Board

Yesterday I took advantage of the school holiday and took S and M snowboarding for the day. Unfortunately, I could not participate because it's still too soon after my back surgery. So I hung out in the lodge and read and people-watched. There were a fair amount of other non-skiing parents doing the same thing. One woman was doing her bills, another the New York Times Crossword Puzzle. I pored over the Star's coverage of the breakup of Brad and Jen. It's so tragic; he simply wants to raise a family and she's just too occupied with her career.

Despite the sad topic of my reading material it was a good day. The boys and I kept in touch via walkie talkie and I occasionally walked out to the base to watch them descend. Both of them did great for the first outing of the season. S has acquired a certain grace in his turns that shows he's growing into his body and losing some of his gawkiness. M, at age 10 displays a purely natural talent and style. I didn't think I would be surpassed so early on, but there it is.

I had hoped to also bring along my girlfriend's son C. Although he is new to snowboarding, the plan was for him to take a lesson and then join my sons on the slope later in the day. Unfortunately, he wasn't feeling well the night before and it didn't seem like the greatest idea for him to spend a day outside in the cold if he was sick. It's an unfortunately lost opportunity. It's been a struggle to join our families and this event would've provided a convenient venue for bonding.

Over the past couple years, riding together has been the perfect father-son activity. The days we spend boarding are miraculously free from sibling bickering and parental chastisement. I'll write more on that in the future. Right now the question in my head is "Would C have melted into that comfort zone or disrupted it?" Unfortunately, there's no way to know without living it and that too will have to wait for another day.

Wordplay

Last night M and I played Scrabble. His first word was SON. I followed up with GENT.

The Return of Dreams

I'm not referring to dreams like the dream of getting a gold medal in the Olympics. I gave up on that one a long time ago. No, I mean the nocturnal slumber variety. Freud fodder.

For a relatively long recent time it seemed that I wasn't dreaming at night, or at least not remembering them. Which for me is a strange thing because I've always had a rich dream life. Dreaming practically every night with almost no nightmares, just weird associations, locations, and events. For some reason the one topic I dream of more than any other is Ultimate Frisbee. I have frequent dreams involving the game.

But it's nice to have them return after a dry spell. As should be no surprise, they've been populated strongly by male characters: a threatening thug, a bumbling work buddy attempting to impress his lady boss by taking off his sport shirt revealing a typical middle age belly rippling with fat, bulging over his waistline. What's that about?

The thug is a bit easier to place in my mental hierarchy. His shirtless torso was much more impressive. Tattooed of course. His face was lean and stubbly. It was a brief encounter. As is often the case in dreams he materialized, was recognized as a frightening symbol and then disappeared. I seem to recall him being between me and my family. Threatening them somehow. I understand a popular technique for dream interpretation is to assume that each character is a version of the dreamer. And I do indeed fear the raw animal male inside me. Or if I do not fear him, I try to ignore him. I am a peaceful man. Sex is an inconvenient hunger. I am above that level. But what I fail to realize is that I cannot be above that level without incorporating it into the higher. To deny it is to give it power. The question then becomes: how do I express the angry raw male in a socially acceptable way? Certainly sports is one way. Maybe that explains the Ultimate Frisbee dreams. But I doubt it. Those seem to be more about socializing and community than wild man expressionism.

So that remains a challenge for me in this adventure. It seems a bit obvious to attribute my discomfort to the chaos in my life at the time I was moving from boy to man. And even if so, where does that get me towards resolving the tension. How do I learn to accept all of me, including the angry tattooed thug?

Black and White

"To choose doubt as a philosophy of life is akin to choosing immobility as a means of transportation."

I came across that sentence yesterday in Yann Martel's "The Life of Pi". It seemed to sum up the last six months of my life: constantly doubting my choices, my abilities, my intelligence. And so I have remained apparently immobile. Maybe that's why like a stationary shark I feel like I'm suffocating.

But doubt is not my philosophy; it is my state of mind.

I have never been one for certainty, although those who have argued with me might find that statement itself something further to argue about. My arguing is but a yell in the direction in which I choose to go. If after hearing my yell you still wish to go in another direction that is all well and good.

My complaint is with those who believe their way is the only one, or the absolutely *right* one. I have never had that in me. Maybe that's why I'm not a big winner at sports. I mean I love to play. I love to get out there and give my best effort. But if I lose, c'est la vie.

It's a good bet this attitude has spread via osmosis to my sons, whether through nature or nurture I have no guess. Neither M nor S has that killer instinct. They do, they try, but there are no tears for losing.

In keeping with my general philosophy, I'm not sure I can say that's a good thing or a bad thing.