thicker than water

my father's brush with Rahm Emanuel

 

[cue trumpet fanfare]

Yes, my friends, it appears that my father has been secretly hanging with the Washington elite. And they're Democrats. (Dad likes to keep me guessing, given his tendency to bash George Bush, Dick Cheney, and President Obama within the span of 10 minutes.)

But, thankfully, I'm not here to discuss politics. No, instead, I would like to share with you an encapsulated version of a conversation I had with Mom over the weekend during our drive over to the grocery store. I was going to write this post the other day but realized I needed to do some fact checking before I put anything down in black and white.

The exchange went something like this:

Mom: Not to change the subject [oh, yes, you are], do you know anything about Rahm Emanuel?

Me: Um, you mean the White House Chief of Staff? [wait, is he the Press Secretary? no, wait, I think I was right the first time]

Mom: Yes. Did you know he used to work for Dupont [where my father was employed as a research chemist for 34 years before he retired]?

Me: Hmm. I knew he was a Congressman, and I thought he was one of Bill Clinton’s campaign advisors or something. I don’t know much about his background or how he started his career. [I’m amazed that I know this much, or, should I say, can BS this well.]

Mom: Well, you know the fish story?

[Where the heck is this conversation going?]

Me: Uh, no. There’s a fish story?

Mom: Sean - oh, what’s his name? - do you watch him? He’s on at 9.

[Oh crap, I hate when she asks me to remember the Fox News primetime lineup.]

Me: Mmm, not sure.

Mom: Ooh, darn it, what’s his name? He comes on before Greta.

Me: [Wait, it’s coming to me.] Sean Hannity? [I scare myself sometimes.]

Mom: Yes, yes. I heard it on his show.

Me: Heard what, the fish story?

Mom: Yes, do you know that one? Where Rahm Emanuel threw a fish?

[Actually, Mom, I don’t have a freakin’ clue what you’re talking about at all.]

Me: No, somehow I haven’t heard that one. He threw a fish? You mean into a lake or something? Or was this a joke?

Mom: Oh no, no. He threw a fish at somebody.

[Given my parents’ inconsistent political leanings, I wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing.]

Me: Oh, I hadn’t heard that one. Was that in the news yesterday? [did a health care town hall go horribly awry and I hadn’t heard about it?]

Mom: No, no. This was - well, Sean was talking about it, and your father got SO ANGRY.

[At Hannity or Rahm Emanuel? And what does Dupont have to do with anything? I swear to you, I need a scorecard sometimes]

Me: Angry at what?

Mom: Oh, the way he was talking! [you are not helping me any] And then he said that Rahm Emanuel is very smart and was very influential when he worked at Dupont.

Me: What?!

Mom: Do you know, did he work at Dupont?

Me: Rahm Emanuel? I’m 99% sure he didn’t, but I guess anything is possible.

Mom: Oh, see, I wasn’t sure. Your father said he was a chemist and then he became a VP.

Me: While Dad worked there. [All righty then.]

Mom: Yes, while he worked there.

Me: Rahm Emanuel isn’t that old. He’s what, late 40s, early 50s? Dad retired over 15 years ago. I don’t see how Rahm Emanuel could have been a VP at Dupont before the age of 35 and I didn’t know about it. You know I worked there too, and I don’t remember ever seeing his name on any memos. [See, I can play this game, too.]

Mom: Well, that’s what your father said. [please tell me you’re not believing him] And he said we had him over for dinner.

[WHAT THE ----?!!]

Me: We had him over for dinner?! Rahm Emanuel? We didn’t have anyone over for dinner.

Mom: Yes, we had him over for dinner. I tried to tell him we never had him over for dinner, but he swore that he and his wife came over when we lived in Graylyn Crest. [You lived in Graylyn Crest in the early 60s. If you had the Vice President of Dupont Chemicals and his wife over for dinner at your humble split level, and his name was Rahm Emanuel, and he was three years old at the time - clearly a child prodigy - I can’t believe I haven’t heard this story before now.].  

Me: Mom, I know I wasn’t alive at the time, but think I can pretty safely say that didn’t happen.

Mom: You see, your father gets so mad when I try to tell him anything different. I tried to tell him we didn’t have him over for dinner, but he was so insistent. Do you think maybe he really did work at Dupont?

Me: I don’t think so, but I can look it up and see what I find. I’ll get back to you on that.

Uh, yeah.

So, this is what I learned after a little research. Rahm Emanuel was born in Chicago in 1959. As a child, he was attending a Jewish day school and taking ballet lessons (not helping to run an international corporation). While attending high school in mid 70s, he worked for Arby’s (not Dupont). He began his career in political fundraising (not chemical engineering) in the early 80s. He went on to become an investment banker (not a research chemist) and later a Congressman. But perhaps most importantly, he reportedly "mailed a rotten fish to a former coworker after the two parted ways."

Well, I’m glad we cleared that up.

 

a bonus post for an important cause

I just want to direct your attention over to Shannon @ Welcome to the Nuthouse. She's running a 48-hour auction to benefit a dear family friend in a time of crisis. Please do her a favor and check it out.

and now for something completely different

 

A big thank you (I think) to Lily for tagging me yesterday with the "Just Us Guys" (J.U.G.S.) award. I do find the timing somewhat ironic, since just yesterday morning, she and I were extolling the virtues of patent leather pumps as an effortless way of glamming up an outfit. Now, as I understand it, Lily was not given any rules for demonstrating why she's worthy of being considered one of the guys, so she decided to create some. Although she's more likely to sing the praises of a good lager than I am, I realized after sleeping on things for a night that I could, in fact, come up with the Top 10 Reasons Why I'm Just One of the Guys.

1. I can recognize a car's make, model, and year more quickly than your average parking authority agent. I'm not sure how I acquired this skill; maybe because my dad and brother always had Chilton manuals and JC Whitney catalogs sitting around the house, and our cars were always in various states of working order. I also have a good eye for detail, so I can familiarize myself with a minor change to a grill or silhouette and associate the change with a model year. Did I ever mention that my brain is full of worthless information while I can barely remember to leave the house with a lunch packed for myself? 

2. I once helped to replace a residential sewage system. Seriously. My dad always insisted on doing everything himself, even if he was getting in over his head. And even if it was going to take 18 times longer than a team of professionals. Consequently, I remember spending one summer back in the early 80s helping him dig up our entire backyard to lay pipe. I can't even begin to count how many trips we made to our local hardware store (before Home Depot or Lowes existed) and shoveled gravel into trash cans to haul back to our yard. And did I mention there were a lot of frogs and snakes that were irritated that we were infringing on their ecosystem?

3. I watch hockey games in their entirety because I understand what's going on, not because I think guys with mullets are hot. And you know what? The "I went to a fight and a hockey game broke out" joke is pretty lame.

4. I like Pearl Jam even though I don't think Eddie Vedder is hot. I was late on the PJ bandwagon (my husband took me to see them for the first time in 1998), but I'm a convert. Try as hard as I can though, I still think Eddie's look is a little too grungy for me to find sexy though.

5. I know the difference between an excavator and a backhoe loader. For that I can thank my son and The Construction Alphabet.

6. I can drive with my windows all the way down without worrying about my hair getting messed up. I do like air conditioning, but I love those days in the spring and fall where I can crank down the windows, crank up the stereo, and let the wind blow.

7. I bite my nails. A lot. I know it's disgusting, I know I should stop, but I could have worse vices.

8. I love power tools <grunt>. I grew up with an older brother who went on to be an industrial arts and technology (read: shop) teacher, so our garage was loaded with band saws, lathes, and power sanders. Buying my first power drill kit was very, well, empowering.

9. I'm not afraid of spiders. To quote my mom, "They eat other bugs that are a lot worse, you know."

10. I will eat the whole cupcake. Now, I will preface my remarks by saying that I understand the importance of adhering to a healthy diet. I've had food issues my whole life and am trying to prevent my son from enduring the same. I understand the concept of "everything in moderation." BUT, I still find myself getting irked by people (let's face it, it's usually women) who make a show of cutting a cupcake in half at a birthday celebration because they're counting calories. It's one thing to cut it in half if you discover there aren't enough to go around or you really want seconds but don't want to look like a glutton, but you can't even attempt to take a whole cupcake on the first round? And then you leave the crumbly remnants of the other half behind in the wrapper as a cruel taunt? "See, I'm being 'good' today. You can be 'good' too and eat the cut half that's been touched by someone else's fingers of questionable cleanliness; be 'good' but appear as if you're too good to eat something that someone else touched and go ahead with cutting another one in half; or be 'bad' and take a brand new, uncut treat." Nope, I want the whole thing, and I'm not ashamed.

Thanks, Lily. Guess I'm more of a guy than I realized! Now, since I'm still relatively new to this blogging thing, I don't want to take the risk of passing along this award to someone known by others to be a girly girl. Instead, I'm going to tag my dear friend Maria, who has a brand-spankin'-new blog and I know can hold her own in a discussion of the Phillies' chances of repeating as World Champs. Check her out!

an open letter to the American Heart Association

 

 

Dear Dr. Yancy: 

I am writing to inform you of a disappointing encounter I had with one of your volunteers this past weekend. Before I detail the exchange, I would like to say that I have made several donations to your organization during the course of my lifetime, and I will continue to do so. However, I felt obligated to pass along this information in light of the AHA's position on promoting healthier lifestyles, as stated in your Ethics Policy:

"At the American Heart Association we are dedicated to working with our employees, volunteers, partners, vendors and customers to build healthier lives free of cardiovascular diseases and stroke."

That policy notwithstanding, I understand that the Association has limited control over the strategies used by individual volunteers while raising funds in their own communities. Nevertheless, I was very disheartened when I was approached by a man outside my local supermarket who was accepting small cash donations for your organization. My 2-year-old son was with me as I placed my contribution into the collection jar. As I did so, the volunteer looked at my son and said something to him in a low voice that I could not understand. I looked up to see the man dangling a bucket of candy in front of my son's face and saying, "Come on, a little somethin' for the little one."

I can't blame the volunteer for not knowing that it was half an hour before my son was scheduled to take a nap and, as far as I was concerned, the window for consuming processed sugar had closed for the morning. Nevertheless, I strongly believe that nobody has any business pushing anything on my child (particularly at his young age) without running it by me first. By doing so, I'm placed in a position where I have the choice of caving into the pressure or being the heavy who has to deny my child the object of enticement. In this case, I caved and walked away muttering under my breath, regretting that I was sending the message to my son that it's okay to take candy from strangers.

Perhaps just as importantly, I feel that this volunteer's approach did not jibe with the Association's stance on promoting healthy lifestyles. How does a free giveaway of Tootsie Rolls and DumDum pops fit into the recommendation to "minimize the intake of beverages and foods with added sugars" to "lower total calorie intake and to get enough of the nutrients your body needs"? And what kind of message is sent by having an older, heavy-set African-American man giving out sugary freebies while collecting AHA donations when research shows that "cardiovascular disease is the leading cause of death for African-American males and females age 20 and older"? As a medical writer who has had the privilege of working with the Association's Past-President Robert Eckel during his tenure with the American Board of Internal Medicine, I'm inclined to believe that Dr. Eckel (who taught me much about good eating habits) would be disappointed to hear my little story.

Again, I can appreciate that the actions of individuals conducting one-man fundraising activities are beyond the scope of your control. You may wish to consider, however, spreading the word through your network of volunteers that some strategies are better than others for advancing the Association's mission. As a resident of New Jersey, "The Garden State" and home to countless small farms struggling to stay afloat, I would have welcomed the sight of a volunteer offering up a strawberry or chunk of watermelon to my "little one." He would have accepted it just as eagerly, and a more positive message would have been communicated.

Thank you for your attention,

Laura Altobelli, MS

wanted by the karma police

And for a minute there, I lost myself, I lost myself

~ Radiohead, 1997

I try not to lose sleep thinking about the afterlife, because, frankly, I have enough things in the here-and-now to give me insomnia. Still, a phone call I placed the other day makes me wonder if I'm truly a cold, selfish you-know-what who will be judged harshly when my time has come.

Allow me a moment to step back to one week ago. I called my parents in a panic because our condo neighbor downstairs was throwing around words like "lawyer" and "I'm not the one who's going to pay for this" because he had a leak that was destroying his ceiling. We needed to get someone in to inspect our place, and fast, because we wanted to appear cooperative.

Only problem was, we didn't know how we would pay such a person (particularly if they found a leak originating from our place) because of our ongoing paycheck-to-paycheck lifestyle, and the next paycheck wasn't due into our account for another three days. The last time we had had a financial crisis, we called Jerry's dad (who begrudgingly floated us a loan with instructions to Jerry to "find a real job"). After that experience, I realized it was going to have to be my turn to go begging.

So, under those circumstances, I called my parents. Who, by the way, are anything but flush with liquid assets. Nevertheless, they offered up $250 bucks to hold in case of emergency with instructions to tell the plumber/HVAC guys to bill for the rest. I found myself crying in gratitude for their understanding, torn between feeling embarrassed for undoing 20 years of adult maturation and feeling strangely soothed by having my parents take care of me again instead of the other way around.

The phone call ended with my mother asking when I'd have a chance to get out there because a grocery trip was imminent. Given my current state of indebtedness, I offered up Thursday the sixth because I had already taken off the day so Jerry and I could take Ryan for his two-year checkup. In the back of my mind, I knew that Jerry and I were tentatively hoping to drop Ryan off at daycare afterwards and enjoy some much needed couple-time together, but we didn't have any firm plans. And even though I didn't want to give up the vacation day to spend four hours covering ground at my mother's megastore supermarket, it would probably be preferable to giving up a weekend day and leaving Jerry with the responsibility of watching Ryan all day by himself.

(Now, I suppose you're wondering why Jerry wouldn't be capable of watching his own son for one day all by himself, and I would have to answer yes, he is capable, but if it isn't one thing I'm feeling guilty about, it's another.)

So, Thursday the sixth it would be.

Until Tuesday the fourth came, and I was exhausted from Ryan's two-day birthday extravaganza. And Wednesday the fifth came, and I left the house with a toddler in tow who was bawling from the stern talking-to he received after he gave his father a bloody nose from whacking him in the face with a tennis racquet. And I wasn't coming home right after work because I was having dinner with a couple girlfriends who I hadn't seen in six months, so the racquet-wielding toddler and his father would be on their own for the night. And, worst of all, I realized that I hadn't told this toddler's father that I had sacrificed the next day's couple time for a trip to my parents' house.

At that point, I think I was the one who deserved the bloody nose.

So all day, I had this nagging nauseous feeling. Should I cancel my dinner plans because of the day's rough start? Would that make up for my belated announcement that I would be giving up our couple time and putting Jerry in charge of picking Ryan up from daycare, fixing dinner, entertaining him for a couple hours, bathing him, and getting him to bed? Maybe it wouldn't seem so bad if he didn't have to do that two days in a row?

[sidebar]Again, allow me to clarify that Jerry is NOT an inept ogre who wants to relieve himself of parenting responsibilities at every opportunity. We both realize that the other works pretty damn hard in every other aspect of our lives, so it's all about fairness in our household. And we both have perpetually guilty consciences, even though he's the only Catholic in the family.[/sidebar]

With all these thoughts racing around in my mind, I made the executive decision to keep my dinner plans with my girlfriends and reclaim the next day's couple time, knowing that the consequences would be losing half my weekend and making up an excuse to tell my parents why I needed to postpone. In these kinds of situations, I've learned not to create fictitious illnesses for myself or anyone else, because invariably someone will then get a particularly unpleasant stomach virus. Car problems are also bad excuses for the same reason. Instead, I usually choose to blame work, a tactic I would rely upon this week as well.

My father answered the phone and began the conversation, "We were just talking about you. Are you on your way to Millersville right now?" Um, no. Why did Confused Dad have to be the one to answer the phone? I felt my brain short circuit. What was I doing? "I was planning to come out tomorrow, but that's what I need to talk to you and Mom about. I really don't have time to talk now, but I won't be able to make it." I heard a couple gasps on the other end of the line, one from my father and one from my mother in the distance. "Oh no, that's very bad news." I've gotten used to the mountains they create from molehills, but that response still set me on edge, and I found myself scrambling, not knowing what words were going to come out of my mouth next. I started replaying a conversation I had with my mother during my last visit, where she complained that she felt like she no longer had any say in how she got things accomplished...and I had told her she was exaggerating.

My excuse flew off my tongue before I could stop myself. "I'm so sorry, but you know how I told you about business being bad here at my company? We got a request for a proposal that we have to submit by Friday, and they need me in the office to work on it." Where the heck did that come from? I haven't worked on a proposal in months. Next, my mother takes over the receiver. "Your father doesn't know what day it is. I've told him half a dozen times today that you were coming tomorrow after you took the baby to the doctor. So now you're not going to do that either?" Um, Jerry's going to take him. "Your brother just called to see if we needed anything, and I told him no because you were taking us to the store and he seemed very pleased about that." I'm sure he was. "We can't just go without, we have to get to the store, and this has just been an awful day." I can come Saturday or Sunday, I just can't come tomorrow. "Well, I guess we'll just have to get by to Saturday. I've got a frozen dinner I've been saving." I'm so sorry, but I'll see you Saturday, I'll get there as soon as I can, but I really have to go now. "Okay, we'll see you then." Click.

I am such a bad liar, especially when the naive claim to be on the brink of starvation.

I know there are two issues at play here: is it okay to renege on family duties just because you're feeling like you're burning the candle at both ends, and, given that reneging is a poor strategy for time management, how do you find time for yourself when everyone else has good reason for needing your attention? While I sit here criticizing myself for my poor judgment and questionable values, part of me feels a little justified in being, for once, relatively selfish. As it turned out yesterday, both Jerry and I were tired and did little to take advantage of that coveted couple time (which somehow makes my bail seem even worse), but it was still nice to be free of external obligations for five hours. Would my brother feel this much guilt over rescheduling some errands? Probably not. I'm not convinced that he even feels guilty for going months at a time before even offering to run an errand. Granted, my timing was poor in light of the fact that my parents had just rescued me from financial uncertainty less than a week ago, but when can I get permission to stop beating myself up over not having clones to send out when my physical and spiritual energy stores feel depleted? Why can't I take ownership of my feelings that a little time for myself is not only necessary but deserved?

I'm not sure I want you to answer that question, but have at it!