Me Blog Post!

Our toddler is now at a stage of language development where almost everything he says is in two-word sentences:

‘Daddy bike’ (Daddy is going on the bike)
‘Mommy office’ (Mommy is at her office)
‘Isla pasta’ (Isla has pasta)
‘Me anna’ (I want some banana)

The ‘Me’ thing is at the stage where it drives us all a little crazy. He wants to do everything himself, even things he’s clearly too short to do, like drive a car (‘Me car’). He then gets upset, sometimes to insane tantrum levels, if he can’t do it, or worse, if he can’t do it, and someone else does, like open the door using  door knob he can’t reach (‘Me door’).


He’s also at a stage where he has a one-track mind, and pays no attention to anything going on around him. I have to say, there are times I like this side of him, which our daughter has never had. I’ve been able to put away laundry, for 15-20 min, while he’s focused on some toy, or ball, or box, or something. While at dinner, he can be so focused on building a tower (‘Me tower’) with his cup (‘Me cup’), uncooked spaghetti (‘Me pasta’), a piece of pineapple (‘Me bapple’), and a plate ('Me plate') that still has food on it, that he doesn’t realise we are telling him to stop because the food is going to fall all over the place. When we have to grab the plate to prevent him from getting food everywhere, he will have a tantrum, shouting ‘Me plate! Me plate! Me plate!’.

He’s also at the stage where everything has to be just so. For the past several weeks, he only wants me to put him to bed, giving him his night time milk (‘Daddy milk’). Almost every night, we ask ‘Mommy milk?’, he says yes, then as soon as he’s in his room with Lauren, it has to be ‘Daddy milk’.

This is a long-winded blog post to get to a short story that happened about a week ago, that’s not even that funny, now that I’ve written all this.

About a week ago, we were at the kitchen table, our older kid was eating an orange. While eating, she asked him if that night it should be ‘Daddy milk’ or ‘Mommy milk’. He wasn’t paying attention; he was focused. She asked again; no response; he was staring dead on, completely focused on something. A third time she asked him and he finally answered: ‘Me orange!’

She didn’t give him any.

Tantrum ensued.

My Shir-Roma

For years, I have been writing about how much I don’t enjoy reading.

The only reading I regularly do these days are kids books (to my kids), sports articles, and film articles. I really enjoy following sports and film, even though I have very little time to watch either.

A couple of months ago I started hearing (via podcasts) and reading about two films that critics seemed to like. The thing about these films was that they were both available on Netflix (the only way I can watch films these days). I thought, I can actually watch these, even if I have to watch them in 20-min segments over several days.

Roma was released on Netflix on 14th December. I watched it on 17th December, and I was actually able to watch the entire film in one day (though in two segments). The film is in black and white, the opening shot is amazing, but then....I didn’t do anything for me. I can see how ‘film people’ would talk about the cinematography, the directing, how the the director was making a film in honour of the woman who took care of him as a kid. I get all that, I do, but, to be honest,  I thought the film was boring. It was slow-paced, didn’t have much of a plot, and I just didn’t think the main character was particularly interesting, for the film to be a good character study.

Needless to say, I was somewhat happy when, for the first time, I heard one critic who wasn't completely glowing over this movie, on a podcast I was listening to that she was a guest on. Thank you, Tasha Robinson.

Shirkers was also getting a lot of buzz. It won at Sundance; it’s been getting a lot of award nominations; it currently has a 100% score on Rotten Tomatoes. So when I saw it was also on Netflix, I thought, let’s do this.

This I could not watch in one day, but was able to watch in two.

It’s a fascinating story, and, on paper, should be a great documentary, but I found it very hard to get into it, mainly due to the narration. Something about the narrator’s tone (I should mention she’s also the director and the documentary is about her) was so annoying. I couldn’t put my finger on it, then I happened to come upon this review, which describes her narration as ‘self-pitying’ and that was it. That’s the issue I had with the film. I think, if she got someone else to narrate it, who was not so involved with the story of the documentary, and was narrated in 3rd person, it would have worked better for me.

That's my 2 cents on 2 films. I'm hoping I get to see more films in 2019 than I did in 2018.

I don’t know why my first blog post in over a year is about film criticism, but better that, than about books (since I’ve not read any non-kids books in over a year).

Mother Christmas

My mother was born on 25th December. That will never change. 

The way I feel about Christmas, knowing my mother’s birthday, has changed over time.

The beginning

As a young boy, like most kids, my parents’ birthdays didn’t mean anything to me. I don’t remember how old I was when I realised that my mother’s birthday and Christmas were the same day. I was just excited about Christmas presents, that I don’t think my mother's birthday occurred to me.

The grump

There was a time, when I realized my mother’s birthday was the same as Christmas that I was annoyed that my mother’s birthday was the same day as Christmas; I’d have to get TWO gifts for one day! Jeez! And to top it off my mother was impossible to shop for (much like I am now, I suppose). She always said she wanted nothing, but what sort of kid doesn’t get a gift for his mother’s birthday and Christmas?!? TWO gifts for one day! Jeez!

The sensitive kid

As I got older, I didn’t feel bad for me that my mother’s birthday was Christmas; I felt bad for her. I mean, no one outside of your family will even know it’s your birthday because they are obsessed with Christmas. I’m not one who likes to tout my birthday is coming up, but it’s at least nice to hear friends and colleagues say happy birthday to you. That doesn’t happen very much if your birthday is on Christmas because you don’t see those people. It was still a lot of work to get two gifts though.

The young adult

At some point in my life, I think it was me that came up with the idea that we shouldn’t get Christmas gifts for the adults in our family. Christmas gifts were for the kids. (I should note that I still love this idea and I like not receiving gifts from people, as odd as that may sound). At that point in my life, Christmas became more about my mother’s birthday than Christmas. 25th December was my mom’s birthday and it just happened to also be Christmas. I also looked at it as all these people in the world celebrating my mom’s birthday. I’ve always liked that view of 25th December.

The birthday after

My mother died in 2010. Her first birthday without her was very difficult for me. I remember walking around Mesa, Arizona by myself for about 45 min that afternoon, in tears. 25th December would never be the same again. On that day, I knew there were families around the world, filled with joy and happiness. My family was filled with sadness and grief.

The years since

I don’t look forward to 25th December these days, but I try to keep that to myself. I try to not even think about it. I mentioned the other day to Lauren that we don’t have any Christmas tradition, but I’m not sure I want one, because it will be another reminder of the date.

Our kid is excited and I’m doing my best to be excited for her. Knowing this year will be her last Christmas as an only child makes me want her to enjoy it all the more (nothing kills your Christmas more than your sibling getting the gift they really wanted and you getting socks).

I’ve cried every 25th December since my mother died, and I’m sure I’ll cry again this year.

Over the past few years, I try to own Christmas as my mother's day. I try to see the lights and celebrations as the world celebrating the life of the woman who made me who I am. When the day comes though, I know there will be an air of sadness over me, as there is every year.

My mother was born on 25th December. That will never change. Happy birthday, mom!

Geordi

My dad's cat, Geordi, had to be put down today. He had had kidney problems for more than 1/2 of his 13-year life and it just got to be too bad this time and he had to leave us.

Geordi was Lauren's and my cat until we moved to the UK, so it's a tough day for us.

Geordi was found when he was 4 months old, along with his 3 siblings. When we went to the shelter, I was more interested in getting one of his siblings, a Calico, but the feeling wasn't mutual. It jumped out of my arms and ran away. Another one of his siblings hissed at me. Geordi walked up to my hand, sniffed my knuckles, and rubbed against them. He was our can from that moment.

We went through a lot with Geordi. Lauren naming him after Geordi La Forge; when we figured out he was loosing his baby teeth when we found teeth all over the flat over the course of a couple of months. We went through the period of him peeing in our dustpan, getting on top of our fridge, getting outside and chasing squirrels, and generally being a manic cat in our apartment. He would poke Lauren in the face to wake her up, pee on her side of the bed (never mine, for some reason), wrestle with me and sit on any grading I had to do. His incredibly loud an incessant meowing, that could both drive you crazy and also make you feel like you were having a conversation with him.

I moved him from California to Maryland with Geordi while he was recovering from surgery after one of his kidney stone problems. My mother was very ill at the time and I didn't know if bringing a cat into my parents' lives was the best thing at that time. I never got a good sense of how my mother felt about him, but he was a godsend for my dad when my mother died a few months later.

He was a different cat in Maryland. A much calmer cat, who seemed to match my dad incredibly well. Not the cat that would race around at full speed, but a cat that would take his time getting around - what was the rush in a much bigger space to live. He also became a cat that could go outside without the constant worry that he would run away. He still was a loud meower though and always would want to tell my dad about his day when my dad came home.

He was my dad's loyal companion for nearly 8 years, who my dad talked about more than anything else.

Even though I haven't seen him very much since 2010, Geordi is very much a part of my life. We talk about him all the time and just a few days ago our kid saw a cat and she immediately said that it 'looks like Geordi'. I look at him every time I unlock my iPod, looking at his regal best and have never considered changing the lock screen on that iPod.

I'm going to miss that guy.

Time to get Fringy

It was cool to sit there with our kid, watching the ping pong balls drop onto the stage; hundreds of them, as the acrobats avoided getting hit by the ping pong rain.

Ping pong and acrobats. Both on one stage. Who thinks of this stuff?

It must be August in Edinburgh, when the Fringe Festival hits town, the population triples, and the smell of hamburger cooking is already wafting into my office as I come in in the morning.

I’m not a hard core Fringer who sees multiple shows a day, or even one show a day. In the past 3 years, I’ve seen about 20 shows and all but one of them were seen with our kid, so I’d say I’ve kid fringing, or kringing (and cringing) over the past few years.

Even though I’m not hard core, I like the Fringe. I like the completely bizarre costumes I see people wearing as they walk around the streets of the city. I like everything in the center of the city covered in posters, like we live in some sort of imaginary world. I don’t even mind the tourists who stop inexplicably to take a picture of something that I don’t see as picture-worthy.

I like that for one month a year, you can see just about anything you could imagine on a stage; I’ve seen a guy get kids to laugh so much about boogers while every parent in the audience looked disgusted; I’ve done several kid ceilidhs, seen improvised musicals, David Sedaris, non-improvised musicals, W. Kamau Bell, incredible physical performances, Tig Notaro, bubble performers, and some performances so bad I’ve walked out 10 minutes in (along with 2/3 of the rest of the audience). The phrase ‘meh brand’ means something in our house entirely because of a show we saw several years ago.

That being said, I also like coming home on August days, being completely removed from the fringiness of the city, on our little street where you would have no idea the population had grown by 3 times, and where you wouldn’t know that acrobats avoided getting hit by ping pong balls at about 3:15 this afternoon.

Photo courtesy of The Pleasance

Vaseline

As a boy, I used to get so dirty; my mother hated it. I remember my mother scrubbing me so hard to get me clean that it hurt. She would then coat my body with Vaseline, because we lived in such a dry climate.

Seven years ago, I told this story at my mother’s funeral. I hope it was more eloquent at her funeral than the three sentences I used to start this blog because I think my eulogy to her was the most meaningful speaking I’ve ever done in my life.

 My mother always seemed to have Vaseline in our house, up until she died.

After my mother died, I stayed in my parents’ house for several months, using the bathroom my mother had been using. When I moved to Edinburgh, I ended up taking some things from that bathroom, mainly for nostalgia purposes. One of the things I took was a big tub of Vaseline my mother must have been using. It’s not the sort of thing you think of taking when you’re moving internationally, but it just seemed like the thing to do.

That tub of Vaseline has been with us since then. 

I get dry spots on my knees and, when I care enough, I dig through our closet and find that tub. I sometimes get a dry patch between two of my fingers and when I care enough, I dig through our closet and find that tub.

A few of months ago, we noticed that no matter how much lotion we would put on our kid’s legs, they would get ashy and dry. We started using baby oil on her skin, but she would still end up getting dry legs. Then I remembered that we had that old tub of Vaseline in a closet somewhere. I pulled out that tub of old Vaseline and we now use it on our kid.

I don’t know if I should be using 7-year old Vaseline on our kid (I don’t see an expiration date on it), but every night after I’ve scrubbed our kid (though not to the point of pain), as I am coating her body with Vaseline, I think of my mother. I think of how my mother and how she had used the same tub of Vaseline on her skin that the grandchild she never met is now has on her’s.

I hope that tub never runs out.

The Gye Nyame

So there I was, in the cemetery office, with my shirt half off....

21st March will mark 7 years since my mother died. My sister has said that she is losing sleep (she responded to an email from me at 2:30 am the other day). I’m listening to Alison Krauss, whose music (for some inexplicable reason - my mother had no idea who Alison Krauss was) always reminds me of my mother.

For the first time since my mother died, I plan on going to work on the anniversary of her death (I’ve taken the day off any time it’s fallen on a weekday) and will try to make it as normal a day as I can, even though I know it won’t be. It happens to fall on the day our kid turns 4 years and 7 months so, partly as a distraction, I’m going to try and teach our kid on that day, to say that if she’s asked how old she is, she should say ‘four and seven twelfths’. I'm even considering making 7/12 of a cake to keep my mind off things.

My mother didn’t want to die (very few do, right?). Even though she was very sick, she didn’t want to accept her oncoming death to herself. I felt like many who knew her were not ready to admit it themselves either. No real plans had been made about what to do with her body after she died. I feel like I knew what my mother would have wanted, but the circumstances didn’t allow for that, partly because my mother didn’t want to accept that she was dying. 

It led to some degree of family strain after her death that I won’t get into here; it’s really not worth bringing up in any more detail. All I have to say on the topic is, if you have some around you that you love - anyone - tell them. Write it down and let them know what you want with your body after you die. It’s not a fun thing to discuss, I know, but it makes things easier for everyone when that day comes. 

In the end, a decision was made to bury her in Baltimore.

Why did I start the blog with the sentence I did? Death sucks and me with my shirt half off is what I think of when I think back to the time my mother died, and try to find moments of humour in that time of my life, of which there were very few.

We had this idea that on my mother’s grave placard, we might be able to place a Gye Nyame. We brought this up to the cemetery manager (I’d hate that job, by the way). She was open to trying, but had no idea what a Gye Nyame was. My dad tried describing it to her then I it hit me that I literally had one on my body; on my left shoulder blade to be specific. I had had a Gye Nyame tattoo for over 8 years at that point so the obvious thing to do was to lift my shirt up.

So there I was, in the cemetery office, with my shirt half off, showing my tattoo to the cemetery manager, who I had only just met. We all thought it was kind of a funny scene. It was a welcome break to what we had been going through over the past few days.

In the end, the cemetery manager couldn’t get the Gye Nyame on the placard, which was fine, really. To be honest, I don’t know how much my mother would have wanted a Gye Nyame.

Whenever I think about mother’s death, I think about watching basketball in the hospice in the few hours before she died; I remember my sister waking me up from a jet-lagged sleep to tell me it was time; I remember that last gasp of air my mother took; I remember calling Lauren in the very early hours of the morning. I remember a lot of things that make me feel very sad. 

Then I remember showing that woman my tattoo and I chuckle. My mom would have laughed too. I miss my mother every day.

Oscars 2016

I went back digging through old blog posts before I sat down to write this. The first blog I wrote about the Oscar Nominees was short and sweet. Back then they only had 5 nominees. Those were the days, when I didn’t have to carve out time to watch 9 movies (and didn't have a kid to deal with), like I did this year.

I think there were a number of good movies in 2016, but not a lot of great ones. I still hold 1994 as the best year of movies in my adult life, for anyone who cares to know that information. 

I’ve been able to find the time to watch all the Oscar Nominees again this year, and have ranked them by my preference.

Here we go...

Lion

I’m not normally one to cry during films, but there is a certain kind of relationship in films that always get to me. Scenes that involve mothers, children, and loss on film are my Achilles heel. I still tear up every time I see this scene, I tear up.....

If this film wasn’t such an emotional gut-punch for me, I don’t think it would be anywhere near this high on my list. I was shocked at how much this film affected me. I went into it not thinking I would like it. As a parent of an adopted child, watching a film about a guy looking for his birth mother, I was positive it would ignore the parents that raised him. The film was so much more than that. There was so much about how he lost his birth family and how hard he tried to find them, as a young boy. Seeing that part of his life really made me feel for his longing to find where he came from.

I want our kid to see this movie when she’s old enough to get it. It’s a movie that will stick with me for a long time.

Moonlight

My sister said she didn’t like Moonlight as much as she thought she would. Her comment got me thinking that maybe this is a film most appreciated by black men. I don’t personally know of any white people in my life that have seen this movie, so I’d be curious to hear their thoughts.

This is the movie from 2016 that I most want to see again. It’s not a movie that can be described by plot; there isn’t a plot, but there is a theme. It’s about a guy, who has grown up in not-so-great circumstances, who is most likely gay, but can’t admit that to himself. 

For me, the 3 actors to play main characters at three points in his life, each gave heart-breaking performances. If film awards were not given to the person performing the role, but to the character, Chiron is my character of the year.

I also liked the way the movie ended, and I may be in the minority there, but I like that it gave me something to wonder about at the end.

Manchester by the Sea

This is a film I thought was great while watching it and for about 48 hours after watching it, but I know I won't remember it in a year.

I don’t know what it is about a type of movie set in or around Boston that has this effect on me: Mystic River, The Departed, Gone Baby Gone, The Town. I remember really liking every one of these movies but could tell you almost nothing about any of them now.

I like Casey Affleck and always have (he was one of my favourite things about Good Will Hunting, and that’s saying a lot, because I love that movie). I thought he was great in this and I thought Michelle Williams really pulled out all the stops for the scene that got her an Oscar nomination. One thing I didn’t care for was Lucas Heghes. He’s getting a lot of praise for his role, but I didn’t care for his performance much.

Again, good movie, liked it a great deal, but won’t remember it by summer.

La La Land

I happened to see the mother of one of our kid’s friends shortly after seeing this movie and she asked what I thought. Her one line review of the movie sums up very well how I feel about it: It’s definitely more about style than substance.

When I watch a film, the story, and the way it’s told have to both be great for me to think the film is great. This story did an excellent job of telling a story; I loved the movie as a musical, I thought the songs were great, I thought the actors showed range of talent (though John Legend put them to shame on the singing front the second he opened his mouth). But the story under all of this was a pretty basic story.

Again, I liked the movie, but didn’t love it.

Fences

This film was the opposite of La La Land. It’s all about substance and not so much about style.

As the film ended I thought to myself, that I’d really like to see the play on stage; I think I would have liked it more. 

The performances were exceptional, but the film felt very ‘stagey’, as I guess it should, since it’s based on a play. This stagey feel took something away from me, but I’m not sure how it could have been improved. 

Great performances, would be great on stage. As a film though, something was lost for me.

Arrival

I think I read/heard too much about this film before I saw it. I thought it was just OK, to be honest.

There was talk of a twist ending, but I thought it was fairly well explained and therefore not a twist. I kept waiting for a twist that never was. Maybe I saw something people didn’t see, but Lauren had the same thoughts I did, so I can’t be just me.

The thing I liked most about this film was the score. I’m not a score person, but this score and that of Moonlight stayed with me. Scores don’t usually do that for me.

Hell or High Water

I saw this film, I thought it was decent, I didn’t really like it that much, but feel like I should see it again because I feel like I’m missing something.

There is an interesting plot line in this movie about why two brothers are robbing specific banks, and it winds up with an interesting....I don’t know if I’d call it a twist, but an interesting way things end up.

This movie got a lot of good reviews (98% on Rotten Tomatoes), and I’m wondering if it’s that thing about the plot that people really like, or the performances (which I just thought were OK), or what.

I just didn’t connect with this film, and a second viewing might be in order to better appreciate it.

Hacksaw Ridge

I was leaving work when I saw the list of Best Picture nominees on Twitter. My first thought when I saw the list? ‘Dammit, I’m going to have to see Hacksaw Ridge’

To me, knowing almost nothing about the story, this was some religious film directed by Mel Gibson, who has been known to hit you over the head with religion and violence in his films. I didn’t really feel hit over the head with the religion aspect of the film; it is a true story and has religion as a major part, so I guess you have to go with that part of it. The violence was a bit much, but I would imagine that is what war looks like. It was gory, very gory, but again, if that’s what war is like, you have to go with it. And the war scenes were very well done, in my opinion.

I did have some problems with the story and how the guy got to the point where he wanted to join the army (I didn’t feel like the film really explained well enough his reasons) and why it wasn’t a problem for his brother to join the army and not worry about killing people - I think exploring the relationship between the brothers would have been good, but that would have added significant amount of running time.

It was better than I expected it to be, to be honest, but I won’t go championing it to people, because it’s not for everyone. You have to like war movies, and not be bothered by religion playing a role in a film to go for this.

Hidden Figures

Hidden Figures suffers/benefits from the same thing Beasts of the Southern Wild did, in my opinion. I felt that latter got a lot of praise because it was done on a low budget with untrained actors. I feel that Hidden Figures is getting a lot of praise because of the message and history behind it, and not the film itself.

Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s a great message movie, about true events, and I think every pre-teen girl (especially minority pre-teen girls) would benefit from watching this movie. That being said, I’m not a pre-teen girl and I felt like I was watching a movie for pre-teen girls. It felt like a Disney movie (even though it’s not). It was very soft around the edges, with very cliche scenes. 

After watching this, I kept thinking I would have liked a film about the same subject a lot more, if it had Ava DuVernay behind it; she would have made it a much grittier film, and one not so much for pre-teen girls.

The film that got no love

It didn’t get a best picture and didn’t get nominated for either of the sub-categories it may have qualified for (animation and documentary). The film is Tower. I thought this film was amazing and was disappointed it didn’t get any Oscar love. Here's the trailer...

Les Revenants

Christmas always reminds me of my mother. She would have been 74 on Christmas Day this year. Needless to say, it’s not the easiest time of the year for me.

A few months after my mother died, I had a dream that still sticks with me. In the dream, I knew my mother had died, but she came back. She knew she had died; we all knew she had died, but we were glad to have her back. We also knew that she would have to go away again, and she did. The dream left me with a sense of peace. I never felt like I got to say goodbye to my mother and that dream was a way for me to in my head, what I never got to do in reality.

A few months ago, I saw the film, ‘Les Revenants’, about a town dealing with a number of townspeople who have returned from being dead. It’s not a horror movie, but more a movie about how people of the town try to understand, and deal with, the undead. I didn’t love the movie, but a few weeks ago I thought I’d give the French TV series based on the movie a try. 

Something about the show had really struck me. I can’t stop thinking about it; the concept of these people coming back from the dead. I watch the show and am constantly taken back to the dream I had about my mother. 

I don’t know how much of my interest in the show is in the show itself and how much of it is connecting me to my mother, at a time of year when I’m constantly reminded of her, and bringing me some kind of comfort, like that dream did 6 years ago.

Thanksgiving Day 2003

2003 was an odd year for me. I didn’t eat any ice cream that year (anyone who knows me well knows just how shocking that statement is). I temporarily left my job at De Anza that year to start a PhD at UC Berkeley (anyone who knows me even not so well knows that PhD never came to be). I went from living in a decent-sized apartment in Cupertino, down the road from the Apple headquarters, to a studio on the Oakland-Berkeley border.

Thanksgiving Day of 2003 was the second oddest day in an odd year for me.

I woke that morning, 27th November, 2003, knowing I would be driving down to almost the exact neighbourhood I had just moved from, on the Cupertino-San Jose border, to have a Thanksgiving meal at a house I’d never been to, hosted by a person I’d never met who, I think, was related (I honestly don’t remember how) to my aunt. My uncle and aunt were visiting my cousin, who went to UC Santa Cruz at the time, for the weekend, and were going to this woman’s house for Thanksgiving. I said I would make zucchini bread (because that’s what I do) and drive down there for the afternoon and evening.

In the late morning, I went to a pick-up football (soccer) game I’d never been to before. I didn’t score (I never seemed to score in pick-up games), had a decent time, and thought I’d go back at some point (I never did), then came home to get ready to go to this woman’s house.

I had to really prepare to go to this woman’s house. She had some sort of smell-sensitivity disorder. I was not allowed to have any artificial scent on me when I arrived at her house. I had to take a shower with unscented soap, not put on any deodorant, get in my car, close the windows, not stop to buy gas, or go anywhere else where I might run into anyone wearing cologne, or deodorant, or smoking. I got ready, I got in my car, closed the windows on a day that was a little warm for November, in a car that had a busted air conditioner, and drove the hour to San Jose.

The dinner was nice. I remember little of the food. There were her two, very well-trained, white fluffy dogs, that could walk on their hind legs. There were her small group of scent-sensitive friends, who told us how they became to be scent-sensitive. There was my uncle, aunt, and cousin. Then there was the odd conversation. I remember that more than anything else on Thanksgiving Day, 2003.

Before I go on, I should mention that this woman was Jewish, only because that comes into play shortly. I should also mention that I’m not Jewish.

This woman had a niece who was at The University of Oregon. She thought her niece and I would make a nice couple. I have no idea why she would think that, but she did, and I appreciated the thought. She mentioned that her niece would be coming down to visit her at some point soon and she could introduce us. She thought the distance between Berkeley and Eugene, Oregon (430 miles) would not be a problem. She then asked if I was Jewish. I said I was not. She said it wouldn’t be a problem as long as I would ‘be willing to convert’. Because, you know, that’s the sort of thing you should be willing to commit to doing when you are being asked to possibly date someone who lives 430 miles away from you and the only things you know about this person is that they are are female, go to the University of Oregon, and are Jewish.

That moment goes down as one of the most memorable of my life. I half thought she was joking but didn’t want to offend her by laughing, or even chuckling, if she wasn’t. She was not joking, and I’m glad I didn’t laugh it off.

To avoid responding to the possibility of religious conversion, I simply said that I was meeting someone the next day and wanted to see how that panned out before committing to meet her niece. This was actually the truth. I had made tentative plans to meet someone the next day. Plans I wasn’t sure I wanted to really go through with (because that’s the kind of person I am), but thought it would be a good idea, at least a better one than being hooked up with someone who would expect me to convert.

The evening went on and I drove home that evening, knowing more about scent-sensitivity than I had 6 hours earlier.

A few weeks later, I got an email from the woman. She asked if I was interested in meeting her niece, who would be in town soon. I said no. I told her that the person I had met the day after Thanksgiving and I were dating and things were going pretty well, so I’d pass. I was glad I didn't have to lie to the woman about not meeting her niece; I would have felt terrible doing that to her.

Every Thanksgiving since then I think about that woman, and her niece, and wonder if her niece found a nice Jewish boy (or a non-Jewish boy who was willing to convert). Every Thanksgiving since then I'm thankful I met that woman and I'm thankful for the awkward moment she and I shared.

Thanksgiving Day was the second oddest day for me in 2003. The day after Thanksgiving in 2003 beat that day in oddness by a mile. 

On that day, the day after what I thought would be the oddest day of the year, I ended up meeting that person I was tentative about meeting; the person that I'm not sure I would have gone through meeting without the conversion comment the day before; the person I told that woman about in an email a few weeks later. The person who is now in the room next to the one I’m in as I write this, 13 years later. We’re not in California anymore and I can hear our kid sleeping soundly, on this not-so-odd November evening, in 2016.

I’m not sure I even know when Thanksgiving is this year, but every Thanksgiving season I am thankful my aunt invited me to that dinner. Every Thanksgiving season I think about that woman and I’m glad I met her. I’m not sure I’d be where I am now if I hadn’t.

My aunt toasting us at our wedding reception