Funny How That Works

Today is a very special day to me. On March 22, 1981 I was running the capital 10k (yes….running!) After the race I got word my first niece was born. I went from just a regular guy to an uncle. Being an uncle for the first time is HUGE! Certainly a big responsibility for an 8th grader. Now I don’t want my niece to think she isn’t important, because she is. But March 22 is also the day my oldest daughter’s roommate was born. Again, I don’t want her to think she is not important, because she is, but March 22 is a key day for me for another reason. March 22 is the day I became complete. I crossed over from an individual who only had to worry about himself, to a parent. It was March 22, 1986 that my son was born. I wouldn’t know its importance for about 3 years. I married my son’s mom when he was three. I realize this makes him my step-son, but I have never called him that. “Step” should not cast a negative connotation, but it does. I don’t know why either. When you think about it, Jesus had a step dad. Joseph no doubt loved his step son. Joseph was always a favorite of mine. Could you imagine a teenage Jesus just letting him have it? My son too thought his birth father was God, but it would have really sucked if he was. And no matter how much Joseph loved his son, did he love him any less than his other children? And did Jesus resent Joseph because he wasn’t his real dad? My son always seemed to think growing up that I came in and forced his dad out. Or at least it seemed that way to me. There was always a chip on his shoulder. And mine too. I wonder if Mary and Joseph fought over the discipline of young Jesus? There is another no win situation. And hence this I have decided being a step parent is the toughest job in the world. So I just leave out the step. Hey, I potty trained him; I bought him his first bike, etc, etc. And I love him unconditionally. If that doesn’t give me the right to call him son the whole world can kiss my ass! IJS. I love my son. I don’t think that was ever a question. We had a great time growing up together. We used to go camping with my brothers and their sons. We’d play paintball, cookout and watch the uncles get drunk. Good times! When I was first pressed into parenthood I was green to be sure. I was 21 years old and while most of my friends were out getting drunk and chasing chics, I was now responsible for another life. Parenting didn’t come naturally for me either. My dad died when I was 12. I’m sure I would have learned much more if not for his early demise. My mother was a good role model, but let’s face it……….after the hell my siblings put her thru, she was tired! Looking back on it now, I really have to give my son credit for hanging in there. We had some great times. I remember potty training, learning to ride a bike, being a Cub Scout den leader, tee ball coach, chaperone for dances, and countless fishing/hunting trips. Let’s not forget countless trips to the emergency room for stitches, broken bones and various illnesses that could have just been excuses to get out of tests the following day. One of the best vacations I ever had was when he and I went to Boy Scout camp together. One full week of guy stuff. It was awesome. One day I was picking him up from daycare and someone said to me, “the girls look like their mother but he is the spitting image of you.” I didn’t bother letting her know he wasn’t from my loins. Once he began school there was more drama. It usually started with a teacher calling me “Mr. Hislastname.” When I would tell them my name is Schwab, they would question if I had the right to conduct business on behalf of the child. Then in the 8th grade, god (I mean his dad) decided he wanted to take a stab at parenthood. Over the course of the next year, I went from DAD to Buddy. That was tuff! Shortly after that our relationship deteriorated to nothing. Along with that, so did the marriage I was in. His mom and I were divorced and our contact was little over the next couple of years. I got calls and asked for my opinion on the big things……….i.e.: joining the military. I also got calls before going over to Iraq. But it was upon his return from Iraq where our relationship really rekindled. I think we have both grown up and matured. I also think he knows I’m not going anywhere. He’ll make bad decisions (we all do) and I have continued to love him. He will get married and divorced and I have been there to love him. When he had his own son, I was there to love them both. When he was up to his asshole in alligators I jumped into the water with him and said, “Let’s go!” When he needs an older person’s advice, I am here. I believe he accepts the fact that I am one constant in his life that just isn’t going away. I haven’t been married to his mom for quite some time, but he is still a member of my family. Even though he is 24 years old today, he still calls my siblings, “uncle this” or “aunt that.” He is respectful to all of them, even though I’m not. Schwab Family Christmas or Schwab Family Picnic just wouldn’t be the same without him. Oh, he’s exhibited some of his birth father’s bad habits, but there is no doubt he is my son. This boy is a Schwab for sure. Seeing him now with his own son is so awesome. I don’t believe I was a good dad when I got started. He seems to be. The G/F and I were watching his son this past weekend and I saw my son so many times when I looked into the face of this baby. The baby slept with me at night and I lay awake in bed just watching him. I really don’t think I could love this baby more. But I’m going to try. Same for my son! By an act of fate, I missed being a father at a very young age and a few years later my life was blessed with my son. Funny how that works! I truly believe this was God’s doing. Kind of a payback. I couldn’t help it that I wasn’t there at his conception, but I’m not going to miss any of the rest of his life. I love you boy. Happy Birthday!

Are We There Yet?

“Are we there yet?” Those four little words you hear on every road trip. I, my friends, am a road warrior. I like to leave early in the morning and not stop until I get there. Sure, you have to stop for gas and restrooms, but that’s it. I had a great plan when the kids were younger. I would leave on our road trips about 3AM. This way they would sleep for some of the time instead of fight the whole way. Not only that, but I could enjoy the drive for the first few hours. After that it was constantly those four little words, “are we there yet?” “Are we there yet?” “Are we there yet?” Usually I was “there” once we were all in the car. And I mean this in a good way. By the end of this blog I think you’ll understand.

I think I may have learned my road traveling techniques from my dad, Don Schwab. My parents had eight kids. You can ask all of my siblings and I about our dad and you’ll get eight different answers. So let me tell you how I see it. When they write a blog they can give you their perspective. Don was a very wise and strong man. I believe he loved all of his family, but me the most (again, my blog). Did I mention they had eight kids? And out of those eight there were, let’s see….hmmmm, eight smart asses! Dad was patient. I got a little impatient driving with three kids; I really don’t know how he did it. And none of mine are huge smart asses. Oh, they have their moments, but growing up one of eight you had to be REAL good or you would never get any attention. We had the Ford Country Squire station Wagon. Complete with simulated wood paneling going down the side. We had other vehicles…Dodge Van, Volkswagon Bus and a bunch of Ford Trucks that you could put an infinite amount of kids in the back. That was a different time to be sure. But it was the Country Squire that I remember the best. What I remember the most was the “goo-goo room.” What? You never heard of a “goo-goo room?” The “goo-goo” room is the place in the very back of the Country Squire that had two flip up seats that faced each other. This is good for small people who don’t require air conditioning or windows that open or any comfort what-so-ever. There is a hierarchy in the seating arrangements of a Country Squire. Mom and Dad sat up front and window. At first, I sat between them. My two immediate older brothers sat in the “goo-goo room.” The rest of the kids that happen to be riding with us at the time sat in the middle row, oldest next to the windows. I remember getting “promoted” to the “goo-goo room.” It was owned by my brother Beej and me. Usually there were four kids sitting in the middle seat and Mom and Dad kept their positions. All you really need to know about the seating order is this; it doesn’t matter where you sit, dad can still reach you. This man was no orangutan, but his arms were so long he could certainly hit you in the “goo-goo room,” the more difficult seat immediately behind him, hell he probably could have hit a person in the next car. He was that good! These aren’t bruising shots by any means, just little jabs to get your attention. Kind of letting you know if he wanted, he’d take you out. I would imagine over the course of my 12 years before he died, he heard “are we there yet?” about 1,876,423 times. And several more he didn’t hear, or maybe just didn’t acknowledge. For just having all his family in the car together, he was already there. I think my dad believed whenever you’re going somewhere with someone you love, spending time with them, being in such close proximity, you’re there!


I am reminded of this because I took a road trip with the G/F this past week. We left on Wednesday, drove over 600 miles. Skied Thursday. Woke up Friday and after a short run of the slopes, drove back over 600 miles. Occasionally she would ask me if we were there yet. Funning around mostly. Twelve hundred miles. I gotta tell ya, I really enjoyed it. We didn’t even listen to the radio most of the time. We talked for twelve hundred miles!! Folks that’s about 26 hours! WOW! That’s probably more talking than the last two years of my marriage. We talked about a lot of stuff. Why we were driving 26 hours to ski for about eight? Why her candidate for governor is better than my candidate? (she’s not). Why a Honda doesn’t have an auxiliary input so I could plug in my iPod and only one lighter outlet? How are we to plug in two cell phones and a GPS?! I have a theory why this was so enjoyable. Not at any point during our excursion did we talk about “us.” We talked about everything we could possibly talk about, stupid, stupid stuff, but we never talked about “us.” How great is it that you have something so good you don’t have to talk about it?! Guys you know what I’m talking about. You know you want to turn and run the minute your significant other says, “Let’s talk about us.” WE DROVE 26 HOURS, NEVER HAD AN ARGUMENT AND DIDN’T HAVE TO TALK ABOUT “US!” This is huge. If she WERE to ask me, “are we there yet?’ I’d have to say yes. For the first time in years, I think I’m there!

Hi-Ho, Hi-Ho

Ah, work. What makes us whole. How we provide for our families. What we do or what we HAVE to do. Have you ever heard the phrase, “find a job you enjoy and you’ll never work again?” Crap, really. I’m not really opposed to work, per se. I would just rather deal with individuals on an individual basis. I guess I’ve become a bit callused working for a huge corporation for the last several years. When I first got into banking, I truly believed I made a difference. And it seemed like my employer really cared. We weren’t pushing things, we were helping people buy their first home, get a new car or save for college or retirement. VERY important things. Then when I moved into business banking we were helping people grow their business and establish lines of credit. Again, VERY important things. We did it because it helped the customer and made sense. Now it seems like whenever you go into a bank your are attacked by bankers like a pack of wild dogs on a three legged cat. You’re being sold stuff you already said no to and it gets aggravating. It seems whenever the other banks started losing money my employer (who was very conservative and who I will always consider the “winner” of the banking wars) tried to emulate them. Weird. What I’m getting to here is, even if you find a job you love, it can change. And if you are in corporate America, chances are it will. I’ve been on medical leave for about six weeks now. While having lunch with one of my daughters the other day she asked me if there was something I wanted to share with her. I said no and asked her why and she said I just seem so much happier and I didn’t yell at her nearly as much as I used to (I wasn’t aware I ever yelled at her). She said I seemed much easier going. The G/F says the same. I guess a six week vacation from corporate America will do that to you. I’m really disappointed in myself to let my work stress me out so much I take it out on loved ones.

At a recent gathering of old friends a buddy of mine was asked what he did. This is his reply………”I sit on a big wooden bench, with an oar that I keep rowing. All the while I am putting neo-sporin on my back from the whip marks from when I don’t row fast enough. There is a little man on a platform above me that bangs a drum.” Classic. (I want to give the person who I quoted credit for this without saying his name….if you’ve known me for longer than 25 years then you know him as the cool drummer in the HS band). I’m going to go out on a limb here and say he hasn’t found what he enjoys either. But I happen to know he is still good at what he does and it is tolerable for him. That said, I seriously doubt anyone would enjoy cleaning port-a-cans, but someone’s got to do it. The same could be said for flipping burgers or working at the bank. I guess what I’m looking for is the level of disgust we can tolerate for the compensation earned. And if I am not moved by what I am doing and I do it anyway for the money, doesn’t that just make me a whore? Probably not. I remember when my daughters were really young. We struggled terribly. At one point I was working a 7am-3pm M-F job, a 3pm-11pm M-F job and mowing lawns and delivering pizzas on weekends. I must have been a big whore then?! (Still think I had it better than the mom though! Just imagine twins with croup!) . One year I took a part time job cleaning up the slaughter house after everyone went home. THAT was the WORST job EVER!! I didn’t enjoy any of those jobs. But we always do what we have to do to take care of our family. As much as I disliked those jobs, I don’t think I ever let it affect the way I dealt with customers. I’ve had a bad run recently with checkers at the local grocery store who obviously do not like their job. They don’t greet you when you come up, don’t sack your groceries and are just unpleasant. The G/F and I got a kick out of it last week when we had to sack our own groceries then the checker asked us if we’d like help out with our bags. Really? What I wanted was to not have to ask myself if I wanted paper or plastic. And I bet everyone has experienced lack of enthusiasm from any fast food establishment you may frequent. Fortunately, Ms. Dikeman, Ms. Boyd, Ms. Woffard, Ms. Shaw, Ms. Brown, Mr. Girdner, Ms. Cunningham, Ms. Black, Ms. Bradley, Ms. Sivek and Mrs. Swope (twice) I believe really loved their jobs. These were all my English teachers from 1st-12th grades. As I think back on most of the teachers I’ve ever had, they all seemed like they really liked their jobs. And being a teacher in a class that I was in could not have been easy. I’m just sayin’. I think I was fortunate to grow up in a place and time where the teachers really still cared and really reached out to their students. Maybe not all of them, but certainly most of them. I know one of my English teachers in high school was married to one of the coaches, and these two, as a couple did more for me than I could ever tell them. I believe they both loved their jobs. Now, 25 years later I know they are both still teaching. How would you like to have loved your job that long? Last night I met a friend for beverages. I’ve know this guy since 6th grade. He is a coach in a big city school. He is also a teacher. I asked him what he taught and he told me to guess. Now this is a guy who was very athletic, smart and probably would have fun at other people’s expense (I know this because we hung around together and I did too). He went on to tell me he was a special ed teacher. When he started talking about “his” kids his eyes twinkled like I imagine mine do when I’m talking about my daughters or son. He sat up in his chair and became very animated and you could tell he really cares for these kids and loves what he does. Made me kind of proud he was a guy I hung out with! I hope these children’s parents realize how lucky they are to have him teaching their children. I’d like to give a big “thank you” to all the teachers and cops here, for I know they don’t do it for money. One of my favorite stories was one of Mother Theresa. When inspecting a rundown housing project for the homeless she came upon a bathroom and stated, “Someone sure does love Jesus. “ When questioned she went on to explain that anyone who takes such pride in their work to do such a wonderful job in cleaning the restroom to get it to shine so well really glorifies Jesus with their work. Probably what the guy who cleans the port-a-john must think as well. I guess it’s time to find something I love so I can too!

Until WHEN Do Us Part?!!!

Marriage is a great institution. But who wants to be in an institution? I’ve heard that old joke several times and it works for me. However I have people very close to me that are married and are practically an extension of each other. Actually I am a firm believer in marriage. I know this sounds funny coming from a divorced dude, but I truly believe in marriage. That said, I should also add that I believe in marriage to the RIGHT person. I was happily married for about 7 years. Quite an accomplishment until I tell you I was actually married for about 13 years. But 7 of those were happy! We dated for about 3 months before I asked her to marry me. We lived together (OMG I hope the kids don’t read this!! JK, I think they know!!) For about a year then tied the knot. In 1989 I filed the EZ tax form and in 1990 I was married, had three kids and bought a house. Taxes were a little bit different that year! Anyway……….we were married about 5 years before we knew what marriage was. We’d fight like cats and dogs, make up then fight more. It was an ongoing process. I don’t know how many times we separated or screamed divorce, but I wish I had a dollar for each time. We searched and found out what marriage really was and the next several years were great. I can truly say that we were a perfect married couple. We did all the things perfect couples did. We were volunteering at school with the kids, we were involved with our church, we judged other couples who we deemed “not as happy as us”. Everything. We worked hard to keep our marriage great. Then…………we didn’t, and got divorced. It’s funny when you work at marriage it’s an ongoing process that takes time to build, but when you divorce it’s not skidding to a halt it’s an abrupt STOP! It’s my belief this happens so your heart can continue to fly out of your chest. And that’s what it feels like until you can continue forward and pick it up and put it back. The walk is further for some than others. Fortunately for me, my walk wasn’t too long. And it doesn’t matter who wants the divorce, it’s equally hurtful. I’m sure my X will disagree with this statement but as good as I was at being married (that’s the part she will disagree with) I’m better at being divorced. The only problem with that is once you are divorced it kind of makes you gun-shy on commitment to another person. I’ve been going out with a wonderful woman for about 4 years. Every July 4th I feel the need to break up with her. I think this is so we can get back together and keep it new longer (just a theory). No doubt this is the person I want to spend the rest of my life with. I just don’t want to ever divorce her. I’ve got to get rid of my belief that marriage is the first step of divorce. I’ve experienced a good marriage and won’t settle for anything less. I am looking forward to experiencing it with her. Just as soon as I can say the word marriage and breathe at the same time. Like anything else we form our opinions on marriage from people we know or look up to. My mom and dad were married 30 plus years before my dad died. After his death, we could never get my mother to date or even consider it really. My dad was the only man she was ever interested in and NOTHING was going to change that, not even his death. They may not have had a perfect marriage, but from what I saw they worked really hard at it. One thing I remember well and picked up in my own life was there was no doubt my dad loved my mom and you better not piss mom off or dad was gonna take ya out! (Just got an idea for a future blog, “things your dad said.” My dad was a book of great quotes). I have a sister and brother in law celebrating 20 years this month. They work hard on their marriage although I bet they would both say it’s no work at all. They are truly committed to each other and are on a different plane than everyone else I know. I have a brother and a sister who are not married yet display the kind of “one-ness” with their respective other halves that any married couple would envy. These are my “marriage heroes!” And then there are others that are train wrecks waiting to happen. They aren’t committed or they are “staying together for the kids.” Just an opinion, but that is about the dumbest reason I’ve heard to stay together. I’m pretty sure your kids want you to be happy. Whenever a friend tells me they are contemplating divorce I always tell them the same thing, “Fight for your marriage until you can’t lift your arms.” Of course if you can’t lift your arms anymore, get divorced! Cut your losses and look for happiness elsewhere. But ONLY after you’ve exhausted every possible means of working it out. In the words of Chris Rock, “life is short, unless you’re married to the wrong person. Then it’s a looooooooooong time.” Here’s a shocker for you…..divorce sucks! Even if you can’t stand each other or are totally unhappy in your marriage. It still sucks. Divorce is the death of a marriage and death is very hard. That said, I’m happily divorced. I’d like to thank my X wife for us not working harder. If we did she may not have found her current husband and me my current girlfriend. Now we are both able to pursue happiness and to be models for our children. Everyone wants their children to find the right person. I’ve always told my girls to find someone who treats them better than me and they will receive my blessing. I’ll let you know how that one turns out in about 50 years when they are ready for marriage! In closing I’d like to add, it’s not the size of the ring but the size of the heart that matters in marriage (OK, I threw that one in for the g/f’s benefit!! She’s not buying the old, “your hands are too small for a big diamond” shtick). Congratulations to all the happily married couples out there. Thank you for being an inspiration to those of us trying to grasp the concept!

Editor’s Note: The G/F and I just updated our FaceBook status to confirm we ARE in a relationship. I’m only hyperventilating a little. Baby steps, baby steps!

Parenthood, the Ultimate Commitment

Hello everyone. Today I am starting my new blog. This blog is going to try to not be political or judgmental, but I’m fairly certain I will cross lines. If Bruce Springsteen and the Dixie Chicks can force their opinions on people who come to their concerts I certainly can as well on people who visit my blog! However, this is not its intended purpose. The intended purpose here is to just let me vent on issues and observations that ride that merry-go-round in my head. I cannot begin to speculate what it will be the next time. Those that know me know I cannot stay on one topic for very long. I would like you to know if I am going to go off on something that is colorful I will give it an (R) rating next to the title. To understand where I am coming from let me give you a little background on me…………..I am a 43 year old, single male. I have spent most of the last 20 years living with my twin 19 year old daughters. I seem to have a feminine side because of this. This was my greatest education. I have experienced more drama than most men. More than all the episodes of General Hospital in fact. In my blog I’m going to try to be funny, but in my first one I wanted to touch on something very important to me; parenthood.
Death & Parenthood are the only commitments I could think of that are final. I’m not much into commitment. I have avoided it at all costs for the most part (except for parenthood). I’ve made commitments before such as marriage, buying a home or trying to watch the whole series of 24. These were not final. I’m not married, I no longer have that house and I really can’t sit still for 24 hours. I really don’t think those commitments were what one would call final. I understand marriage is supposed to be “til death do us part” but that really isn’t the case most of the time these days. (My blog on marriage is coming in the near future. I’m sure my ex-wife and current girlfriend (two separate people) will find that one interesting.) They should change that to “til something better comes along.” But parenthood! Now that’s commitment.
My first taste of parenthood as a commitment came on Christmas Eve 1989. In those days Wal-Mart stayed open until midnight. We got my son a radio flyer little red wagon. The good one that was actually made out of metal. We waited for him to go to bed so we could put it together and give all props to Santa. The only problem is I’m not exactly what you would call “handy” and it didn’t have all the parts. That’s my story. I put it together the best I could but there were parts I needed that I just didn’t have. It’s about 11:30PM and I’m in my pajamas and robe. Next thing I know I’m in the same pajamas and robe standing in the hardware section of Wal-Mart. I look around and notice there are about 3 or 4 other dads standing around in their pajamas and robes. We are all scratching our heads. Not sure if we are more confused about what parts we needed or why the hell we would go out in our underwear on Christmas Eve. We give each other the “man nod” affirming our mutual dilemma. Apparently there were a lot of radio flyer little red wagons delivered by St. Nick that year. That’s commitment!
When I was going thru divorce I took up smoking. Don’t judge me, I needed a vice. After stressful days I loved to go into the garage and spark it up. One day my youngest daughter (She is 3 minutes younger than her sister. Her older sister won’t let her forget it either) came into the garage and said, “Daddy if you don’t stop smoking, your heart is going to turn green and you’re going to die like grandmaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!” I stopped that day. Let me tell you, smoking is like a commitment! You have to pay an unworldly amount of money for cigarettes. You have to make excuses to slip away to smoke. You have to always have gum, hand sanitizer and some kind of cologne to keep that awful smoker smell in check (when actually you just add more fragrance to it). I crushed the pack I had right there. That’s commitment!
A short time ago my oldest daughter gave me a frantic phone call. She’s at school; she has no money, no gas in her car and started her period. Apparently the tampons they have in the bathrooms at school are not up to the ardent standards of my baby girl. Next thing I know I’m standing in the feminine hygiene isle at HEB staring blankly at products I have never used or intend to. I have my daughter on the phone trying to explain to me what exactly she needs. I really don’t understand not having tampons. I would think if I had a period the prior month, and month before, etc I would know something may happen this month as well. But I digress. My daughter doesn’t even know what brand she uses. She can only describe the box. She also gave me a slogan they use on their commercials. I actually asked a poor lady walking down the aisle if she knew what brand came in a blue box and had “a unique leak guard.” If I designed these boxes my slogan would be “gets the red out”, but I think that one is already taken. Asking complete strangers about feminine hygiene, that’s commitment!
Especially after the divorce I made a promise to not do anything I didn’t want my kids to do. Drinking, smoking, wild women….everything. I own a company that shoots video for people to use on their website. At a recent conference I was asked by a young man if I would like to work on something for him. You people who own your own business know the answer is always “yes.” He went on to explain how he has an adult website and would like to add video on a subscription basis. In my mind I’m saying, “thank you God, I’ve been waiting for this since puberty.” (I know God probably doesn’t condone this website, but I was also telling myself He let this happen for a reason). So much going thru my mind! I opened my mouth and here is what came out, “ya know….I’m not judging you, but I have two beautiful daughters. They wouldn’t understand me working on a project like that and I wouldn’t be comfortable doing anything I couldn’t share with them.” Really! That’s what I said! Not what I was thinking! That’s commitment!
Parents do everyday what they don’t want to do. They do this because they are committed to their children. They commit because being a parent is the most important job in the world. I am very proud to know as many good parents as I do. I count them among my greatest friends. As thankless of a job it can be (sometimes) it is still the best job in the whole world. Whereas parenting doesn’t pay much money, it does payoff huge down the road when we become grand-parents. But that is another blog for another day.

Occasional BS

Coming soon.......................