Spring 2023 Update

 It is June 11th, 2023, and the last few months have been very eventful. I have neglected Roblog to the point that child health care services is starting to breath down my neck. I will try to hit the major points of the first half of 2023 in a single paragraph each, in the hopes that this unclogs my brain, freeing up the old pipes to unleash my wit (or whatever) on the page.

I took the kids to Kansas for 5 weeks, mid-January to mid-February. It was not quite long enough, but circumstances squeezed the trip at both ends. In the past, I've been ready to return to Korea, but this time I was not. I treasured the time spent with my parents in a way that I haven't before, in part because I am more aware of how old they are. It is a natural part of the arc of life to outlive one's parents, much preferable to the alternative. But that does not make it easy to contemplate. I am fortunate that they are both active, and in good health for people pushing 80. I am proud of the work they do in the church and community, from the homeless shelter to the prison to the library to a thousand little construction projects over the years. (It might sound like an exaggeration, but if my father has done fewer than a thousand projects, I would be surprised.)

Also on the trip Maxine and I started to seriously consider the idea of her moving to America on her own at some point. We visited the Kansas City Kansas Community College (KCKCC) campus in Leavenworth, and she actually found it inviting and maybe even a little appealing. The teachers and admins we met were also very friendly, and the facility itself looks like a great place to learn.

Horyon returned to work in February of this year, after a year and three months of medical leave. It has been a difficult transition, in part because she is now the 4th oldest teacher out of 25 in the school. She had been a homeroom teacher for many years, and now she is not. Her list of duties and responsibilities is shorter, and she doesn't have to stay into the evening more than a couple of times a month, rather than three or four times a week. But the pay is lower, and she feels less relevant. 

We are still reeling financially, so I asked for and received overtime this semester. I went from teaching 12 hours per week to 18, and discovered that I am no longer as young as I once was. I pour a lot of myself into my teaching, interacting with students and encouraging them both individually and as entire classes. I dislike grading, both the process and the idea of it, though I understand the need. Soon I will be administering final exams, then putting numbers on a screen which tell students how much they are worth. Ugh.

Maxine is absorbed in being a high school senior. Her school does a pair of big projects for their senior year: a drama that the class produces, and individual presentations on topics of their choice. This has taken a lot of her attention, and having a steady boyfriend (her 2nd, more than a year now!) and a tight circle of friends means that we don't see her much at home.

Quinten is in 8th grade, so the last year of middle school. They also do a set of projects like the seniors, only smaller. They did their individual presentations a couple of weeks ago, which had him staying up late at night and seriously stressing out. He did a fantastic job, and his presentation was clearly the best of the six students in his class. I know this, even though I do not understand Korean well enough to follow any of them, and was starting to sink under the first waves of Covid on that day. Quinten is getting tall, and may soon be taller than me. It will be nice to have someone else who can get stuff off the top shelf.

Yes, I finally got Covid. I managed to be quarantined during literally the last week that Korea was quarantining people with Covid. I never had much of a fever, and only a mild cough, but damn it made me tired. For about three days I could barely concentrate. Standing up to go the bathroom wiped me out, and I was sleeping for 12 hours a day. I am three weeks out, and still find myself making more mistakes than usual, thinking more slowly than I am used to, and unable to make thematically and structurally consistent lists of three that do not rely on a third point that is basically a synthesis of the first two.

I've played two concerts this semester, and been sick three times, including the covid. I both love my job and wish that I didn't have to spend so much time on it. I've watched too much Netflix for my own good, and spend too much time sitting in front of my computer. I haven't been on my bike in a very long time, and am afraid to get back on, knowing how much it will hurt. I don't think I have been out for a ride since Horyon was diagnosed with breast cancer in October of 2021. Maybe I just didn't want to do anything risky. Honestly, I'm not sure that I had a motive for not doing it. Laziness is usually sufficient motive for me to avoid damn near anything.

I have started to let myself become a part of the church I've been going to. My long-time friend Rick is now the pastor there, which helps. It has taken me a long time to pull back from cursing the very idea of church to wanting to be a part of it again. I have a better understanding of people who never make the return. And just a few days ago I had a new RICC-related experience: I started to mourn the loss of it. Reading from Psalm 124, 

"If the LORD had not been on our side when people attacked us,

they would have swallowed us alive when their anger flared against us, 

the flood would have engulfed us, the torrent would have swept over us, 

the raging waters would have swept us away."

I read it and in my heart I heard, "my anger would have swallowed me alive, and I would have invited in the raging waters, looking forward to being swept away." And something broke inside, and I cried. And they were my first tears for RICC since I was invited to take my talents elsewhere. 

I was surprised at how good it felt to be sad about it, rather than angry. I believe that it is the beginning of mourning for RICC, and my loss of it. It is messy emotion that these words do not work, they don't show the truth of it, because I don't know exactly what it is that I am mourning. But I will dwell in it, and I am grateful for it. 

There is more to this semester, but much of it escapes my addled brain at this late hour. It is just after one a.m., and I have spent less than an hour and a half writing this. Usually I would set aside a Roblog piece for a day or two, then reread, maybe run it past someone else. But this one is going out raw. 

Well Earned Tears

First grade is hard the same way the ocean is wet. There is only so much newness that one can take in before one is overwhelmed, and the only response is to break down a bit. For example, today was a normal day, with our standard lesson and activities. One activity that I particularly enjoy is when our teacher sings to us. She has a beautiful voice, and I don't know about everybody else, but I always feel like she is singing for me.

Today when she started to sing, it was a new song for our class. New, but somehow familiar to me. At first I hummed along, without even knowing how I knew the tune, then an old door creaked open in the back of my mind, and the memory came spilling out: it was a warm, dark, safe place, with Mommy. She was holding me in her arms, and singing the same song. I remembered it so hard that for a moment I was there in Mommy's arms, without the words to express the joy I felt at falling asleep in this perfect place hearing this perfect song, that reminded me of an even more perfect place, hearing the song of Mommy's heartbeat and breathing, surrounded by her.

For a moment the memory was a perfect crystal, more beautiful than anything I've ever held. Then it melted into the here and now, and my cheeks were wet with the past. I realized that I was back in a world where sometimes I got to spend no time with Mommy. I couldn't remember the last time she had sung to me, and it sat on my chest like a gorilla. I sobbed, mourning the changes in my life this past year, and fearing what was to come.

My teacher asked what was wrong, and I told her that she had sung a song of my infancy, now further away than the stars, and even more impossible to reach. I asked her to hold me, and she did. It wasn't the same as being with Mommy, but it was okay. I sat on her lap and let my anguish flow until all that was left was the memory itself, now tinged with sadness.

I got up off of her lap and returned to my seat. I could see my pain reflected in the faces of my classmates. No doubt some of them were sampling their own bittersweet memories. Maybe some of them were reawakening to the blessings that they had tuned out due to familiarity. I saw no contempt, no mockery. We can be so cruel when we see our classmates in tears, especially when we believe they are unearned. That day all of them knew that I had earned my tears, and some of them joined me in weeping for the lost past. Then I noticed that same pain reflected in the eyes of my teacher. I realized at that moment that she loved me. All of us, really. Of course not as deeply as Mommy loves me, but with a real love. A love that is there every day, ready to pick you up and brush you off when you fall down, ready to wipe your nose, and willing to help you better yourself. But more importantly, she loved me even though a year ago she hadn't even met me. I realized that love can be found outside of those who have known you your whole life: it's ready to grow into any crack in your life.

Everyone says that I am too young to be nostalgic, longing for what has gone. I say that a lifetime ago is a long time, whether your lifetime is seven or one hundred seven years. Learn to love the time you are in now, but don't let go of your past. Rather, use it as an anchor as you search for the love that will inevitably be found in your future.

Quinten with a bear. Not his teacher.

[This story is third hand, based on what Horyon told me of a text message received from Quinten's teacher. As such, I have taken some liberties in imagining what happened at the time, and assuming Quinten's point of view, and expanding his vocabulary somewhat. I don't believe I am breaking any rules in this, but feel free to contact the authorities if you disagree.]

Ukulele Day 5, and my kids - Amazing Grace

Yes, I did not update the past two days. I also did not record myself. Is a daily recording really necessary? Here's today's recording:

No, I will not apologize, nor offer excuses.

Instead, I offer these insights into my process of learning the ukulele:

I am working on a few short term goals at this point. The first goal is to be able to play the C, G and F chords cleanly. The second is to be able to switch between them quickly. A slightly longer term goal is to be able to switch between them cleanly without looking at what I am doing.

A medium term goal is to accompany myself while singing in church. I'm not sure how long I need for this, but I plan to volunteer as soon as I feel comfortable. 

My long term goal is to be comfortable enough to improvise in front of an audience.

My super-long term goal is to charm the birds out of the trees and make people fall over dead from listening to how awesome I am.

Enough of goals, on to what I've learned: I already knew this, but I am gaining a practical knowledge of just how many songs one can play using just these three chords. And I plan to exercise that knowledge on my path to expertise.

I want to build up calluses on my finger tips as well, so that I can endure playing more than 20 or 30 minutes at a time. I'm not sure whether or not it is a goal by itself, but I'm sure it's coming about with the daily practice. For now, my left index finger constantly feels like I have just attempted to catch a frisbee only to have it bounce off of my finger tip. My middle and ring fingers feel like that happened yesterday, and my pinky finger is wondering how long before the pain arrives.

I have found (after a conversation with a friend) that I don't usually need to press as hard as I do, so I can let up on my index finger. But sometimes I do need to press hard, so I need to figure out how to conserve my fingertips until I've got so much fingertip stamina that I go around pressing all the buttons for everyone. One thing that helps with this is practicing at night. I find that if I am strumming softly, I also tend to press the strings with my left hand more softly. If only I can get my left hand to relax the same way when I am strumming loudly. 

I have found that watching YouTube videos of people doing awesome things on an ukulele is not a good idea. It's like sitting down with a pocket knife and a stick on a moonlit night to whittle a moon lander. I need to take in enough to keep the dream alive, but not so much that I get discouraged.

I have found that ukulele is not properly pronounced "you-kuh-lay-lee", but rather "oo-koo-lay-lay." Pronouncing it this way makes me feel like I have joined the in crowd. It also encourages me that at least now I can spell it correctly.

It is fun to do something new and challenging. I mean, yeah, raising kids is challenging, no doubt. My friend Rick and I were having lunch with Quinten a few weeks ago. Quinten got up and announced that he was going to the bathroom. My heart swelled with pride as I told Rick, "It is such a relief that he can finally go to the bathroom by himself. It makes me believe that being a full-time parent won't last forever." 

Front teeth are optional.

Then Quinten's voice soared from the bathroom, "I'm poo-ping!" Rick laughed as I stood up to go wipe clean the anus of another human being. 

As you can see from his picture, Quinten is in the process of losing his baby teeth. Last week the dentist offered to take out those two front ones, as they were a bit wiggly. Quinten's reaction, as I understood it, was "Yank 'em, baby!" That same day he and Maxine started their week-long spring break. I swear that Quinten has been at least 50% naughtier since loosing these teeth. I have a few hypotheses to explain this behavior:

1) The front teeth contain some sort of gland that regulates behavior. Without these glands, kids just go nuts.

2) The weight loss in his head has freed up some extra energy, which he is using to cause trouble.

3) It is only May, but he is already excited for Christmas. (Yeah, that's a link to the Spike Jones song.)

4) He is used to a routine. An extremely subtle part of the routine is how the inside of his mouth feels to his tongue. Whenever his tongue feels that huge gap, it tells his subconscious that something important is missing, and maybe mommy and daddy will disappear forever if he doesn't do something to anchor us to the here and now. So he does.

5) He is completely aware that his cuteness factor has leapt to heights it has not seen since he was an infant, and could get away with vomiting all over everyone and pooping in his pants because he was so cute. He knows that at this moment in his life, he can get away with anything. ANYTHING. So he does.

Maxine, on the other hand, has recently lost the canine teeth that flank the two top front teeth. The sight of her reminds me that I once had a camp counselor who called me "Chipmonk." But the glasses are the big game changer.

See what I mean?

Suddenly she went from being my little girl to looking like a high school student! More and more often I feel that I am catching glimpses of the beautiful woman that she will one day become. Beautiful and funny. She is still willing to hold my hand in public, and I treasure every moment that happens, because I am worried that it won't last much longer. It is no longer acceptable sometimes when her friends are around, though I never push it. 

I have been telling myself that many girls reach the point at which they scream, "I hate you," at their parents (I'm betting on her mother being the main recipient, because it's just like that), preparing my heart to continue loving her no matter what. So far so good. 

So Maxine and Quinten are my main audience. I want them to not only see me do something not that well, but not be ashamed to do it in front of others. Right now they have no grasp of the internet, and no idea how permanent and public this is, but someday they will. And in the mean time, I will make my efforts here more visible and public as I go.

QTV

Welcome to Quinten Television!

We proudly present Quinten's very first effort to produce a television program.  Before we get into tonight's feature, let's look a little into the live, in-person, non-internet version.

Wasn't that awesome?  I know, a little bit difficult to follow the multiple points of view.  It's also easy to be overwhelmed by the special effects.  And the sound effects were simply amazing.  The first time I watched Quinten perform this little drama, I wasn't sure what I had seen.  I was taking pictures (which you can see below), so that probably distracted me.  I asked him to do it again while I took a video.  This time I was paying close attention.  I still had no idea what had just happened.  The form was so revolutionary that I simply could not process it.  So I asked for his interpretation.

Here is the story, as told to me by Quinten.

"It's an Optimus Prime's foot." (the blue thing)  He is about to go through the Ground Bridge.  (The brown thing is a mistake, which cannot be erased in crayon.)  [The Ground Bridge is a teleportation device used in the t.v. show.]

"It's the Ground Bridge.  That it turned into the space world.  It go in the space world."  [Pretty sure he means an alien planet.]

"Optimus Prime and Ratchet come out of the Ground Bridge."  The big one is Optimus Prime, of course.

"Optimus Prime and Ratchet look at the space world."  They are clearly nonplussed.  Or maybe angry.  Hungry?  Anyway...

"It's the space world, Cybertron."  Home planet of the Transformers, long abandoned after the war to end all wars.

"And they block the wall and then they look something."  I think he means they are hiding behind the wall while spying on someone, or something.  [Incidentally, Quinten is still working on writing the number 6 correctly.  You must admit, it is one of the tougher numbers.]

"And that is the Cybertron.  It's something that it's really really dangerous, that it has Transformer blood."  I could be wrong, but maybe the entire planet becomes a giant, pumpkin-headed robot that is very, very sad.

I think it's safe to say that the Q in QTV stands for "Quality" as much as for "Quinten."  And that is just at the first glance.  When we look a little deeper, we see some remarkable insight into a difficult part of my life with this story.  Let's review:

1)  Optimus and Ratchet represent Bravery and Curiosity, respectively.  The story begins, as did my youth, with bravery dwarfing everything else, including communication with others, represented by the old-fashioned telephone that Quinten claimed was a "mistake".

Watch closely as I deconstruct your life.

2)  The Land Bridge represents opportunity.  It is beautiful but opaque, giving no clue as to where it will end up.  Taking opportunity, like using the Land Bridge, takes energy, or resources.  Leaving my home country cost me relationships and comfort, as well as money.  But it was irresistible.

3)  Optimus and Ratchet step out of the Land Bridge.  Bravery and Curiosity are well paired at this stage of my life, leaving all that was known behind.  The past life is still in the picture, though it has been left behind, like the hum of the engines that echoes in your ears long after disembarking from the plane that has carried you to an exotic new land.

I love a good story!

4)  Now the relationship between the travelling companions changes.  As the alien becomes recognizable, then familiar, the role of Bravery diminishes.  Curiosity grows as he takes in knowledge and understanding.  A new balance is reached.

5)  Eventually the New World begins to show another face.  In the maze of details a pattern begins to emerge.  The continents, mountains, rivers and seas that loom so large as they are crossed, take the form of bones, muscles, sinew and skin.

It's getting a little scary.

6)  Bravery and Curiosity cower, and try to observe from a safe distance.  The emerging countenance does not offer adventure or revelry, and certainly not comfort.  It is hungry, and will devour all of Bravery and Curiosity, only to demand more.

7)  Loneliness on a planetary scale.  Every question, every stare, every careless collision as you walk down the street is a scream in my face, "Alone!"  Every attempt at love is like biting into a beautiful, perfect dinner roll and getting a mouthful of sweet, sticky, red bean paste.  Everyone who really knew me, everyone with the same blood in their veins, everyone that made me comfortable just by being there, all far, far away.  A distance that I foolishly chose for myself when Bravery and Curiosity stepped into Adventure.

See how empty your life was before me?  Like a paper television set.

Of course, I was rescued from Planet Lonely when I met Horyon.*  But this time left a big impression on me, perhaps enough for a genetic memory to manifest itself in Quinten's latest project.  Or maybe Quinten tapped into a story template so universal that we can all find bits of our life in it if we look hard enough.  It might even be a piece of The Truth, with two capital Ts.

Maybe I'm reading too much into this.  Maybe I'm having too much fun.  Maybe some day Quinten will read this and say, "Dad, you're a goofball."

I can live with that.  On a side note, Quinten did construct a 3D model for the guys over in CGI to use when they produce his show for the network.

"I'm not drunk.  I'm just holding this bar up."

 And a paper ice cream cone stand.

Maxine taught him the ice cream stuff from one of her books, and he latched right on to it.

*She can't turn into a car, or any other vehicle, and in fact doesn't even really like to drive.

The Incident at Songjeong Beach

This trip started badly: a scooter was sort of blocking my way out of my parking space, but I thought I could get through.  Horyon told me to be careful not to bump into the car on her side, so immediately after telling her I would be careful, I scraped his bumper.  I was so angry.  I wanted to kick over the scooter and slap Korea across the face for its universally poor parking lot designs.  Of course it was an imported car.  The owner was very kind, and told us he would have the paint retouched rather than replacing the bumper.  He was more interested in having harmonious relationships with his neighbors than profiting from their mistakes.  I was grateful, but before he came to look at the damage I paced back and forth like a caged tiger, ready to call off the whole trip.

I didn't.  I couldn't have without making many, many people very annoyed with me.  So I calmed down and tried to pray a bit while I waited for Horyon to program the GPS.

We went to Songjeong Beach here in Busan with some of Maxine's classmates and their families.  It was kind of rainy and cloudy on Friday, and it never completely cleared up.  Maybe it's because I'm from Kansas, but I don't really enjoy the beach that much:  the sand gets into everything, the crowds are annoying, and the need to keep an eye on my kids takes away from the experience.  I would rather be hiking in the mountains.

Still, the kids had a good time, and built up a serious appetite.  

We were prepared for that.

We stayed at a "pension".  In Korea, this means a large room that you can rent for the day, or overnight.  They typically have only tables for eating off of, and mats and pillows for sleeping.  This one had the thinnest mats ever, and funky blocky pillows that did not ease my weary head.  This pension also had a rooftop space for grilling and eating.  In the days before we went I bought sausages and made hamburgers with beef, ground onion and garlic, and spices.  I grilled them, and was hailed as a master chef.  Granted, most of them had never had a hamburger better than a Big Mac, but I will take whatever praise I can get.  We also cooked some small pork ribs and sam-gyap-sal, the bacon cut of the pig.  We also had soup and rice, because otherwise it wouldn't have been a meal, right?

The next day we hit the beach again.  The weather was much more cooperative, sunny but not too hot.  Around noon Quinten needed to go to the bathroom, so I took him to one.  On our way back, I was walking behind Quinten, and stepped around some people who had walked into my path as a wave approached.  I started walking again, then looked around for Quinten.  He was no longer in front of me.  I looked out into the water, but didn't see him.  He wasn't behind me, and upshore was so crowded with people under umbrellas that I couldn't imagine him making his way through that.  I walked back to our group, looking for him the whole way, but didn't see him.  So I turned around and walked back to where we had re-entered the beach after using the bathroom.  No luck.  I walked back and forth a couple of times, then went to our group and asked if they had seen Quinten.  Someone told me that Horyon had taken him to the showers with Maxine.  I was a bit upset that Horyon hadn't told me, but also relieved that I hadn't actually lost him.

So I ate some fried chicken and relaxed.  And wondered if the language barrier had just bitten me in the butt.  I shouldn't have wondered.  I should have just assumed that it did.

A few minutes later our group and I noticed that they were making an announcement over the loudspeakers about a lost boy, six years old (Quinten's Korean age), wearing a blue shirt, and attending Quinten's kindergarten.  So some of us started walking to the police station to pick him up.  My feet were a bit tender the next day because I didn't notice until I was halfway there that I hadn't put my shoes on, but there was no way I was going to go back at this point.

In the first picture below, you can't see the police station because it is behind the picture of Horyon and me.  It took me more than 10 minutes to walk/jog there.  It was easy to find because there is a big 119 on the outside of the building, and I could hear Quinten crying from outside across the street.  When we got inside he couldn't stop because he had gained so much emotional momentum.  I picked him up and held him as he sobbed on my shoulder.  

My emotions at this point were mixed.

I felt sympathy for Quinten, but it was a very tempered sympathy.  Every child needs to learn how it feels to be lost, go through the tears, the certainty that Mommy and Daddy are gone forever.  It teaches us that our actions have consequences, a lesson that Quinten is still working on.  One of his favorite expressions right now is, "It's all your fault!"*  I don't think that he views the consequences dealt by me as being independent of his actions, but he does sometimes think that these consequences are unfair.  It's difficult to convince a child that parental consequences are honestly designed to be far less severe than worldly consequences.  When I held him in my arms, he was wetter and sandier than I expected him to be.  He confirmed that he had gone back into the water, and I came as close to lying to him as I dared: I told him that he got lost because he walked away from me.  I left out the part about how if I had been watching him more closely, he probably wouldn't have gotten lost.  I will tell him that sometime, but when he was feeling scared and alone, I wanted him to understand his part in that, without letting him shift the blame to me or anyone else.  I want him to remember that feeling the next time he thinks about taking off when there are a thousand people around.

Another feeling I had as Quinten cried in my arms was a kind of nostalgia.  I can't remember the second to last time I held him as he cried like that.  The last time was just two weeks ago when we said goodbye to my parents, but before that...?  It seems like only a few months ago that he had no words at all, and holding him was the only way to make him understand that I love him.  I don't miss the diaper changes, or the feeding hassles.  I still rejoice that he puts his shoes on the correct feet all by himself.  But the simplicity of the emotional relationship with a baby is undeniable: you offer unconditional love, and do your best to train the little beast to become a human.  Granted, the end of this training is still under the distant horizon.  For all I know, my parents may still consider me incomplete in this regard.

Of course I also felt relieved, grateful that he hadn't drowned, or been picked up by a statistically insignificant kidnapper working the beach, or suffocated under the hoards of beach goers.  My relief was oddly spread out, not really spiking until the unpleasant possibilities came to mind after Quinten was already in my arms.  As soon as I understood the announcement I had a simultaneous jolt of panic and relief.  That one kept popping in and out of my mind for the next half hour, especially when they announced that he was uncomfortable (or perhaps inconsolable?).

And I was angry.  At myself.  My moment of inattention could have cost me one of the most valuable things I have been entrusted with.  I was acutely aware of my language limitations.  I felt like an idiot for trusting anyone else to tell me where Quinten was.  I was angry at the situation as well: I hadn't really wanted to go on this trip, don't like the beach, and quickly grow tired of crowds.  I flashed back to the fender bender that started the trip, my lousy night of sleep, the yap and chatter of the kids who came along.

Anger.  Relief.  Nostalgia.  Sympathy.  If you had asked me at that moment how my weekend was, I probably would have said something rude.  I was so quick to set aside the positive experiences of the trip.

I got to be the head cook for Friday night's dinner, and it was fun!  I was back and forth between two grills that had very uneven heat, moving burgers and sausages so that they would be properly cooked.  I love a challenge like that!  I served up burgers and sausages to almost everyone there, and nothing makes me happy quite the same way as giving people food that I've made.  Especially when their reaction is to eat with gusto and tell me that it is all delicious.  I had some beer as I cooked and ate, adding a lovely buzz to the mix, loosening my tongue, and making me more pleasant company.  Later in the evening we opened a bottle of wine, and I got to be the sommelier, pouring plastic cups for all the adults interested.  My kids had a great time, playing in the sand and water, being with friends.  Even getting lost only brought Quinten down for about an hour.  The rest of the time he was on top of the world.  And it was Maxine's first time to see a lot of these friends since we left for America a month and a half previously.  She was the main reason we planned this outing, and I don't believe she had a single discouraging word to say about the trip (if I don't count "Are we there yet?").

As with any event, the details fade with time.  It's up to me to decide which gems I will sift out to keep.  I could very easily hold on to the annoyance, the bitterness, the anger.  They are kind of sticky, and require some effort to leave behind.  I choose to hold on to the smiles, the tasty burgers, the smiling kids, and the lessons learned.

*Expressions like this are so adorable coming from him that it is difficult to avoid smiling.  When he constructs his own sentences they are not so precise, so these perfect chunks are out of place in the cutest way possible.

p.s.  Photos for Uncle Bob.

Postcard mode is fun.  Simultaneous selfie and surroundings.

One of my cooking partners.

Eating dinner on the roof.

The later stages of cooking, involving vegetables.

Breakfast on Saturday.

Quinten making something on the beach.

We got more sun on Saturday.

Maxine got too much sun.  Cucumber face!
Don't worry, it's not a permanent condition.

The Goodbye

When we arrived in Kansas, the way Quinten ran to his Grandpa, jumped into his arms, and held his hand without even looking back at me brought tears of joy to my eyes.  Today, when he realized that we were saying goodbye to Grandpa and Grandma, his sobs tore me apart like nothing ever has before.  I had no idea how hard it would be for him to leave, and for me to take  him away.  The relationship between my father and my son was more beautiful than I could have imagined.  They made things together, swam together, and sat by each other at meals without fail.  Every day I saw five years old and 71 years old connect in the way that only happens when each calls the other "Grand."

"We say goodbye to Grandpa forever?"  Choke.  I must answer without sobbing.

"No.  We'll see Grandpa and Grandma again."  But there is a lie in this truth: in no time at all, five-year-old Quinten will be gone forever, replaced by six- and then seven-year-old Quinten.  The next time he sees Grandpa and Grandma it won't be the same.  It can't be the same.

"The day after the day after tomorrow?"  He's only recently learned this phrase and the meaning behind it.  This is the furthest he can conceive of the future.  More than a week might as well be a million years to him.

"No.  It will be longer than that."  I don't lie to my kids.  Delaying a painful truth doesn't make it any less painful.

"I HATE saying goodbye to Grandpa and Grandma!"  I've been trying to strike the word "hate" from our family vocabulary, but I can't correct him on this one.

"Me too, buddy.  Me too."

We share my handkerchief, soaking it through.  My sleeve is soaked with tears, and I don't even try to hide it.  We are the last passengers to get on the plane, and the stewardess asks if he is ok.  I say yes, because even thinking of a longer, more honest answer, threatens to shatter the veneer of control barely covering my grief.  Later I manage to get as far as, "We just said goodbye to Grand... my parents."  Deep breath.  Blink away tears.  Let the nice lady get back to her work.

Quinten continues to cry for the next hour.  He stops for a few minutes, then resumes again. I wouldn't stop my tears if I could, but I hold back my sobs until he is asleep, leaning on me, still holding on to my arm.  I know that if I let it all out in front of him Maxine will join us in breaking down completely.

Maxine is sad as well, but she remembers saying goodbye; she knows that reunion is possible.  She has just experienced it, and loved it.  At eight years old she has a broader perspective of time than Quinten at five.  This was painful, but she clearly remembers her friends and home.  Quinten's universe barely spans a few weeks ago to a few days from now.

My parents wait in the security check line with us for a while, but when Quinten start crying, and Maxine joins in, my Mom has to leave, and Dad with her.  The gravity of a five-year-old can only be overcome through distance, and the tidal forces after one hug will rip you apart.

It doesn't help that it is five in the morning.

It doesn't help that I had set my alarm wrong and only woke up when Dad knocked on our door.

It doesn't help that I had slept less than three hours.

It doesn't help that I don't want to go either.  I want so badly to stay with my parents, to not take Maxine and Quinten from their Grandpa and Grandma.  I don't feel like I am going home, I felt like I am leaving home.

I tell myself that this wouldn't hurt so much if the visit hadn't been so good.  If we had stayed in my parents home instead of renting a condo, we would all be so sick of each other that we would be sighing with relief at this moment.  If I had brought the kids to Kansas out of a sense of duty I would be satisfied with a job well done.  If we had come just to see the sights we would be taking all we need in our cameras and eyes.  If we had only planned to eat American food until we couldn't eat any more we... Well, I am pretty much satisfied on that front.

What I received from this trip was something that I can't put on an itinerary, and can barely put into words: it was like I got to hug my grandmother Maxine again, though she's been gone since I was in junior high.  I got to hear my Grandma Sack laugh again, though her body followed her mind into darkness shortly after I got married.  I got to walk with Grandpa Sack again, though the cancer finally took him my freshman year in college.  I got to visit Grandpa Euler in his office at Goodyear Roofing and Heating again, though both Grandpa and the building are gone.  There is such joy in this that my heart can barely hold it, as well as a mourning of both the past and future.  Some day my Mom and Dad will be gone.  Quinten will miss them terribly, but if God wills it I will hold his children and be their Grandpa before it is my turn to move on.

Two Turtles, a Buffet, and some Blocks

Yes.  We have our first pets, and they are reptiles.

No, your monitor is not malfunctioning.  They are in a pink wash-basin while their tank is being cleaned.  I can't get any decent pictures of them in their tank.

I don't know what kind of turtles they are.  If anyone out there can help me on this, I would sure appreciate it.  Maxine was begging for a turtle, and we gave in for her birthday without researching much.  Turns out that turtles often carry salmonella, so you aren't supposed to touch them or hold them.  Makes them pretty boring pets in some ways.  They are still fun to watch, though.  They are semi-aquatic, and like to swim around in their tank as well as perch on the faux rock we bought for them.  It's kind of sad to be on display like that, and not entirely unlike my job as an English teacher in a Korean school.

For Maxine's birthday we went to a kids' buffet at Bexco, which I wrote about in this post.  Here are a couple of pictures we took at the time which I have only just now moved to my computer.  We have borrowed my parents'-in-law camera.

 I like these pictures.  It's difficult to get Quinten to look at the camera and smile, so this is a rare find.

 And this picture of Maxine and I captures both of us nicely, if a little darkly.

We recently got some Duplo blocks for the kids to play with.  Horyon found them used, and got an incredible deal.  I'm sure we'll be able to sell them for more than we paid, but more importantly, Quinten LOVES playing with them.  Right now his focus is on seeing how high he can stack them.  Not bad for three-and-a-half, eh?