Character

This is a story about character. If you wish a glimpse at a true character, look at this little guy above. He is a true character, an original, a goof, brilliant, always on his own track, as sweet and rough and raw as a blinding ray of sunlight, often so bright that his message could well be the first-ever absorbed by a blind person, for example.

Everything he says has never been said before.

He's also a little brother, less than 1.5 years younger than his biggest hero, a guy who has a different set of skills. But he doesn't bother with sports, because medieval history is a much stronger draw...

Nothing about parenting is easy. Today, our family's time started off with a monumental battle between these two young men, both still slightly shorter than me, but not for much longer.

As men develop, the world becomes a strange place, mainly due to the responses of women. Moms of friends who used to think you were cute suddenly shrink away as you approach.

Somehow, you've become a threat. You are big, tall, and scary.

They used to pamper you, now they avoid looking at you directly in your eyes.

For the first time ever, you realize that females are afraid of you, even if you feel so utterly powerless and scared and lonely and certain that you could never hurt a flea, let alone another human being...

Nevertheless, you also sense a power in your maleness, not necessarily something you would have sought but something biology has presented you with.

(All remaining photos were shot by Julia.)


My two youngest sons resolved their hurtful fight today. How? We went to Big 5, a man's store. All 3 of us knew what we had to do and we did it. After that, no conflicts remained. As the day went on, and their little sister, a toughie if there ever was one, joined us, we all prepared ourselves for this day's main event -- the soccer game.



We have among us a warrior.



Not everything he does is something I can brag about. Like any kid, he has his flaws, though they are far fewer than mine.



There is one consistent characteristic of his that makes me proud beyond what any words express. He cares about his teammates. Now this, to a non-athlete, may sound silly. But if you play a team sport, your main loyalty has to be to your team.



My guy? Nobody from the opposition ever messes with one of his teammates. He is already an imposing young man. Very tall, wiry, and faster than anyone who faces him, he plays a mean game of soccer. So today a pivotal moment occurred when one of his teammates raced toward the goal and was about to shoot when another kid, from the other team, committed a blatant foul, knocking Aidan's teammate to the ground.

This meant a yellow card for the offender (who to his credit did prevent a goal), and a gift shot for his teammate, but none of this mattered to my boy. Winning or losing didn't matter, for that matter, either. This was about loyalty, a virtue too long overlooked in many parts of our culture.

What Aidan did was to go up the kid who fouled his teammates, jaw to jaw, and said, "You know what you are? You are a fucker."

The kid turned away, averted his eyes, and never could look my boy in the face again the rest of the afternoon.

You know, of course, that I am proud of my son. He did the right thing at the right time for the right reason.

And none of what I've written here is about sports, and it also is not about my son. The game and his actions are nothing but metaphors, for I am nothing but a writer. My concern tonight is what any of us might do to instill character in our young ones. Like any other parent reading this post, I struggle every day. What is the right thing and what is not?

I could well be wrong, and more often than not in this world I am, but tonight, I am a proud father, if only because my sweet son took a stand and defended his teammate and told another young man, who probably is a perfectly good person in his own right, to his face, exactly what needed to be said: "You are a fucker."

The gift in that would be if the recipient truly listened. There are many ways we learn. One of the best is when someone else cares enough to tell us directly when we have screwed up does so. Sometimes the language has to be crude, even threatening. Sometimes, character-building happens when you know if you don't shape up, somebody else will take you down.

For the rest of today's game, that kid did not commit any other fouls. What he and I both know that if he had, a certain 6-foot-tall red-headed meteor would have laid him flat, and at this point who the fuck cares about yellow cards?

Spring Breaks

We're on spring break around here; well, not me exactly, but when you've got three kids aged 10-14, whatever their reality is rather closely defines yours. Today, I welcomed a gluttony of pubescent male energy into my abode -- three 14-year-old boys and one (he who shares my initials) who turns 13 in a mere five days.

All of their voices are in various stages of changing, more or less like submarines descending down a watery musical scale well south of the Three Tenors already yet not yet bottoming out among the baritones, or wherever they are to land.

Possibly experiencing a cathartic fit of ecstasy at being freed from school for (count 'em) nine-and-a-half straight days, just as our weather has blossomed into a fever that could cause even an old man to fall in love again, should the opportunity present itself, they pulled out our huge, plastic arsenal of weapons and waged some sort of terrorist attack in my basement that got so loud at one point, that the quietest person I've ever known ran down the stairs, held up her hands, and exclaimed: "Boys! You can't do that! Quiet down! Someone might call the police!"

It worked.

Countless burritos, pizza slices, video games, pickups and drop-offs later, complete with more angst and drama than nursing home residents experience in an entire year, here I sit, at almost 9 pm at night, alone in silence. Oh blessed silence! My friend paid me a great compliment last night after she offered to accompany me to the school's annual spring concert, and I avowed that it really didn't matter one way or the other. I'd like the company, of course, but I was also happy just to attend alone.

"It's really true," she said. "You are totally fine being alone. I was under the impression you couldn't be happy in that state, at that kind of event, even one year ago. But now, you can."

I thanked her. And it is true. Some of my favorite moments in life now are when I am alone, able to think, to read, write, and reflect over the past half dozen decades, trying to make sense of it all.

Don't read me wrong. I still love company, particularly of the female variety. No woman friend is too young or too old to light up my day or my night. (And I love my fewer male friends just as much, though we normally have somewhat less to talk about.)

Meanwhile, there is some breaking news here at Hotweir Central. I've written a song, or rather the lyrics to a song. It's not the first song I've ever written, only the first one in about 40 years. I think it is a good song, and I've given it to a musician friend to consider recording. It fits into a kind of whimsical, country-blues-folk-rock genre, updated for the Internet era.

I'll keep those of you who are my most loyal readers, those lovely habitues of this queerly inconsistent blog, informed as to my progress in this relatively new (yet also very old) career twist. How would you like me to become a popular songwriter?

Stranger things happen every day. Grandma Moses did her thing late in the third act of her remarkable life.

Why not me? Much more importantly, why not you?

Think about it: After all, I can't write anything, let alone a song, for myself. I write for you.

What is it, as you age, that you really would like to do for the others out there who no doubt wish you would finally follow your own passion, enriching us all in the process?

Think about it. Then dare to act.

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What Moves Me

In our culture, you could search far and wide before you would ever discover a gem like this:

Marion Williams singing our greatest gospel song, in a way, that to my ears, has never been equaled before or since. This performance was in my mind's eye as I held onto my singer daughter at my father's memorial service in the summer of the last year of the last century. We sang Amazing Grace with friends and family as we placed a portion of his ashes into the roots of that tree I wrote about a few nights ago.

The thing about this video clip that amazes me, and I have listened to it three straight times now, is how it embodies the blues, gospel, faith, and rock n roll so seamlessly that you are swept along as if by a powerful river.

Maybe that, in the end, is what faith is -- a powerful river where you can only surrender, to God.

I think I get it, and even if I can never get there with you all, I honor the feeling, understand the joy, and most of all, appreciate the music!

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I've Glimpsed the Future (and I like what I see)

Why the long face? I know it's virtually heretical to not bemoan all the lost jobs, frozen credit, stalled building projects, corporate bankruptcies, and the like, but I'm feeling quite bullish about everything that is happening, actually.

It's exciting to live through a revolution, especially, given my love of data and words, an information revolution! You won't catch me crying if GM goes bankrupt or if AIG is finally allowed to fail. Frankly, I hope housing prices continue to fall -- steeply -- especially in the places where I'd like to live.

And I don't really think losing a "job" is all that much of a disaster, if you're willing to be innovative, persistent, and creative. First of all, it's probably your former employer's "loss," not yours. Human talent is what makes any company thrive; squander it, let it walk away, and most companies' days are numbered.

Secondly, many if not most jobs become routinized over time. People care out a niche, stop listening to one another, and spend more energy protecting their turf than growing the company.

I'm all about growing the company. What attracts me is the early-stage, can-do spirit that built this country, and that continues to energize little groups of entrepreneurs who believe they may have the key to the Next Big Thing.

Besides, there's nothing in life quite as good as having control of your own time, that most precious of all assets. These days, I am discovering many more passions -- foods, music, books, ideas, people, companies -- than I will ever be able to indulge. That's okay, as the economy slows a bit, even though we're still just spinning in space, maybe I can slow down my piece of earth just enough to take on more company (mainly of the intellectual kind) before resuming hyper-speed.

Let the old fall away so the new can emerge. I'm loving it.

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Our Family Trees

Photo by Doris Bachert

Somewhere in Michigan a tree is growing with my parents' ashes feeding its roots. My cousin sent me this photograph of that tree the other day on the occasion of my last uncle's memorial service.

We all pass. We know that, though we seldom live like we know it. Every day is precious, but few days may feel precious.

All too often, almost by habit, we are focused on what we don't have as opposed to what we do have. Here on the richest nation on earth, we have less than five percent of the world's population but roughly 25 percent of its economic wealth.

We're going through what we consider a hard time, but we don't know hard times. Every day of the week, I find out about new entrepreneurial ventures, where people are launching companies designed to make things better.

In the time it's taken to write this brief post, 1,000 new humans have been born, 49 of them here in the U.S. Those 49 are the lucky ones.

The other 951? That is the central question we all need to be considering.

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Age of Disappearing Magazines

I've been writing about the media business for years; one early piece I recall was in SunDance magazine in 1972. Back in those days, a small group of entrepreneurs could do what we did and create a new national magazine with only a few thousand dollars.

Over a dozen such magazines existed in San Francisco alone in those days. That was then.

The present situation in the magazine business is not about new magazines launching but how existing magazines are dying. According to a trade newsletter, a stunning 525 magazines folded last year, with another 87 going out of business already this year!

Even the top circulation titles are hurting. Readers Digest has long been #1 in circulation among American magazines; but Moody's says the magazine is in danger of closing soon.

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The Great Fish Pond Massacre

News Flash: About three-quarters of the two dozen fish in my housemates' backyard pond disappeared over the weekend, and the murdering marauder was almost certainly a raccoon, though I found no prints at the scene of the crime.

We are now considering various structural, warning, and weapons systems to keep a recurrence, so the peaceful little Buddhist sanctuary can be repopulated with our little swimmers.

Hotweir world headquarters has been the scene of lively debates of the sort that balance mitigation versus retaliation. Stay tuned for more on their breaking story...

A Goal By My Hero

These images are a montage of this weekend.



They capture certain aspects of this weekend -- food and kids' sports. The highlight was my 14-year-old's soccer game yesterday because HE SCORED A GOAL! This kid has barely even taken a shot in any soccer game the past four years. He is, rather, the epitome of an unselfish athlete, the one who sets up a drive that lets others claim the glory of scoring, or the one who streaks back to strip the ball at the very last second from a rival shooter who is already smelling his goal just when an unseen force ends his fantasy.



Yesterday, his coach put him at left forward for a few minutes at the start of the second half. His team was ahead 2-0. Aidan is right-footed, so he is not a natural choice at that position, but the team's one left-footed shooter was absent, so he was sent there.

Within two minutes Aidan had the ball in the zone, with defenders on him, but he employed one of the moves he's been practicing -- by slamming the ball hard from the outside of his right foot towards the open angle of the net.

Bam! Goal!


In soccer, a 3-0 lead is insurmountable unless you fail on defense.



So, his coach moved Aidan back to defense. That is where you want your best athletes when there still is a lot of game to be played.



As it turned out, the opposing team never did score. On its best drive, a certain 6-foot-tall redhead caught up to the breakaway opponent at the last moment and diverted the ball from its would-be shooter's grasp harmlessly out of bounds.



Sorry if I sound like a proud parent, but I am. Whenever I see art, dance, beauty in action, I'm mesmerized. That's what being at this game felt like for me.

As for all of the flowers and foods showing up around here lately, we are experiencing a bountiful spring in the Mission District. Everything grows. The air is heavy with the sensual scent of new life, pushing its way up through moist soils like volcanic eruptions or, if your prefer, erotic erections.

Whatever, it is all about life. Tomorrow, I think, I will post a photo of a lonely blade of grass growing far above the earth...



Meanwhile, here is a photo of the kid who does more in his way, every day, to be a great human being than I ever will accomplish in my lifetime. He is a big-hearted guy. Once I am gone,I hope he will discover these writings, and know just how much he inspired me to keep writing, even as much else faded away, wordlessly.

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