WhosTheGrownUp

19th December 2008

The Real Meaning of Holiday Cards

My mom spent the last few days in the hospital. Her pesky little ticker was acting up on her again. A few days of no rest and lousy food and she’s home, good as new. I spoke to her this morning and she said she was off to buy stamps for her Christmas cards. She is one of those folks who is diligent about sending them out. She’s annoyed that her hospital visit got in the way of getting them out on time.

I have always assumed that her commitment to Christmas cards is to share the spirit of the holidays with her friends and family, especially those who live far away.

I am sure that spreading holiday cheer is my mom’s primary motivation. But there is another.

“When you get to be my age, you have to send out Christmas cards. Otherwise people think you died.”

Ho Ho Ho.

Marry Our Daughter!

I really do find the best material when I’m supposed to be doing homework.

I found this website where Joan will be able to marry me off for a specified price. You and the rest of the family could take that dream vacation to Italy while I clean the house for my brand new husband!

Here’s the link.

Okay, but seriously now. I cannot for the life of me think that this is real. But now that I think of it, I do know a surprising number of “women” my age who are engaged. Well, only two. But at 19, that’s still crazy.

Joan, I’m sure thinking about this makes you want that long relaxing vacation to Italy more than ever…tempted?

On The Eve of The Election, It’s Important to Note:

I haven’t been feeling well lately, but thank god I’m not President William H. Taft.

So You Think You Can Dance: Presidential Edition

As the election draws closer, I am finding some of the most ridiculous viral video online that I have ever seen. In no other election has something quite like this been done…

P.S. — Joan, I am beating you by so much when it comes to finding this kind of stuff. C’mon! Get on it!

Wes Anderson, Oh How I Love Thee

This is one of the most genius things I’ve ever seen, and one of the funniest.

And it might be the perfect example of that annoying phrase “when life gives you lemons, make lemonade.” (i.e. — when you’re a big name director and McCain asks you to make an attack add, you make it as ridiculous as possible)

Boo

How does one go about dieting? When the world is filled with such amazing tastes, how do “adults” cut themselves off from their childhood snacks?

As Holloween appraches, and it has become clear to me that my metabolism is no longer unbeatable, I have decided to start “dieting.”

This is a recent decision. As in, last night. Even still, I have already stopped myself from consuming a tall java chip frapachino with extra whip cream, a strawberry milk, and the 4 croutons that fell out of my salad and on to the floor.

I am proud of myself, but also hungry. And unhappy. Why am I doing this? Would I be happier with a chocolatey blended drink in my hand? Or am I just craving what I cannot have?

The truth is, both. Here is what I just spent the last half an hour crying over.

Doing Stupid Things

So my roommate, Ross Weiner (pronounced Wee-ner), decided it would be a good idea to dye my hair blonde. Sure!, I said.

I have not told my parents yet. Nor have I told Ross that I’m dying it back to brown. As I type this.

Here’s a picture of me and my friend Arvid (pronounced Ah-vid). We were studying (pronounced pro-crast-in-ating)

Arvid and Blonde Scout

Joan — have you ever done something like this? I’m sure you have… Please tell me you have.

Debate Multi-Tasking.

So much excitement at our house last night. Eileen and I went to Hofstra University for the debate.

But unlike watching in your own home where you can gasp, shout, laugh, mock and throw things, audience members at Hofstra have to behave themselves. I decided it was a small price to pay for the privilege of being there. More on this at joangarry.com

But I needed the opportunity to express some things. I just had to. This is where Scout came in.

She was in a school dorm drinking champagne and watching the debate with a group of students (who were, I might add, all registered to vote). I know about the champagne because I was so excited to be at the debate that I called her to brag. She asked if she could call me back once she left the liquor store.

So we settled in for the debate in Hempstead and Scout poured herself a glass of champagne. And we began texting.

A few excerpts:

J: How does it appear to be going on tv?

S: Well, if McCain were telling the truth at all, he’d be impressive.

S: McCain is getting nasty.

S: Obama wants him to look at him

J: Can’t see. Tall man in front of me. Probably Republican.

S: The pin stripe suit is wrong. Looks like a banker. Bad to look like a banker.

J Did he just say “Bresh of freth air?”

S Obama was brilliant – McCain has nothing now that Ayers is behind him.

S: McCain looks stoned.

J: “Cockamamy?” Did McCain just call one of Obama’s ideas “cockamamy?”

J: My mother uses that word. Oh right, she is old too.

S: Right now, Joe is soooo embarrassed.

J: Hey - thought Obama’s close was strong

S: Oh, I’m like not even listening anymore…

If This Class is Pro-Choice, Then Don’t I Have the Choice Not to Listen?

So I’m sitting here in class, clearly not listening to the debate we’re having on stem cells. No one in my class if pro life, so it’s a very boring argument. Everyone feels the need to repeat one another. And I hate repetition.

Here’s what I am paying attention to.

This is going to be Joan in 20 years.

Joan Introduces Democratic Presidential Nominee Runner Up’s Husband, Who Happens to Have Been a President Himself

I realize that it has been too long since I’ve put anything up.

So, before Joan could post this herself, I decided to take the opportunity to beat her to it…

…And show off on her behalf.

My mother needs a pacemaker.

A pacemaker is a small, battery-operated electronic device which is inserted under the skin to help the heart beat regularly and at an appropriate rate. The pacemaker has leads that travel through a large vein to the heart, where the wires are anchored. The leads send the electrical impulses to the heart to tell it to beat.

So my eighty-one year old mom found out yesterday that she needs a pacemaker. Frankly, given the state of our world and the economic crisis we face, it’s an item that could come in handy for many of us.

I’m about to call the doctor to set up the appointment and checked in with my mom this morning to see how she is feeling about the whole thing. I need to write the conversation down so I don’t forget:

Me: So Mom, you aren’t too worried are you? You really shouldn’t be - it’s not a big operation. Surely you have some friends who have had the operation.

Mom: Yes I do.

Me: And what did they tell you?

Mom: They both died.

Me: So I guess they weren’t very informative then.

Mom: Not at all.

Me: Mom, come on. What happened to your friend Mary? Was her death related to the pacemaker?

Mom: She was 92. I don’t know.

Me: Wait, didn’t your friend Emma have a pacemaker inserted. She is still working full time at the Amityville Library, isn’t she?

Mom: I shouldn’t have asked her about it.

Me: Why not?

Mom: She told me that it was like being skinned alive.

Me: Do you think she might have been referring to her open heart surgery?

Mom: You know Emma. She can be a bit dramatic.

I think I better schedule the operation before she talks to anyone else.

My mom and the Pope. Like peas in a pod.

I spent some time this weekend thinking about 81 year olds. Two of them in fact. My mother and the Pope. The Pope turned 81 just this week and my mom turns 81 in May. When I began drafting the piece, I thought it was going to be about two different versions of 81 – similarities and differences – and it ended up being a piece encouraging the Pope to get a really fat cat. I have absolutely no idea why I started talking about my mother and her cat AGAIN. It’s when I knew I should walk away from the laptop and come back to writing at a later point.

This morning, I sat down with my coffee and scoured the NY Times website to see just how excruciating the Pennsylvania primary is going to be and lo and behold, I see a headline about the Pope and cats.

And so, without further ado, I offer you some of my own observations about the similarities between my mother, also named Joan Garry and Pope Benedict.

Similarities

1) Both are devout Catholics. My mom goes to church almost every day. Except on Thursday when she golfs.
2) Both of them like to drink. And I’m not talking lemonade.

3) Both of them have been to a synagogue recently. My mom for my kids’ bar / bat mitzvah and the Pope to an east side synagogue to honor the Passover holiday.

4) Both Pope Benedict and the other Joan Garry have struggled with the morality (or lack thereof) of homosexuality.

5) Both my mother and the Pope have a connection to my friend Sylvia Vogelman. My mother has known her for years and the Pope’s chef on Saturday night was a friend of Sylvia’s. She was not at liberty to discuss the menu but did acknowledge that the Pope likes to drink wine. Duh.

6) Both the Pope and my mother have spent time with gay men who sing. My mom has attended a number of concerts of the NYC Gay Men’s Chorus. The Pope spends alot of time with priests.

7) My mother and the Pope both love cats. In fact Pope Benedict is the only Pope who has a biography written about him by a cat.

Differences

1) My mother does not wear big wacky hats. Although in a recent photograph, she looks like she is wearing a plant.

2) My mother has struggled with my sexual orientation and is a lot further along on this subject than Pope Benedict.

3) My mother prefers martinis to red wine. Her martinis are with gin, very dry and she likes olives.

4) No one has written a biography of my mother and I have not heard that one is in the works. If there was, I am quite sure that her cat Babe would not write it.

5) My mother loses her wallet and her car keys with some regularity. I am guessing the Pope has people who take care of these things.

6) My mother enjoys a Sunday afternoon nap and takes good care of herself. The Pope runs himself ragged. My mom watched the Yankee stadium mass and said “The Pope looked exhausted. He had bags under his eyes that went all the way down to his knees.”

7) My mom has a wonderful, neurotic and severely overweight cat that keeps her company and loves her without condition. The Pope only has an imaginary cat named Chico.

For those of you who know my mother or the Pope and can add to either of these lists, you know where to find me.

Our cat is learning to walk on a leash.

I can’t guarantee that you will enjoy this video. I also suppose I may get some backlash from PETA. I’m not sure. But I am proud of the fact that I got a video from my video camera to my laptop and then to YouTube and then onto my blog. But maybe someone can tell me why that camera icon is appearing instead of my son Ben walking Louis?

There’s nothing really easy about Juno

I have an op ed running this morning in the Newark Star Ledger. For those of you who do not subscribe to the Newark Star Ledger, here you go:

When Juno hits video stores this week, kids will be anxious to see it or in many cases, anxious to see it again. It was a date night film for older teens and a feel good movie on a very important subject for the newly minted ones.

Parents should see it, too. Parents should see it again if they saw it in the theatre. Because if your household is anything like mine (heaven help you), you missed an opportunity to talk and listen to your kids about the film and its implications.

My partner and I took our thirteen year old twins to see the film. To her enormous credit, our daughter Kit suggested we sit separately. At first I thought she just didn’t want to be seen with us. Then I realized that she was the wise one – we were all going to need some space.

We were sure the film would be powerful – a teenage girl who gets pregnant and has to grapple with her options. We were equally sure it would lead to an eye opening post-film conversation.

But it didn’t.

Maybe it’s because it’s such a feel good movie. Maybe we just didn’t have the nerve to go there. Maybe once we heard the kids say how much they admired Juno and her choice, we felt we could move on. We didn’t push the kids to another level. We should have. We took the easy way out. Just like the filmmakers.

I know it’s a comedy. But still. Juno is a great character. She has spunk and integrity. But her flesh and blood, her son is presented as a “problem” to be “solved.” Somehow we miss the fact that her son is a miracle and there actually isn’t a solution. There are many options, each with consequences and implications.

When my friend Fran’s teenage daughter became pregnant, there was nothing easy about it. Fran works hard to make ends meet and her husband struggles with a chronic illness. She understood that her daughter could choose an abortion and this was an option. But she also understood that this baby was her flesh and blood. A granddaughter. She offered to help raise the baby. Fran’s life became harder in some ways but not in the ways that really matter. And that toddler gives my friend Fran unconditional love and joy. Fran could not imagine life without her.

My friend Sarah’s adopted son Luke is desperate to know that his first mother’s decision was not easy. “Was my birth mom sad?” he asked Sarah. “Did she cry?” The implication for Luke is that he doesn’t ever want to believe that it was easy or inconvenient for his mother to decide to give him away. Rejection is bad enough but thinking that your birth mother wasn’t too broken up about it? Devastating. He wants to know that he was loved beyond measure - that the idea of him was thrilling in some profound way to his birth mom. He needs to know that these things are not mutually exclusive with his mom’s decision to give him a better shot with my friend Sarah.

My friend Terry found herself in Juno’s situation nearly 35 years ago. She’d like people to know that the choice she made to give her baby away wasn’t easy. It was the most excruciatingly painful experience of her life. And no, her real name is not Terry.

Terry would tell Juno that, in the weeks following the birth, Juno’s body will physically crave the baby. She would tell Juno that getting back together with the father of your child causes an even greater sense of loss. And she would tell her that when she is ready to start a family, her sense of loss will hit her like a ton of bricks. She will want her baby back. And it will be too late.

As a fictional character, Juno is the centerpiece of the film. She is strong willed and independent-minded. She is smart, insightful and a little complicated. What a missed opportunity for the filmmakers not to use this character to take on more responsibility for a life decision that requires just such attributes.

I want our kids to understand the ramifications of the choices they make in life. I do want them to believe in happy endings but to remember that the path to get there is typically neither easy or obvious. I want them to never forget that a human life is not a problem to be solved but a miracle. And that “respect for human life” is not just a saying. It should be considered a profound obligation.

I wrote this piece hoping it would get published. But there are only two readers I really care about. It’s time for a follow-up conversation.

College tours - a stroll down memory lane.

For many families, this is a lovely time of year. When high school juniors casually prepare for the SAT’s. When families take wonderful road trips to look at college campuses, presenting unique opportunities for parents and child to bond, to plan thoughtfully for the future.

Of course there are those who don’t experience it that way. Some parents actually gasp when they hear the Admissions counselor mention the cost of tuition during the information session. Some parents forget that it is their son or daughter who will be attending the school. Some parents forget that colleges don’t focus all that much on the quality of the dorm mattresses. Some parents don’t understand why a prospective college doesn’t recognize that their son is the messiah.

Prospective college students don’t need help. Parents do. And so, in that spirit, I offer the following advice to parents who are about to embark on college tours with their high school kids.

1) KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT. For all of you Type A micromanaging baby boomers out there, I know this will not be easy.

2) If you can’t keep your mouth shut, send the other parent.

3) Avoid loud gasping when you see the room the size of your kid’s closet with 4 people jammed into it.

4) Generally avoid gasping all together.

5) Do NOT. I repeat, do NOT brag about your kid to anyone else (kid or parent) on the tour.

6) Watch “Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory” (the one with Gene Wilder) before you set out on your tour. Pay close attention to Grandpa and keep your fingers crossed that your kid behaves like Charlie.

7) Watch the movie a second time and pay attention only to the other parents. Don’t do anything they do.

8)Don’t scream at your kid when they hold the Mapquest map upside down and cause you to be late for the tour.

9) Wear sensible shoes, especially if it is raining. Encourage your kid to do the same. We had one tour in the pouring rain and Scout nearly slid like Derek Jeter across the length of the auditorium while the Director of Admissions calmly looked on.

10) Make sure your child has eaten before a tour. I generally find that hungry people are crabby people.

11) Dress casual but not too casual (Unless you are going on a tour at Sarah Lawrence). I would reconsider my own wardrobe for the tours - when I realized that I was wearing the same sneakers (those cute converse with no laces) as the tour guide, I thought I had gone a bit too young.

12) When they won’t get out of the car because one of the school buildings on the campus annoys them, avoid the words “I drove all the way up to freakin’ Medford MA and you didn’t like the CASTLE?”

13) If you try cafeteria food, do not gag or spit any of it out.

14) Once the tour is over, CONTINUE TO KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! This is the most critical time. The kid will disagree with absolutely every observation you make - even if they completely agree. To be serious for a minute, find a checklist that your kid can fill out - tons of them online - the checklist enables you to keep your mouth shut and for your kid to react subjectively to each tour against the same set of variables.

15) Remember that horrible voice mail message Alec Baldwin left for his kid a year or so back? Do not, under any circumstances, say anything like that while on the tour. No matter how idiotic, obnoxious, ridiculous or insanely your kid behaves (see why the ‘keep your mouth shut thing’ keeps coming up?)

16) When you get home, CONTINUE TO KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT. When the other parent starts asking questions, do your very best to let your kid speak for her/himself. I know it’s hard because you are a Type A micromanaging baby boomer.

17) Always save the most important piece of advice for last. Never forget, ever, ever, ever - just how extraordinary your kid is and how lucky ____ College/University would be to have her/him.

Today, Scout’s college is my college too.

I’m at Emerson College in Boston today. Our daughter is a freshman here. I’ll be in 3 or 4 classes today, talking about leadership, non-profit managment, marketing, advocacy. I believe I’ll be going to more classes today than my daughter. Although I have heard that she does go to classes, participates and even writes papers. I find this comforting.

I’ve also heard that she will finish her freshman year in less than 4 weeks. In fact, Scout told me this last night over dinner at the Trident. I had the chicken quesadilla. Scout had soup and carrot cake. Not an obvious pairing but it worked for her.

In three weeks, Scout will no longer be a college freshman. So much work, so little time. I could see the panic in her face.

In three weeks, she will be home for the summer. She could probably see the panic in my face.

Have you ever wondered why I like Andy Rooney?

Hey, this is Joan’s son Ben. I’m the kid who was in my mother’s last post, posing in front of a waterfall. You might have missed the waterfall because of my muscular build. Many months ago, I was the voice over for a few of Joan and Scout’s videos that you can see if you click here. My mom and I are planning to make a video soon without Scout and you’ll be able to tell that my voice has gotten much lower.Many people ask me “Why do you enjoy watching Andy Rooney on 60 Minutes?” Sometimes I agree that it is odd that I like watching Andy Rooney because most thirteen year olds don’t want to watch an old guy talking about his own problems for five minutes straight.But I do.One night I was watching 60 Minutes with curiosity. Then Andy Rooney popped up to talk about an article he saw in a newspaper. I found him amazingly truthful and not afraid to say what’s on his mind. Another reason I watch him is because I learn many random things that I enjoy knowing.Tonight for example, he was talking about cars at car shows and how crazy expensive they are and how they seem to get uglier every year. I learned that a car from many years ago can travel the same speed as one of these crazy robot cars that people buy today. One other fact I learned was that a crazy percentage of American families have three or more cars.Every Sunday night I ask my parents to tell me when Andy Rooney is coming up. Usually I am going crazy on my Rock Band guitar.Andy Rooney’s an interesting guy and I know he’s really old but I hope he keeps making stories for years. And I hope some day he’ll brush his eyebrows (Joan suggested I write that).

Things I am afraid of.

Hats off to Scoutie for talking about the whale thing. I mean it. Everyone who knows her knows she has a real and significant phobia about whales. Her insights about its larger implications were very grownup.

Scoutie also has a pretty dramatic fear of loud noises. I never knew the origins of the whale phobia but I was sitting right next to her when the loud noise phobia began.

It was August. A very hot afternoon in Southampton. Scout was about 3 or 4. She fell asleep en route to a circus. We had to wake her up in the parking lot. There were already tons of people and loud music. She was all crumpled and sweaty. Cute but crumpled and sweaty.

We cajoled her up and through the turnstyles. We were almost late (Scout no doubt had something to do with this. She seemed to have demonstrated a phobia of promptness at a very early age) but got there just as the show began.

It couldn’t have been five minutes before they roll a canon out into the middle of the ring. And then BBBOOOOMMM! And a guy comes flying out of the canon. Everyone cheers.

Scout comes flying out of the tent. With her mothers flying after her.

That was the end of the circus for Scout. There was no negotiation. We knew it was over. And based on who Scout had already become, we knew it would be a long time before she ever stepped foot into a circus tent again. And that loud noises would never be her friend.

To her credit, however, once she stopped screaming, she wanted to know more. Her innate curiosity shone through. And for the next 2 1/2 hours during our ride home, she repeated:

“Why’d they shoot that guy out the canon?”

Maybe I should get back to the title of this post and the picture.

I’m going to, over the next few posts, ponder things I am afraid of. Scout’s post inspired me.

So I’ll start with this picture. I am afraid of:

1) Bar mitzvah parties with photo booths

2) Boys who know so much about wrestling that they can create just the right pose for a picture at a bar mitzvah photo booth.

3) My son growing up.

Completing the Immersion Effect

Lately has been heavy, and filled with fear.

I fear that I am coming to the realization that many college freshmen come to: I am (possibly) in the wrong major.

I fear that I am going to catch the awful stomach virus that has put my friend Matt, his dad, 10 cousins, and grandmother, in the ER.

I fear that if I caught said “virus” (see link for my presumption), I might get even further behind in my work.

I fear that what they say is true, and that once you leave home for college, you never really go home again.

I fear that my cat will not remember me when I go home.

I fear, as I am an American citizen who pays extra attention to the news, that any day now, the hydrogen bomb will drop, I will have to hide under my desk, the Russians will attack from Cuba, the Communist countries will take over, the illegal Mexicans will revolt, the stock market will crash, my politicians are all sleeping with prostitutes, Al-Qaeda will attack and when they do they will target my coast, my city, my school, my dorm, and specifically, my room where I sleep peacefully at night.

But tomorrow, I will face my fears. Tomorrow at 6 p.m. I will face the greatest fear I have ever had: BIG THINGS.

Laugh and poke fun as you wish, but I have always had a phobia of big things. It started off when I was in kindergarten, and I had to be escorted out of Natural History Museum in New York City. Why, do you ask? Because of the whale. Because of that huge friggin’ whale, hanging from the ceiling, going after the squid. Except I wasn’t even looking at the squid. Until the movie “The Squid and the Whale” came out the other year, I had no idea there even was a squid. I was frozen by the whale, by the sheer magnitude of it. I could not move. I could not talk. I could not look away. I was transfixed by the most horrifying, massive object of all time. And it had teeth.

Years passed and I though it was just the whale. I was, as I fully expected to be, teased. Honestly, who has a fear of whales? I blamed Pinocchio. I screamed and cried when that whale swallowed him. It was unjust. He was so sad and lonely, and he just wanted to be a real boy. He didn’t ask to be “accidentally” incorporated into a gulp of sea water. He wasn’t ready or prepared.

And then I went to Paris, and saw the Eiffel Tower. It was not alive, nor was it threatening in any way, shape, or form. But it was huge. And everything around it was so small in comparison. It was this gigantic, unrealistically big object placed around objects nowhere near it’s size. It was horrifying. I could not look at it without feeling my chest close in on itself, my head spin, and my tongue sink deep into my small intestines.

That is my phobia, I realized. Really big things that are unnaturally big compared to everything else surrounding them. Having something so abnormal, yet only abnormal when compared to everything else around it.

Big things versus small things. Giant leaps in size, height, weight…or could we just say change?

Wait… Is it really that cliché? Maybe I am just afraid of giant leaps in change?

Yes, that sounds about right. I am afraid of change.

I am not afraid of the skyscrapers in Manhattan. I am not afraid of large people, or heights, or textbooks. Rather, I am afraid of the difference between something large and something small. I am afraid of the change in height existing between the Eiffel Tower and the surrounding Paris. I am afraid of the change in mass existing between me and the whale at the Natural History Museum. If everything was the size of the whale and the Eiffel Tower, it would not be as scary, because there would be no difference between it and everything else. If everything was the size of the whale and the Eiffel Tower, it would not be as scary because there would be no change.

But I am learning that something cannot grow, or develop, if it does not first start out as something smaller. Inevitably, everything must change.

And so tomorrow, I am going, with my pal Matt (who spent the last two days vomiting), to the IMAX Theater at the Boston Museum of Science. The explanation sums it all up:

In the Mugar Omni Theater, the world’s largest film format is projected onto a five-story-tall IMAX® Dome screen. It wraps audiences in larger-than-life images of flora, fauna, and faraway places. A state-of-the-art digital sound system completes the immersion effect.

Here is a link to the movie we will be seeing: Grand Canyon Adventure: River at Risk

Everything I am afraid of. Larger than life. Completes the immersion effect… Fear… Overwhelming… Change.

Teenage drinking

Eric Asimov’s column in this morning’s New York Times raised questions we grappled with here at whosthegrownup.com last summer. How do you raise your kids to be responsible when it comes to alcohol. Here’s a conversation Scout and I had a while back on this subject. (Note: special thanks to Ben for the voiceover. He had to try very hard to make his voice sound lower. He no longer has to try very hard).

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