovely Monday afternoon. We get to the club and find out one of our selfish and thoughtless local women’s clubs decided to have a fundraiser golf tournament for The American Cancer Society. So no golf for me today. I haven’t played in a couple of weeks and I miss it. Now I have 4 hours on my hands, so I thought I might write a Chronicle about some other things I miss…

Downloading/opening email when I get to my hotel room:

For the last several years I get it fresh all day on my phone, this makes my evenings pretty much work free…so I sit around and think about all the exercise I’m not getting. I kinda miss the surprise of what went on all day while I was on the road. Maybe it’s also that I miss being disconnected. I don’t believe all this connectivity is healthy. It’s been said a thousand times, but it’s a marvel to me that we have all these tools to makes us more efficient in our jobs and yet it seems like there is less time, and more stress.

But on the other hand…In some ways, it seems the more connection circuits I have, the less connected I feel – especially to my friends. Maybe we take the connections for granted, we know they’re always there, so we feel less motivated to reach out. I don’t think it’s supposed to work like that.

Turning Wrenches:

I’m truly a blue collar guy doing a white collar job in a blue collar industry. When I was a kid, and even as a young adult, I worked on my bikes, my cars, and my stuff. I briefly worked in the maintenance department at a municipal facility while I was working my way through colleges I didn’t attend as I pursued the business degree I never earned. I miss the satisfaction that came with manual activity, and fixing things. I have never quite equaled it on a laptop computer.

My Babies:

Actually, all babies. I miss being around babies and little kids. When you have babies and little kids, you’re usually hanging out with other people who have babies and little kids…and they all kinda become your kids. It takes a village.
When your kids get older, the hanging with the children becomes more novelty than regular practice. I miss having someone sit on my lap for the magic of a story, and there being nothing more in this world that this child wants or needs but the words on the page as interpreted by you. This is a cruel fate, but a fate deserved for all the times I cursed the thought of having to read ‘Goodnight Moon’, or ‘The House That Jack Built’, “…just one more time, Daddy”. I would give just about anything for “just one more time.” If I knew that Heaven was going to involve reading books to little kids, I would probably be a better person.

Political *in*correctness:

I have become a coward in this new millennium. Back in the 70s, we could make fun of anything.

Here are some examples of Facebook posts, or LMC lines that I have written, and then deleted:

Just after Caitlyn Jenner’s “announcement”…Inspired by Caitlyn, I had gender reassignment surgery yesterday… got my fucking period today. I think I’ve changed my mind.

Just after Cecil the lion controversy…I’m so outraged by the cruelty regarding Cecil the lion, I can barely enjoy my veal.

I love sarcasm in the face of controversy. My whimsical, old school, soul tells me Bruce to Caitlyn is a crazy situation wrought with humor, in fact, Caitlyn herself drops little barbs here and there. But my conscience tells me that the world is changing, and everything doesn’t need to be a joke, or not everyone (me) is entitled to joke about everything. I think it’s kinda like black people and the “n word”, they’re allowed, I’m not. I understand.

And even if it is funny, I don’t wish to offend or disappoint anyone. I writhe with conflict in the battle of things I should and shouldn’t say. I really miss not caring about it…and it’s not that I don’t want to care about whose feelings I might hurt, because I do. I have good friends who are passionate animal rights advocates – the kind of people who have that Sarah McLachlan Humane Society commercial on DVD and watch it on Saturdays just to remind themselves of “the struggle”. And they’re not even posturing to get laid; they really care. A leveraged joke using Cecil as the fulcrum might upset one of these friends – I don’t want to do that. I think that kind of empathy is one of my few qualities. What disappoints me about me, is that I care about all the political correctness hall monitors and what they might think. The people who say that we “… can’t say that” – whatever “that” is. The people who take a position on a cause they don’t understand, but it’s trendy. Why should I care if I offend them?

I’m not just a coward, I feel like I’m selling out my beliefs to a degree. The people I offend with my Caitlyn jokes are mostly the same people who skewer Tim Tebow for his openness regarding his faith. Tim is as brave as Caitlyn…just not as trendy. This makes my head want to explode.

But my head stays intact, because bottom line; I just don’t want to fight, and I don’t want to offend. I want to smile, laugh and hug, without conflict. Like a little pussy.

Rock and Roll Guitar Heroes:

John Mayer? Really? This is the best we have? JM is a fine musician…I actually met him in Nags Head when he was just a 19 years old, sweet kid, full of humility and amazing talent. But I digress…fuck John Mayer. I want to hear a young gun who can make a Stratocaster scream like a tortured banshee in heat.

Where is this generation’s Pete Townsend, Eddie Van Halen, Stevie Ray Vaughn, Eric Clapton, Steve Vai, Yngwie Malmsteen, Keith Partridge, Joe Perry, Rick Nielsen, Brian May, Santana, or Jeff Beck? I could go on and on…so many from “my generation”, and so few today. I’m sure they’re out there, it’s just that Taylor Swift has all the shelf space.

For the record, I’m not a Taylor hater…I actually like her, and I love her game. I just hate her shelf space, and what corporate music and capitalism is doing to the soul of entertainment. Aretha Franklin would probably not make it in the music industry today. Those may be the saddest words I’ve ever written.

And Speaking of Music:

I miss going to a venue with a real name. I went to concerts at The Capital Centre, (named for its location, not the “One Card”) and RFK stadium, and Merriweather Post Pavilion…not the corporate Verizon Wireless Amphitheater, and Citibank Stadium, or AT&T Theater in the Round co-sponsored by SONY Entertainment & Chick-fil-A. I understand capitalism, I love capitalism…the C in my “given” name stands for capitalism…but is everything for sale? Would James Brown have become the Godfather of soul if he had recorded his ‘Live at the Apollo’ album at PepsiCo Park? I DON’T THINK SO…
A corporate venue lacks soul…this is always true.

And One More Music Thing:

Albums. Black, vinyl, record albums. The artwork, the liner notes, the lyrics printed on the inner sleeve or the inside fold of the cover…lyrics written just for me. I think I’ve mentioned this before in another Chronicle, but it bears repeating. Man I miss that stuff. When I was younger, the only thing better than kissing a pretty girl was a new record album.

The Sins of My Youth:

Malt Duck, Miller pony bottles, Schlitz tallboys, Stroh’s…and sweet stinky weed (only on rare occasions).

I swear beer tasted better when you weren’t allowed to have it. I post lots of pictures on my Facebook page of beers that I’m in the process of enjoying; but I’ll tell you… the best beer that ever crossed these lady loving lips was the beer I drank after every home football game my senior year of high school. My buddy and I would drink one each before we went in to change for the game, and we left four on ice in a crappy, squeaky, dirty, white, Styrofoam cooler. After the game, on a cool October night, under the dim industrial blue and yellow sodium vapor streetlights of my high school parking lot, thinking about the girl you were going to ask to dance that night, we drank that ice cold Budweiser… so cold you could track it as it traveled down your throat to your belly. Almost 40 years later, no beer has ever been more appreciated or has tasted so good. That was pure adolescent magic.

The Junk Food of My Youth:

Red licorice, Charms Sour pops, candy cigarettes, Big Buddy Bubble Gum, 7 Up, Dr. Pepper (the drinks don’t taste the same today) a cherry Slurpee, Chilly Willies. Junk food was better when I was a kid. I would pay $50 for that foot long piece of cherry or banana flavored Big Buddy gum. It would be perfect if my sweetheart, Kathy, or her friends (and mine of course), Cindy or Pam had it folded in the back pocket of their baby blue corduroy Levi’s for about an hour and then broke off about a 3″ piece and gave it to me. When Big Buddy bubble gum was “seasoned” in the back pocket of your Levi’s for an hour or two, it softened up for immediate chewability. It had to be Levi’s… cords were a better seasoning vessel than denim, and it only worked in the hip pocket. Softened bubblegum from your favorite girl’s hip pocket was better than just about anything you knew about when you were 13 years old. An indisputable truth.

Your Thoughts:

When I first got on Facebook, I thought it was so cool to see what was on your mind. You wrote down your thoughts, you talked about, or shared pics of your kids or your grandkids, you shared a music video, or maybe just wrote down a few lines of a song you liked. I really miss that stuff. You wrote about your work day, a visit with a friend, or a funny/sweet/intense/notable moment. Now it’s videos of cats laying beside a pitbull, pictures of food or beer (GUILTY!), postcards about how we should let go of people who don’t treat us nicely, political bullshit, or how much we like wine or guns or flags…or, how much we don’t. Social media was once a real connection, now it feels like a bulletin board in the lunchroom, and everyone is at Wendy’s.

***

I miss lots of other stuff too, but that’s all I have for now. I miss taking the time to write The Large Man Chronicles, sharing all the crazy, sick, twisted, & stupid stuff that rolls around my head all day. But I think I can do something about that.

I HAVE A LARGE ASS… .

…comment section below. What are some things YOU miss? TELL ME!

Thanks for reading!!
TLM

Preface:

This is an old Large Man Chronicle, written 6 years ago. A writer needs inspiration, few things in my life have inspired me the way my children have. I remember the look on my little girl’s face the first time she looked up at me through her new glasses, and I can’t specifically tell you why it was such a special…and inspirational, moment, but it was. Thankfully, I can close my eyes and see that pretty little face, in that perfect father daughter moment, just about any time I want; on a plane to Dallas, on a shuttle to the rental car counter in Kansas City, or in this hotel room in Boston. That image is burned into my memory forever, and as long as I have it, and a few others like that,  I’m never too far from home.

In some ways, I think it’s a little presumptuous to tell tales about my kids, it feels like I’m showing you my home movies. A good writer would never assume that such personal things are interesting to the masses. But I re-publish this rather poorly written & structured tale, and I ask you Large Man readers to just “indulge me” on this one. Because, I didn’t know it at the time, but I became a writer on the day this story took place. I remember that pretty face, and I remember the ride home in the car, and I remember not being able to stay away from my computer. I didn’t “want” to tell this story, I HAD to tell this story. The Large Man was born sometime around my little girl’s 10th birthday. I will never be able to properly express the gratitude I have for that sweet and simple, little moment. Game changer.

Today, that “little girl” turns 16. She still inspires me, she is still my light. She is a perfect mix: she’s 24% the best things about my Mom, she’s 25% the best things about my wife, and she’s 51% her own unique, twisted, special blend.

Happy Birthday, Alex Rae, I love you to the moon and back. Thank you for making me proud, every single day! And thank you for making me a writer – your gift to me is endless.

Here’s ‘Thank Heaven for Little Girls’ , my personal favorite of ‘The Large Man Chronicles’. Most of you have already read it, if you haven’t, give it a look and tell me what you think.

*   *   *   *

March 2009

I just went to the optometrist and picked up glasses for my 9 year old daughter. $250.00 f-ing dollars on glasses for a 9 year old child. I remember wanting glasses when I was her age; I even purposely failed my vision test at school. Now that I have to wear them, it’s a little less thrilling. So, yes she was excited, something new. Yes, she was very appreciative. I’m thankful that she understands and recognizes, and appreciates, that she could pick out whatever she wanted. And yes, she asked me if I wanted to go to the electronics store and look at big screens to take away some of the sting of the $250… “Since we’re already out”, she offered as a consoling gesture. I guess it warms my heart a little to see that happiness, but DAMN!!!…$250.00!!! Plus, I know that braces are just around the corner. What’s the point in even looking at big screens?

BUT, this is my world, my station in life. My little girl is spoiled, maybe not rotten, but spoiled. And that’s okay. I thank heaven for this spoiled little girl every day.

My daughter is going to be 10 years old in a few weeks. That is, if she agrees to it. She usually has her own set of plans, her own rules. Those rules and plans are generally different from society’s accepted standards of practice. She wears what she wants to wear; she eats what she wants to eat. She cares very little about anyone’s opinion of her choices. She has very little need for approval. Report cards and teacher conferences confirm that she is a pretty smart chick, and never a behavior problem. She has a quirkiness that an artist has, that skewed view of the world that will forever make her special, and can sometimes make her an outcast. She is the light of my life, and has been since the day I met her.

Alexandra Rae was supposed to be a boy, she was supposed to be a Jack. When my wife was carrying her, we didn’t find out who was coming because we wanted a surprise. The genealogy didn’t really line things up for there to be much of a surprise. I say that she was supposed to be a boy because it seems like I have about 1,000 cousins on my father’s side of the family, and like 5 are girls. Those facts may be exaggerated, but for whatever reason; everyone just expected a boy.

But secretly, in those private, reflective, father-to-be moments, for 38 weeks I wished for a little girl. I know you’re not supposed to think like that when you’re an expectant father. You are supposed to want “10 fingers and 10 toes”, and a healthy heart. Of course that was all I ever prayed for, but very quietly…very privately…I hoped for a little girl. I was always a little nervous about that. Was I tempting fate by wishing and hoping?

The nurse who greeted us in the maternity ward on the day my little girl was born was absolutely gorgeous. She was only about five feet tall, raven black hair, eyes as green as emeralds, and a tight little package that was built for speed. These facts have nothing to do with this story, they’re just another part of this great memory.

She asked us beforehand if we knew who was coming, and we told her we were pretty sure it was “Jack”. During the very short labor (about 90 minutes) in the middle of all the drama and chaos that went on in that room, our nurse chanted a few times, “Jack be nimble…Jack be quick”. My wife and I thought it was cute and fun. It was also quite prophetic.

Our first child was very nimble and very, VERY quick, she just didn’t turn out to be a Jack. My wife did not plan on a natural child-birth, but our daughter had a different set of plans. Alex Rae didn’t have time for anyone to hook up an epidural, she was ready, and we were on her clock now.

When our hot little nurse uttered those magic words, “Well Mom and Dad, you have a perfectly healthy baby…. girl!” My wife and I were shocked. I was happiest about the “perfectly healthy” part of her statement for sure, but I have to admit that I always felt like maybe I cheated a little bit. On April 27th 1999 I got what I prayed for, and what I hoped for. That’s a pretty good day.

On that Tuesday in April almost 10 years ago, my little girl grabbed my index finger, squeezed harder, and cried louder than any living thing that size should be able to do. She looked right at me, and in her own language she seemed to be saying:

“Look, I know you’re scared, and you probably should be – you are not remotely qualified to do this job, but God and Mommy will get you through. Just understand that things are gonna change around here, dude, and you’re gonna buy me shit…lots and lots of it. Clothes, toys, shoes (I will never understand the shoe thing)…and you’re gonna complain about it out loud, but deep down inside, buying me stuff is gonna make you happy. Because deep down inside the thing that makes you the happiest, is making the people you love happy. And right now, this very minute, you just realized that you’ll never love anybody the way you love me. Pretty cool huh? Now pick me up; I won’t break. Oh by the way, I came two weeks early, in April, because I like diamonds, and the birthstone for May is an emerald. Emeralds just don’t work for me, dude. That’s how I roll.”

At least that’s how I remember it all. She seemed very wise for somebody that was only a few minutes old.

So, the $250.00 that I spent on glasses today does NOT make me happy. The light in the eyes behind those glasses always makes me happy. Those eyes melt my heart every day. The light in my little girl’s eyes make those glasses worth every penny. I can’t believe I’ve been doing this for 10 years now. For 10 years, I have thanked Heaven every day for this little girl.

Well now it’s 16, and I still do…and I always will.
Thanks for reading.