If you follow me on Twitter, then you know I like to post my current streak along with an athlete and jersey number representing where I’m at in my streak. Yesterday, I marked 77. Initially, I wanted to use the jersey number of one of my favorite childhood athletes, Jim Jeffcoat. But, even with the Mavs out of the playoffs, I thought using Luka, who also wears 77, would be more timely or relevant. Well, to my surprise, Jim Jeffcoat himself saw my tweet and commented. This made my day. Looking through his Twitter timeline, he doesn’t tweet or reply often, so I feel honored. https://twitter.com/SlimDaddy77/status/1531999264813076481
One manager I worked for at Fidelity Investments had a daughter that Jim Jeffcoat’s son took to prom.
I thought I’ve been holding up pretty well. It’s been months since I had a breakdown, but I think a combination of things got to me yesterday.
DaughterGeeding FaceTimed and wanted to show me her newly decorated room. She had such an assortment of lights I thought she was in an old disco hall. BoyGeeding made a surprise appearance, with a surprise haircut. The boy hasn’t had a real haircut since the separation and he’s been very protective of his hair. But, for some reason, his sister talked him into allowing her to cut his hair. I don’t know how many younger brothers would be brave (or crazy) enough to allow an older sibling to cut their hair. It was only a partial cut. I think she will complete the look later in the evening. I noticed their mother was in the background, but trying to stay out of sight. Knowing her body language, she seemed to be in a perky mood, as if she’s fixed everything and all is right in the world.
What has been really difficult is when my kids show off their new rooms to me. This will now be the third place they have lived since the separation. I’ve never been invited inside any of their new homes. The kids were thrilled and proud to show off all they’ve done decorating and arranging furniture, but behind the smile I put on my face was a wall of sorrow. It’s heartbreaking to see how well the kids can adjust to life without me in it. It’s hard to be happy for them when you know it only came to be because of a tragic and selfish event. Sure, I want them to be happy, but something just feels out of place. Outside, I’m showing I’m happy for them, inside I’m screaming, “It shouldn’t have to be this way.” It’s weird. I don’t desire reconciliation, but I miss being a complete family unit. I’m not sure if that makes sense.
There was one more surprise, and I’m sure this is why their mother was hanging around. She bought the kids a puppy. That bothers me, and I’m not sure if I can put my finger on it. In a way, I think my ex and her mother think if they just move into a rent house (which they recently did) and get out of an apartment, get a dog, and do a few other things, those will be bandaids that fixes everything regarding the kids emotional well-being. Also, I couldn’t help but think of the first three weeks of the separation and how sad DogGeedingII and OtherDogGeedingII were (and BunnyGeeding, as well). For those three weeks, the dogs were longing for them. Like clockwork, at 5:00 PM every weekday, DogGeedingII would go through the doggie door into the backyard and sit and look at the gate facing the garage, waiting for the three of them to come home. After a while, he’d get tire of sitting and then would lie down. You know, in that sad, lonely look, where dogs will lay their head between their extended front two legs and then their eyes do all the talking. I’d try to call him back inside, but he wouldn’t come. Eventually, I picked him up and carried him inside, but he’d just dart out the doggie door again. It was as if he was telling me, “Dude, you don’t understand, if I’m not waiting at that spot, they won’t come home.” I’d bring him back inside and lock the doggie door, only for him to walk at the door, look at me, look at the door, look at me, and then begin scratching at the door so I would let him out. I’d tell him, “No. They’re not coming home.” He would stare at me for a few seconds, then scratch more rapidly. We’d repeat this several times until I finally pick him up and hold him in my lap as I try to watch the evening news. This scene played out every day for about three weeks until the old dog finally learned this dreaded new trick.
Everybody is whole and complete. No one needs another to be complete despite what Jerry Maguire says. Yes, I know I’ll always be my kids’ father, but it’s hard to watch being replaced, and them getting used to and embracing the new normal.
I wish I could feel some of the justice and vindication Johnny Depp is feeling.
As you are reading this, I’m probably under anesthesia undergoing another back procedure. At least it’s just a day procedure. I couldn’t find anybody at my church to help this time, so I had to call an old friend who lives in Mineral Wells to drive an hour and a half to take me. I suppose I could have managed things with an Uber, but he said he owed me one.
Marion Barber III scored the first official touchdown at what JerryWorld, the Death Star, ATT Stadium, or whatever you call it. That man has been battling depression for years.
