Sunday, April 24, 2011
Outlet
Just needed to write something to get me going. I have so much to do - I've gone into shut-down mode. Must continue... Don't want to... argh! I'm so ready to be done right now! I think I'm giving up. Aw hell... we'll see.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
A letter
So, this is what I had said I would post earlier - it took me a bit to decide I wanted to share it. I began writing this on the 17th and finished on the 18th. Feel free to comment as you please.
Today is of those we aptly call "difficult". It's a fair catch-all term to jump to. I'm not sure just what to call today. To find a word - the right word - to call today is to render unto paper what for now cruises about the air that surrounds me. And the white of this sheet is too harsh for me. I don't think I want to find the right word. To find that word would be as it would to outwardly acknowledge the squirming, hideous difference between what I believed yesterday and what I know to be true today.
I miss you, dad. And I love you. I still hold dear the memories we made together, with family, and among friends. I am sorry that I have to do this.
With platitudes familiar to all of us in tact - there's a time in a boy's life when he must become a man. For me, that time was 6 years ago. It was too soon for me. I wasn't ready, I didn't know what it meant to be a man. I was lost and afraid. I was still just a damn boy, after all. Gawd, if I could have been, I would have been. With hindsight as my witness, I just didn't know who I was supposed to be. The fact begs a question - who's fault is that?
It's your fault, dad. I'm really sorry, but it's your fault. You didn't teach me how to be a man. You just showed me and acted like being like you were was so easy that I should be able to just do it too. But god be damned if I could. It was like trying to be God. I hated it. I hated myself for failing at it. And that was the worst pain I can ever remember feeling. A chronic, shredding vulgarity at the cellular level. Like my own skin was at war with itself. And I forgive you for that. You gave what you had time to give. And I can't hold a grudge against a dead man with tripping over my own foot with my hands tied behind my back.
Until recently, I dared not speak a word - even think a thought - that might stain my airbrushed image of who you were, what we had, and what that means to me. But here it is on the table. I'm blaming you because the only other conceivable conspirator is me and I can't be blamed for not becoming what I haven't been equipped to become. Again, I say to you, I am sorry. But sorry can't mend this seam without forgiveness. What I need from you is forgiveness. But you are not here to give it.
So today is the day I forgive myself for being deceived. I spent the last six years searching for tablets of stone that you never wrote. I kept following a map for which I hadn't a key. Chasing the dying sunset only to spit on my own boots in the darkness that I found. Over and over again. IMAGINE a loneliness and a puzzlement so loaded and dripping with desire to be rid of it. To feel with all of your being that it's only you to blame. And that if you can not fix it, that it is you alone who has failed and everyone was watching.
In this moment of reflection, I get a rather Christ-like feeling for finding enough warmth to forgive such treason. But it's not as chesty as it sounds. I tire of tarnishing your gilded portrait. It's okay now that you can't forgive me because I've become a man of my own vision with a spirit singed and still smoking but yet in tact and for that great accomplishment, I can be proud of myself. I am ready to grant myself permission to be forgiven by the only one of us left standing - myself.
For six years, I traveled the states seeking wisdom. I thought I'd found it at many stops along the way. At the bottoms of bottles, the ends of plastic tubes, the butts of cigarettes, I found what I then deemed an acceptable substitute for manhood. And also I found an enduring mechanism for avoidance that was working for me, I thought. Of all these mistakes I have formed a messy pile marked for the funeral pyre. Though I am quite sure that mistakes will continue to be made, I will not make the same mistakes again. I am ready for the challenges that peer at me from down the road. And I am ready to do the right thing when I come upon them. And that's how I know I've become a man. I am no longer a boy. No longer your boy. I am a man now, dad. And I don't need your approval anymore because I have my own. I have created for myself a short lifetime of varied experiences from which I draw the wisdom that guides my actions and I have found success! Oh, what a feeling! To know that I have built myself, from spare parts picked off the floors, into a real hard-working, driven, loving, and gentle man! I can now walk comfortably, glancing down and shaking my head with a smile when I recognize the dried saliva on my steel toes. I'm not going to wipe it off. I want to remember what it took for me to become who I am. Because unlike you dad, I'm going to give that experience to my son. And I thank you for helping me to see the importance of that. Your dad died when you were young - you were never taught to be a man, either. But now, I'm going to break the cycle. There will not be another broken man in the chain. Because you gave me a reason to find the truth and I'm going to keep passing it along.
So rest easy, dad. Know that all the good you did is recognized and that all the wrongs are forgiven.
Be proud, dad - your boy's become a man.
-R.K.M.
Today is of those we aptly call "difficult". It's a fair catch-all term to jump to. I'm not sure just what to call today. To find a word - the right word - to call today is to render unto paper what for now cruises about the air that surrounds me. And the white of this sheet is too harsh for me. I don't think I want to find the right word. To find that word would be as it would to outwardly acknowledge the squirming, hideous difference between what I believed yesterday and what I know to be true today.
I miss you, dad. And I love you. I still hold dear the memories we made together, with family, and among friends. I am sorry that I have to do this.
With platitudes familiar to all of us in tact - there's a time in a boy's life when he must become a man. For me, that time was 6 years ago. It was too soon for me. I wasn't ready, I didn't know what it meant to be a man. I was lost and afraid. I was still just a damn boy, after all. Gawd, if I could have been, I would have been. With hindsight as my witness, I just didn't know who I was supposed to be. The fact begs a question - who's fault is that?
It's your fault, dad. I'm really sorry, but it's your fault. You didn't teach me how to be a man. You just showed me and acted like being like you were was so easy that I should be able to just do it too. But god be damned if I could. It was like trying to be God. I hated it. I hated myself for failing at it. And that was the worst pain I can ever remember feeling. A chronic, shredding vulgarity at the cellular level. Like my own skin was at war with itself. And I forgive you for that. You gave what you had time to give. And I can't hold a grudge against a dead man with tripping over my own foot with my hands tied behind my back.
Until recently, I dared not speak a word - even think a thought - that might stain my airbrushed image of who you were, what we had, and what that means to me. But here it is on the table. I'm blaming you because the only other conceivable conspirator is me and I can't be blamed for not becoming what I haven't been equipped to become. Again, I say to you, I am sorry. But sorry can't mend this seam without forgiveness. What I need from you is forgiveness. But you are not here to give it.
So today is the day I forgive myself for being deceived. I spent the last six years searching for tablets of stone that you never wrote. I kept following a map for which I hadn't a key. Chasing the dying sunset only to spit on my own boots in the darkness that I found. Over and over again. IMAGINE a loneliness and a puzzlement so loaded and dripping with desire to be rid of it. To feel with all of your being that it's only you to blame. And that if you can not fix it, that it is you alone who has failed and everyone was watching.
In this moment of reflection, I get a rather Christ-like feeling for finding enough warmth to forgive such treason. But it's not as chesty as it sounds. I tire of tarnishing your gilded portrait. It's okay now that you can't forgive me because I've become a man of my own vision with a spirit singed and still smoking but yet in tact and for that great accomplishment, I can be proud of myself. I am ready to grant myself permission to be forgiven by the only one of us left standing - myself.
For six years, I traveled the states seeking wisdom. I thought I'd found it at many stops along the way. At the bottoms of bottles, the ends of plastic tubes, the butts of cigarettes, I found what I then deemed an acceptable substitute for manhood. And also I found an enduring mechanism for avoidance that was working for me, I thought. Of all these mistakes I have formed a messy pile marked for the funeral pyre. Though I am quite sure that mistakes will continue to be made, I will not make the same mistakes again. I am ready for the challenges that peer at me from down the road. And I am ready to do the right thing when I come upon them. And that's how I know I've become a man. I am no longer a boy. No longer your boy. I am a man now, dad. And I don't need your approval anymore because I have my own. I have created for myself a short lifetime of varied experiences from which I draw the wisdom that guides my actions and I have found success! Oh, what a feeling! To know that I have built myself, from spare parts picked off the floors, into a real hard-working, driven, loving, and gentle man! I can now walk comfortably, glancing down and shaking my head with a smile when I recognize the dried saliva on my steel toes. I'm not going to wipe it off. I want to remember what it took for me to become who I am. Because unlike you dad, I'm going to give that experience to my son. And I thank you for helping me to see the importance of that. Your dad died when you were young - you were never taught to be a man, either. But now, I'm going to break the cycle. There will not be another broken man in the chain. Because you gave me a reason to find the truth and I'm going to keep passing it along.
So rest easy, dad. Know that all the good you did is recognized and that all the wrongs are forgiven.
Be proud, dad - your boy's become a man.
-R.K.M.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Notes on the eulogy
It gives context to something else I've just prepared and will be posted later today.
The eulogy from my dad's funeral. (by me)
There has been a lot to think about these past few days. A lot of things have been said. Plenty of tears have hung from heavy eyes. Today, however, we are not here to answer the whys, hows, and what fors. This gathering is a celebration of life. The life of one of the finest men this world has ever produced: a man of true honor. Let us not allow the memory of Thomas Joseph Manatt, our beloved husband, father, brother, and friend to slip between the spaces of our finger’s grasp, but let us hold him in our palms and in our hearts so that he might live on in spirit.
My dad was not just one of the biggest men I have known, but the greatest. His reputation as an honest and hardworking businessman is known second only to his reputation as a cherished relative and friend. He had an amazing heart, the heart of a giant, and everyone gathered here today has a space reserved inside his heart. When there was hatred, his voice soothed the anger. When others despaired, he gave them hope. When everything seemed dark, he was a shining light in our lives. When we were sad, he brought joy and laughter into our homes.
He loved the fall when he could be out on weekends hunting pheasant, ducks, geese, deer, and anything for which he could get a license. Dad loved being outdoors in general, even if it was just to be out in the fresh air. He loved football. He loved the smell of it, the sounds of the pads crashing together and the roar of the crowd as the Cyclones ran into the Jake, victorious again. Dad also loved his wife, and Mom was endlessly devoted to him. They stuck it out in an era where divorces are all too common. They kept each others’ spirits high, even when times got bad, and the encouragement was never one-sided, but always mutual between them. When things got rough for Dad at work, Mom was always there to cheer him up and when Mom’s spirits were down, Dad always knew the best way to lift them.
Dad stayed true to his blue-collar roots right to the end. Recently, he told me that he would, “rather go back to digging ditches than have to wear a suit and tie to work everyday.” He loved his job and the people with whom he worked. He put a lot of extra time and effort in to turning out a quality product in honor of the family name.
There is a lot to reminisce about when we think of any loved one lost, but when I think of my dad, it will always come back to his love for children. He was a lot like his own father in that respect. Something about the way he played with the neighbor kids never ceased to make me smile. He loved to joke and play and to teach them all the things he knew about the great big world in front of them. He knew that in those bright, sparkly eyes laid an innocent happiness that was not to be spoiled, and he loved them for it. In children he saw himself, still a young adventurer, out with his brothers and friends, scheming and stirring up trouble.
I know that I would have taken my dad’s place a million times. I think anyone would, but the truth is that he always put others before himself and he would never have had it any other way. Everyone here today will have their own way to remember my father, but I will always be reminded of him by the sounds of all things wild, from the bugle of a great elk to the sweet song of cardinals in my back yard. Although we come together during a time where it seems like there is no rhyme or reason to this tragedy and we might even be angry at the sun for shining, we must not forget that, “to everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heavens.”(Ecclesiastes 3:1)
My dad was not just one of the biggest men I have known, but the greatest. His reputation as an honest and hardworking businessman is known second only to his reputation as a cherished relative and friend. He had an amazing heart, the heart of a giant, and everyone gathered here today has a space reserved inside his heart. When there was hatred, his voice soothed the anger. When others despaired, he gave them hope. When everything seemed dark, he was a shining light in our lives. When we were sad, he brought joy and laughter into our homes.
He loved the fall when he could be out on weekends hunting pheasant, ducks, geese, deer, and anything for which he could get a license. Dad loved being outdoors in general, even if it was just to be out in the fresh air. He loved football. He loved the smell of it, the sounds of the pads crashing together and the roar of the crowd as the Cyclones ran into the Jake, victorious again. Dad also loved his wife, and Mom was endlessly devoted to him. They stuck it out in an era where divorces are all too common. They kept each others’ spirits high, even when times got bad, and the encouragement was never one-sided, but always mutual between them. When things got rough for Dad at work, Mom was always there to cheer him up and when Mom’s spirits were down, Dad always knew the best way to lift them.
Dad stayed true to his blue-collar roots right to the end. Recently, he told me that he would, “rather go back to digging ditches than have to wear a suit and tie to work everyday.” He loved his job and the people with whom he worked. He put a lot of extra time and effort in to turning out a quality product in honor of the family name.
There is a lot to reminisce about when we think of any loved one lost, but when I think of my dad, it will always come back to his love for children. He was a lot like his own father in that respect. Something about the way he played with the neighbor kids never ceased to make me smile. He loved to joke and play and to teach them all the things he knew about the great big world in front of them. He knew that in those bright, sparkly eyes laid an innocent happiness that was not to be spoiled, and he loved them for it. In children he saw himself, still a young adventurer, out with his brothers and friends, scheming and stirring up trouble.
I know that I would have taken my dad’s place a million times. I think anyone would, but the truth is that he always put others before himself and he would never have had it any other way. Everyone here today will have their own way to remember my father, but I will always be reminded of him by the sounds of all things wild, from the bugle of a great elk to the sweet song of cardinals in my back yard. Although we come together during a time where it seems like there is no rhyme or reason to this tragedy and we might even be angry at the sun for shining, we must not forget that, “to everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heavens.”(Ecclesiastes 3:1)
Thursday, April 7, 2011
The new short list.
The currently pseudo-official list of universities I'd like to attend for my M.S. and professors of interest...
Purdue - Paula M. Pijut, Keith Woeste
Wisconsin - Raymond P. Guries
Michigan Tech - Oliver Gailing
Oregon State - Tom Adams, Steven H. Strauss
Berkeley - Richard S. Dodd
Tennessee - Scott Schlarbaum
British Columbia - Sally N. Aitken
Now... to narrow the field by reading some research papers...
More soon!
Purdue - Paula M. Pijut, Keith Woeste
Wisconsin - Raymond P. Guries
Michigan Tech - Oliver Gailing
Oregon State - Tom Adams, Steven H. Strauss
Berkeley - Richard S. Dodd
Tennessee - Scott Schlarbaum
British Columbia - Sally N. Aitken
Now... to narrow the field by reading some research papers...
More soon!
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Get real
Change the arrangements on your face.
SO school was trying to drag me down, but I fought back. I got organizized (Taxi Driver, anyone?). So, of 2 projects and 2 papers due this week, I've completed 1 and 1/4 papers and 1 and 1/2 projects. Lookin good! And to think - just a few weeks left before the arduous field season begins - but at least I only have one summer class.
Keep crushin'
SO school was trying to drag me down, but I fought back. I got organizized (Taxi Driver, anyone?). So, of 2 projects and 2 papers due this week, I've completed 1 and 1/4 papers and 1 and 1/2 projects. Lookin good! And to think - just a few weeks left before the arduous field season begins - but at least I only have one summer class.
Keep crushin'
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Even the president of the united states sometimes must have to stand naked.
...and it's all right, ma.
Thank you, Bob Dylan.
Today is my birthday! Too bad I have crap to do all friggin day. Work 9-11, Class 11-2:30, Work 2:30-5. Then the good part - meet Ma at the bike shop to (hopefully) get the bike I've been wanting for a long time now! Then back to crap - meetings at 6:30 and 8pm. Get home around 9 and do cash flow analyses until my eyeballs fall on the floor. Then bed time.
What a lame birthday!
Positive vibrations. Positive!
-Rob
Thank you, Bob Dylan.
Today is my birthday! Too bad I have crap to do all friggin day. Work 9-11, Class 11-2:30, Work 2:30-5. Then the good part - meet Ma at the bike shop to (hopefully) get the bike I've been wanting for a long time now! Then back to crap - meetings at 6:30 and 8pm. Get home around 9 and do cash flow analyses until my eyeballs fall on the floor. Then bed time.
What a lame birthday!
Positive vibrations. Positive!
-Rob
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