My Dad's Favorite Movies

I sat down to write something about Father's Day - this being my first without him - and inevitably it turned sappy and sad. My dad could be sappy at times especially with my mom (especially in public, to the horror of my sister and me when we were young) but he was never sad.

I started thinking about ways I could share him with you all. Maybe it's the beginning of the summer blockbuster season or just now getting cable again (so I can watch Independence Day ALL THE TIME), but talking about his favorite movies is a good way to bring him around on Father's Day and hopefully smile a bit at the same time.

There are some stereotypical dad movies on here. There's also a movie he never saw (it'll make sense) and a surprising-but-not-all-that-surprising-if-you-know-him entry at the top of the list. Here we go...

A Short Note on Anonymity

I know this may come as a shock to most of you, but I kind of enjoy Twitter. I've written here and elsewhere about the people brought into my days and into my life in 140 character bursts. I consider people I've never met members of my inner circle, and there are people who live in Twitter who know stories about me my best "irl" friends will never hear. I've met a fair number of you in actual 3D social situations, and most of you have been seemingly normal, well-adjusted members of polite society. Others? You can't win 'em all I guess.

Thanks

Over the years, I've had a number of occasions where friends or family suffered some tragedy that I couldn't quite understand, or maybe I just didn't feel the same depths of that pain. My natural tendency was and is to want to help them however I could. Sometimes that meant talking about it. Sometimes it meant intentionally not talking about it. Sometimes it meant just being there. When I'd ask how I could help and someone would respond that there was nothing I could do, I didn't understand. Surely they meant there was nothing they wanted me to do. Sometimes I felt like they didn't want to burden me (even though I would've gladly accepted that burden) and other times I thought they just wanted to be alone.

Conference Call Kübler-Ross

My phone has now been on mute for 45 minutes as I dutifully await my turn to add my two cents then retreat once more. Conference calls are the purgatory of business interaction. They have all the real-time contact of a group face-to-face meeting without all the non-verbal cues and actually recognizing if participants are asleep. On my current call, a senior leader of my company is speaking with a possible partner while scores of employees on both sides take notes and/or set their fantasy football lineups. Could this exact call have the same effective outcome as a one-on-one conversation with both participants summarizing to their side afterward? Of course. But then both sides would become more productive and might not have time to undertake this GREAT PROJECT.

84 Hours

As some of you know, my dad passed away last month at age 57. To say it was a shock is an understatement - he was in the best shape of his life and was a healthy young man. One of the ways I processed everything that was happening was to write down what was happening and my thoughts and feelings. What follows occurred either around me or in my head in the three and a half days after he died. I debated posting it at all and thought about allowing it to live on my computer forever. I don't know if at some point this may be helpful to someone, but it didn't seem right to keep it to myself. My father was such a wonderful man that I feel this is part of the way I can pay it forward. If it helps even one person, it's worth it.

This is mostly unedited, and I can't really bring myself to read it all yet. A few close friends have read it & edited weird things that don't make any sense, but for the most part it's raw. A few caveats - it jumps around, is very long, I'm sure is rather sad at points, but hopefully is funny at others. I hope you get something out of it, and I'd love to hear from you if you do.

The Last Childress Draft and Why I'm OK with the Ponder Pick

If you follow me on Twitter, you got a pretty good sense as to how I felt in the immediate aftermath of the Vikings selection last night.

"No Words."

"#Vomit"

"Meanwhile, Detroit is about to have Suh and Fairley up the middle. Good f***ing luck."

"The Vikings took Christian Ponder and left Nick Fairley. I, uh, yeah. Good night everyone."

Are you there, God? It's me, Tyler.

"Are you there, God? It's me, Bart Simpson. I know I never paid attention at church, but I could really use some of that good stuff now. I'm...afraid. I'm afraid some weirdo's got my soul and I don't know what they're doing to it! I just want it back. Please? Oh, I hope you can hear this."- Bart Simpson from "Bart Sells His Soul"


$5. That's all it took for Bart to write "Bart Simpson's soul" on a piece of paper and give it to Milhouse. $5 might be a lot of money in Springfield, but was it really worth it? Suddenly Bart became a shell of his former self – unable to laugh, play, or enjoy the things that he always had. He quickly realizes he's made a mistake. He even has a nightmare that every child in Springfield has a soul, and they all make fun of him because he's the only kid without one. Bart begs Milhouse to sell him his soul back, but each time Milhouse raises the price. The moral of the story? If you sell your soul for short-term gain, you usually end up without the gain or your soul, and the person holding your soul can make your life miserable.


To Vikings like me, this plot should seem awfully familiar.

For Better or for Worse

Wednesday marks the one year anniversary of something I could have never imagined happening at my school and at my home. One year ago, a sick child who slipped through the cracks decided he'd had enough of this world and selfishly took 32 fellow Hokies with him. The merits of his sickness - mental, chemical, and otherwise - are a debate for another place and time. Plenty of posts just like this one have blasted the mental health system, Virginia Tech, handgun dealers, professors, suitemates, and students alike. In looking back, each could have done more. We like to think we would have done more in that position. We have the luxury of hindsight.