Every now and then, someone will email me and ask if I ever intend to talk about politics again. This blog has sort of turned into the Rob & Schuyler Show, and that is in part intentional, especially for now while the book is new and people are coming here as a result.
But the truth is that I just haven't had much to say about politics. I've become so disheartened by the whole process that honestly, I don't have much to contribute. I've become the saddest of Independents, the kind who has given up on the two parties as Evil (R) and Incompetent (D). I'll never believe in the Republicans because they stand for everything I deem to be foul, but the Democrats? I may actually despise them a little more, since they dress themselves in my progressive values and then achieve almost nothing of worth at all. Both parties have achieved a level of consistency. I can always count on the Republicans to do the wrong thing, and I know the Democrats will follow up by trying half-heartedly to do the right thing, maybe, if the polls say they should, but ultimately fuck it up catastrophically.
Anyway, I've placed a little Obama widget on the sidebar there since unlike the Nixonian Hillary or the Magoo-like McCain, I can at least believe in what he says he stands for, and his much-maligned "lack of experience" means that he hasn't had time to really don the Cloak of Disappointment yet. But in my heart of hearts, I suspect he will. (Bill Clinton did, after all. Good lord, he needs one good and true friend, someone who's not afraid to lean over and say, "You really need to shut the fuck up now.")
Anyway, since the primary race has officially and flatulently stunk up just about every corner of the media and trying to ignore it is becoming impossible, I thought I'd let The Onion speak for me.
Poll: Bullshit Is Most Important Issue For 2008 Voters
April 24, 2008
Good Morning Texas Redux
Some of you were having trouble seeing the video from the WFAA site. Also, it cut off at the end before you got to see Julie's Stepford Wife smile and Schuyler mentally compiling her list of places she would rather be at that moment. So here's another shot at it. (Sorry the quality is sort of weird. I'll keep working on it.)
April 23, 2008
Good Morning Texas
Well, that was fast. My interview on Good Morning Texas is already online, so go check it out. I'm sorry to say, this clip cuts off before you get to see Schuyler and Julie sitting in the studio, so sadly it's just me and my unusually large meaty head.
I thought it went very well. It's hard in these very short segments to really get into very much of depth, but Paige McCoy Smith managed to cover an astonishing amount in a brief period. She asked me about my faith, which was a little unexpected (although she did give me a heads up before we started) but something that I was actually happy to talk about. It's funny, but the interviews for which I am the most prepared in terms of knowing questions in advance and what my answers will be, those tend to be my least favorite, and the ones that I think are the least interesting. Discussing my feelings about God on live television isn't something I would have ever expected to actually enjoy doing, but I'm glad she asked it. My answer was pretty much on the fly, and yet I'm entirely happy with it.
Another thing that Paige brought home to me was just how much I enjoy doing interviews with journalists who have actually read the book. That seems like an obvious point, but you'd be surprised. And it's always obvious, too. Not so much that they know facts that are pertinent, although that's part of it. (My favorite from a past interview was, about Schuyler's static brain condition, "Good luck with her continued improvement.") It's more that once you've read a book, you know a great deal about the author's personality and beliefs and such than you'll ever get from a press release or a book flap description. Paige McCoy Smith and KERA's Krys Boyd and Fox's Greg Groogan were responsible for interviews that I've enjoyed immensely, for just that reason.
Schuyler had a great time, of course, and charmed the pants off of everyone, as usual. The studio at WFAA is wide open, with glass walls everywhere, even the green room, so while you're waiting, you can see much of what's going on. She spent the better part of the morning having her mind completely blown, and finished off the experience by eating the strawberry smoothie prepared in a segment by "celebrity chef Jon Ashton". Julie finished up the morning by slobbering all over "celebrity chef Jon Ashton". It's sad, really, watching a woman of her advanced years lose her dignity like that. Really unfortunate.
Okay, so I really shouldn't tell this story, because past experience suggests that the chances of it getting back to the parties involved are somewhere near 100%. But it's been a while since I've started any trouble online (at least here; I've been poking a bees' nest on a parenting site on the topic of spanking, a metaphor that only works if you imagine really dumb bees), so I think I'm due.
While we were waiting for the show to begin, we were sitting in a room watching "Good Morning America" with two fashion models who were going to be on a segment before mine. GMA was interviewing Marlee Matlin about her appearance on "Dancing with the Stars", and she was signing away as she talked.
One of the models turned to the other and said, with absolute sincerity, "Do you think she's deaf?"
I thought it went very well. It's hard in these very short segments to really get into very much of depth, but Paige McCoy Smith managed to cover an astonishing amount in a brief period. She asked me about my faith, which was a little unexpected (although she did give me a heads up before we started) but something that I was actually happy to talk about. It's funny, but the interviews for which I am the most prepared in terms of knowing questions in advance and what my answers will be, those tend to be my least favorite, and the ones that I think are the least interesting. Discussing my feelings about God on live television isn't something I would have ever expected to actually enjoy doing, but I'm glad she asked it. My answer was pretty much on the fly, and yet I'm entirely happy with it.
Another thing that Paige brought home to me was just how much I enjoy doing interviews with journalists who have actually read the book. That seems like an obvious point, but you'd be surprised. And it's always obvious, too. Not so much that they know facts that are pertinent, although that's part of it. (My favorite from a past interview was, about Schuyler's static brain condition, "Good luck with her continued improvement.") It's more that once you've read a book, you know a great deal about the author's personality and beliefs and such than you'll ever get from a press release or a book flap description. Paige McCoy Smith and KERA's Krys Boyd and Fox's Greg Groogan were responsible for interviews that I've enjoyed immensely, for just that reason.
Schuyler had a great time, of course, and charmed the pants off of everyone, as usual. The studio at WFAA is wide open, with glass walls everywhere, even the green room, so while you're waiting, you can see much of what's going on. She spent the better part of the morning having her mind completely blown, and finished off the experience by eating the strawberry smoothie prepared in a segment by "celebrity chef Jon Ashton". Julie finished up the morning by slobbering all over "celebrity chef Jon Ashton". It's sad, really, watching a woman of her advanced years lose her dignity like that. Really unfortunate.
Okay, so I really shouldn't tell this story, because past experience suggests that the chances of it getting back to the parties involved are somewhere near 100%. But it's been a while since I've started any trouble online (at least here; I've been poking a bees' nest on a parenting site on the topic of spanking, a metaphor that only works if you imagine really dumb bees), so I think I'm due.
While we were waiting for the show to begin, we were sitting in a room watching "Good Morning America" with two fashion models who were going to be on a segment before mine. GMA was interviewing Marlee Matlin about her appearance on "Dancing with the Stars", and she was signing away as she talked.
One of the models turned to the other and said, with absolute sincerity, "Do you think she's deaf?"
April 21, 2008
Take Your Daughter to Work Week
This is a busy week for us, in the best possible way. As I mentioned before, this Wednesday I'll be on a Dallas-area program called Good Morning Texas, on a segment called The Not So Perfect Parent. Julie and Schuyler will be in the green room, and may very well make an appearance on the show. Well, I certainly hope they do, because let's face it, who would YOU rather watch? Lovely Julie and enchanting Schuyler, the self-described "Queen of the Monkeys"? Or, you know, fat old Robba the Hutt? The show comes on during the breakfast hour, after all. No need upsetting people while they're eating.
The other thing taking place this week is a book signing at the Barnes & Noble in Lewisville, Texas. If you live in the area and would like to meet me (or really, more to the point, if you'd like to meet Schuyler), we'll be there at 2:00pm. It's going to be a special event (as in, totally unpredictable and possibly chaos-in-pink-Chuck-Taylors) because Julie has to work, so it will just be Schuyler and me. This means that if I do a reading, she'll be on her own. Anyone who has seen her at these events knows just how much fun that might be. Come to the signing and watch the last shreds of parental authority fly out of my shaking hands!
A bonus for people in attendance: Schuyler loves to sign books, and she's become very sophisticated in her approach. We attended a very cool book club last week, and it should come as no surprise that her signature was pretty clearly coveted more than mine. Which is as it should be.
When Schuyler signs a book, her name stretches across the page, the letters blockish and angular but very meticulously written out. She ends her autograph with a period, every time, and occasionally she'll sneak down and put a period at the end of mine, too. If she gets to the edge of the page before she's done, she simply shifts into vertical mode for the rest of her name. Sometimes she'll pick a different page to sign, and often she quickly signs in the spot that I usually use, just to be a turd. She even laughs when she does it. Every time she signs her name, it's different, and not just slightly.
I'm always thrilled to sign books for stores, and I've been happily signing a lot of books for Prentke-Romich, makers of the Big Box of Words. But we decided at the very beginning of all this book business that Schuyler would only sign books for individuals, either in person or sent to us or whatever. I like the idea of Schuyler's autograph rendering someone's book into a totally unique thing, different from any other in the world.
Just like Schuyler herself.
The other thing taking place this week is a book signing at the Barnes & Noble in Lewisville, Texas. If you live in the area and would like to meet me (or really, more to the point, if you'd like to meet Schuyler), we'll be there at 2:00pm. It's going to be a special event (as in, totally unpredictable and possibly chaos-in-pink-Chuck-Taylors) because Julie has to work, so it will just be Schuyler and me. This means that if I do a reading, she'll be on her own. Anyone who has seen her at these events knows just how much fun that might be. Come to the signing and watch the last shreds of parental authority fly out of my shaking hands!
A bonus for people in attendance: Schuyler loves to sign books, and she's become very sophisticated in her approach. We attended a very cool book club last week, and it should come as no surprise that her signature was pretty clearly coveted more than mine. Which is as it should be.
When Schuyler signs a book, her name stretches across the page, the letters blockish and angular but very meticulously written out. She ends her autograph with a period, every time, and occasionally she'll sneak down and put a period at the end of mine, too. If she gets to the edge of the page before she's done, she simply shifts into vertical mode for the rest of her name. Sometimes she'll pick a different page to sign, and often she quickly signs in the spot that I usually use, just to be a turd. She even laughs when she does it. Every time she signs her name, it's different, and not just slightly.
I'm always thrilled to sign books for stores, and I've been happily signing a lot of books for Prentke-Romich, makers of the Big Box of Words. But we decided at the very beginning of all this book business that Schuyler would only sign books for individuals, either in person or sent to us or whatever. I like the idea of Schuyler's autograph rendering someone's book into a totally unique thing, different from any other in the world.
Just like Schuyler herself.
April 15, 2008
I have macho cred
Shut up, I do!
(By the way, the macho tv watching behavior I engage in is actually those police chase video shows. Seriously, if I'm channel surfing and I come across one of those shows, I am powerless to NOT watch it. Dash cam or helicopter POV, it doesn't matter. If loving the spectacle of drug-crazed teenagers driving stolen cars into oncoming traffic or over those spike strips that make their tires EXPLODE is wrong, I don't want to be right.)
(By the way, the macho tv watching behavior I engage in is actually those police chase video shows. Seriously, if I'm channel surfing and I come across one of those shows, I am powerless to NOT watch it. Dash cam or helicopter POV, it doesn't matter. If loving the spectacle of drug-crazed teenagers driving stolen cars into oncoming traffic or over those spike strips that make their tires EXPLODE is wrong, I don't want to be right.)
Rockabye
One of the things that still catches me off guard is the fact that anyone gives a damn about what I think concerning books. Even now, in this age of consumer-driven content and Amazon reader reviews, the idea that my own credentials as a writer might give my opinion some added weight or validity doesn't naturally occur to me. When Karen Harrington, author of the very excellent Janeology made mention in an email of the review she had received "from a big-time memoirist", it actually took me a few seconds to realize that she was talking about me.
Nevertheless, when a book really does it for me, I try to put something together to express my feelings of gratitude to the author. And it really is gratitude. A good book is no small thing, nor (more to the point) is a bad one. When you watch a movie that you think is going to be good and it turns out to be a stinker, that's a good two hours of your life that you've tossed away. But when it's a book that leads you astray, the hours and even days that you've invested in it that you'll never get back. You'll be on your death bed one day, muttering to yourself, "If only I hadn't spent so much time reading all that fucking L. Ron Hubbard." You learn to cherish the good ones.
When I started reading Rebecca Woolf's Rockabye: From Wild to Child, I'd followed the marketing closely enough to know what I was supposed to be getting. I settled in to read another memoir of a party girl transitioning to parenthood while struggling to remain hip and cool. Which was certainly fine. Never having been actually cool myself, that transition was fairly straightforward for me, so I occasionally like to vicariously gank some cool from others.
By the time I finished Rockabye, I was looking at a different book altogether.
Simply put, this is a book about the tranformational power of a parent's love, the kind of love that can envelope you and warm you, but also consume and burn you. In bringing her son Archer into the world, Woolf begins to discover her own true heart and her own capacity for love and growth. Yes, part of that evolution involves leaving behind some of the party-all-the-time aspects of her youth, but the more important parts of herself, her independence and her insistence on doing things her own way, relying on her instincts, these are the pieces that she clings to.
I want to make something clear. Rebecca Woolf is a fantastic writer. She's open and honest, unblinkingly so at times, and yet her command of language and the near poetry of her wordplay feels like music. It's been a long time since I've gotten lost in language like that, just floating in someone's wordplay.
There are some striking parallels to Woolf's story and mine (or rather, to Archer's and Schuyler's), but I don't want to make too much of them. I would recommend her book to anyone who liked mine, if only because of some of those parallels, but honestly, I'd rather recommend Rockabye for no other reason than I found it to be a viscerally satisfying read. At its best, it feels like a gift, and it's at its best a lot.
I think you'll like this book. I'm pretty sure most of you will. Rebecca Woolf's the writer that I wish I was, and that's the truth.
Nevertheless, when a book really does it for me, I try to put something together to express my feelings of gratitude to the author. And it really is gratitude. A good book is no small thing, nor (more to the point) is a bad one. When you watch a movie that you think is going to be good and it turns out to be a stinker, that's a good two hours of your life that you've tossed away. But when it's a book that leads you astray, the hours and even days that you've invested in it that you'll never get back. You'll be on your death bed one day, muttering to yourself, "If only I hadn't spent so much time reading all that fucking L. Ron Hubbard." You learn to cherish the good ones.
When I started reading Rebecca Woolf's Rockabye: From Wild to Child, I'd followed the marketing closely enough to know what I was supposed to be getting. I settled in to read another memoir of a party girl transitioning to parenthood while struggling to remain hip and cool. Which was certainly fine. Never having been actually cool myself, that transition was fairly straightforward for me, so I occasionally like to vicariously gank some cool from others.
By the time I finished Rockabye, I was looking at a different book altogether.
Simply put, this is a book about the tranformational power of a parent's love, the kind of love that can envelope you and warm you, but also consume and burn you. In bringing her son Archer into the world, Woolf begins to discover her own true heart and her own capacity for love and growth. Yes, part of that evolution involves leaving behind some of the party-all-the-time aspects of her youth, but the more important parts of herself, her independence and her insistence on doing things her own way, relying on her instincts, these are the pieces that she clings to.
I want to make something clear. Rebecca Woolf is a fantastic writer. She's open and honest, unblinkingly so at times, and yet her command of language and the near poetry of her wordplay feels like music. It's been a long time since I've gotten lost in language like that, just floating in someone's wordplay.
There are some striking parallels to Woolf's story and mine (or rather, to Archer's and Schuyler's), but I don't want to make too much of them. I would recommend her book to anyone who liked mine, if only because of some of those parallels, but honestly, I'd rather recommend Rockabye for no other reason than I found it to be a viscerally satisfying read. At its best, it feels like a gift, and it's at its best a lot.
I think you'll like this book. I'm pretty sure most of you will. Rebecca Woolf's the writer that I wish I was, and that's the truth.
Thank you for choosing me to mother you. Thank you for sneaking in through my window and saying "Boo! Here I am!" Thank you for stirring and purring and screaming and crying and laughing and talking and standing and jumping. You are my exclamation point in a world of dot-dot-dots. You are my star in a sky muted by city lights. You are my sun. My son. My sun.
Rebecca Woolf, "Rockabye: From Wild to Child"
April 10, 2008
Things that give me pause in a busy world
I just wanted to quickly post and say that I'm alive and well, just a little busy and getting caught up. We received a visit from Fox 26 Houston reporter Greg Groogan, who spent some time with Schuyler and Julie and myself, both here at the apartment and at Schuyler's school. I'm told that his story will probably run in early May and may be picked up by affiliates in different parts of the country. In your town, too? Well, perhaps!
It felt like a really good interview; Greg's got a lot of experience with special needs kids, both personally and professionally, and it absolutely showed. I've talked to a variety of reporters since the book came out, and some of them were exceptionally sensitive and good, but with Greg, it was almost disconcerting, being interviewed by someone who really gets it. I'm curious as to how it's going to turn out; I suspect it's going to be outstanding. When we were doing the actual interview, I almost got a little weepy a few times. Not he-manly at all, I know. I suspect Greg was slipping estrogen into my water when I wasn't looking.
There's so much I want to talk about in more depth, such as the fact that I did a little book-for-movie exchange with Dan Habib, the father and filmmaker behind the brilliant documentary Including Samuel. I'll have much more to say about this, but for now, let me simply say that if you have any feelings or questions about inclusion and mainstreaming for special needs kids, you really do owe it to yourself to see his film. We're not in 100% lockstep agreement (you can probably imagine how I feel about the page in the film notes called "Words Matter", about person-first language), but we come to the same conclusions about the benefits of inclusion for these kids. Not just for my kids, but for yours, too. See this film if you get the opportunity, even if you find yourself opposed to inclusion education. Or especially if you're opposed to it, really.
In my book, I mention the polymicrogyria online support groups that I follow. I never contribute to them, probably out of something akin to misplaced guilt for Schuyler's comparatively good fortune, but I read them religiously. In Schuyler's Monster, I wrote about the heartbreak when a parent comes on the forum and reports the death of their child. There was one a few days ago; I showed it to Greg when he was here, and I think it made a powerful impression on him. Well, of course it did. If you're not touched by reading a parent's words as they report the death of their three year-old as a result of repeated, nasty seizures, there's something dead in your chest. You might want to go have that checked by a physician.
How does a parent watch their child die? How do they make peace with that, with their seemingly cruel or indifferent God and a world with such monsters in it? How do you bury your own son or daughter? People have been telling us how brave and how strong we are, but that's a world of brave and strong that I've never lived in, and do not believe I am capable of. I don't breathe the air on that planet. People have said that God never gives you anything that you can't handle, and I'm here to tell you that's the worst kind of bullshit-on-a-stick there is.
Compared to the Godzilla-like monsters that snatch up little babies and consume them before their heartbroken parents' eyes, Schuyler's is the fucking Cookie Monster. And that's good enough for me, thank you very much.
It felt like a really good interview; Greg's got a lot of experience with special needs kids, both personally and professionally, and it absolutely showed. I've talked to a variety of reporters since the book came out, and some of them were exceptionally sensitive and good, but with Greg, it was almost disconcerting, being interviewed by someone who really gets it. I'm curious as to how it's going to turn out; I suspect it's going to be outstanding. When we were doing the actual interview, I almost got a little weepy a few times. Not he-manly at all, I know. I suspect Greg was slipping estrogen into my water when I wasn't looking.
There's so much I want to talk about in more depth, such as the fact that I did a little book-for-movie exchange with Dan Habib, the father and filmmaker behind the brilliant documentary Including Samuel. I'll have much more to say about this, but for now, let me simply say that if you have any feelings or questions about inclusion and mainstreaming for special needs kids, you really do owe it to yourself to see his film. We're not in 100% lockstep agreement (you can probably imagine how I feel about the page in the film notes called "Words Matter", about person-first language), but we come to the same conclusions about the benefits of inclusion for these kids. Not just for my kids, but for yours, too. See this film if you get the opportunity, even if you find yourself opposed to inclusion education. Or especially if you're opposed to it, really.
In my book, I mention the polymicrogyria online support groups that I follow. I never contribute to them, probably out of something akin to misplaced guilt for Schuyler's comparatively good fortune, but I read them religiously. In Schuyler's Monster, I wrote about the heartbreak when a parent comes on the forum and reports the death of their child. There was one a few days ago; I showed it to Greg when he was here, and I think it made a powerful impression on him. Well, of course it did. If you're not touched by reading a parent's words as they report the death of their three year-old as a result of repeated, nasty seizures, there's something dead in your chest. You might want to go have that checked by a physician.
How does a parent watch their child die? How do they make peace with that, with their seemingly cruel or indifferent God and a world with such monsters in it? How do you bury your own son or daughter? People have been telling us how brave and how strong we are, but that's a world of brave and strong that I've never lived in, and do not believe I am capable of. I don't breathe the air on that planet. People have said that God never gives you anything that you can't handle, and I'm here to tell you that's the worst kind of bullshit-on-a-stick there is.
Compared to the Godzilla-like monsters that snatch up little babies and consume them before their heartbroken parents' eyes, Schuyler's is the fucking Cookie Monster. And that's good enough for me, thank you very much.
April 5, 2008
The John McMullen Show
I survived my first live radio experience with a minimum of anxiety this week. It was a longer interview than I've done before, and a little light on laughs, but he asked some questions that were different from past interviews, so that shook things up a little. Overall, I think the interview went pretty well.
Sadly, there were some weird technical issues that made the actual broadcast almost unlistenable. For some reason, the levels on my input kept getting louder and softer, over and over, as if I were walking around waving the phone like a maniac. In fact, I was sitting at my desk at work, with a minimum of maniacal gesturing, so I can only assume that there was something about my phone that was sabotaging the call. Stupid phone.
I did manage to get a clean copy from a nice person out there, and I went into iMovie and futzed around with the levels to try to minimize some of the weirdness. It still sounds a little strange, but I think it's at least listenable now.
Anyway, here it is.
Sadly, there were some weird technical issues that made the actual broadcast almost unlistenable. For some reason, the levels on my input kept getting louder and softer, over and over, as if I were walking around waving the phone like a maniac. In fact, I was sitting at my desk at work, with a minimum of maniacal gesturing, so I can only assume that there was something about my phone that was sabotaging the call. Stupid phone.
I did manage to get a clean copy from a nice person out there, and I went into iMovie and futzed around with the levels to try to minimize some of the weirdness. It still sounds a little strange, but I think it's at least listenable now.
Anyway, here it is.
April 3, 2008
Fancy pants LIVE
A few booky things for you this morning.
I'll be venturing into the terrifying world of live radio tomorrow, on The John McMullen Show in Palm Springs, California. (AM 970, 1140, 1250) If you live elsewhere but would still like to listen in and see if I'm going to drop an F bomb or throw up on the air, go to the K-News Radio 970 page for streaming audio. The show is on from 10am to noon, Pacific time. (Crap, now I have to do math.)
Next week, a reporter from a station in Houston is coming up to do a story on us. I'll keep you posted.
I've also got a live television appearance coming up on April 23, on a local Dallas area show, Good Morning Texas. The segment is called The Not So Perfect Parent. Schuyler might just make an appearance, so catch it if you can. If Schuyler has one predictable quality, it is her unpredictability. She loves chaos. I have no idea where she gets that.
I'll be venturing into the terrifying world of live radio tomorrow, on The John McMullen Show in Palm Springs, California. (AM 970, 1140, 1250) If you live elsewhere but would still like to listen in and see if I'm going to drop an F bomb or throw up on the air, go to the K-News Radio 970 page for streaming audio. The show is on from 10am to noon, Pacific time. (Crap, now I have to do math.)
Next week, a reporter from a station in Houston is coming up to do a story on us. I'll keep you posted.
I've also got a live television appearance coming up on April 23, on a local Dallas area show, Good Morning Texas. The segment is called The Not So Perfect Parent. Schuyler might just make an appearance, so catch it if you can. If Schuyler has one predictable quality, it is her unpredictability. She loves chaos. I have no idea where she gets that.
April 1, 2008
Is Schuyler a political pundit or a techie futurist?
This question was on Schuyler's home work. I'm still trying to decide what to make of her answer.
-----
New Things
The White House is where the U.S. president lives. Life in this building has changed over time. The White House got its first telephone in 1879. It got electric lights in 1891. An indoor swimming pool was added in 1942. The White House got its first fire alarm in 1965. After that came other new inventions such as computers and cell phone.
1. Make a prediction. What do you think the White House will get next?
Her answer?
"A brain hat."
-----
I asked her about the brain hat. She says it looks like a helmet, hers is yellow and mine is green. "Brain hat help you work."
Where did she get the idea that the current White House occupant needs a brain hat? I guess she's paying attention after all.
-----
New Things
The White House is where the U.S. president lives. Life in this building has changed over time. The White House got its first telephone in 1879. It got electric lights in 1891. An indoor swimming pool was added in 1942. The White House got its first fire alarm in 1965. After that came other new inventions such as computers and cell phone.
1. Make a prediction. What do you think the White House will get next?
Her answer?
"A brain hat."
-----
I asked her about the brain hat. She says it looks like a helmet, hers is yellow and mine is green. "Brain hat help you work."
Where did she get the idea that the current White House occupant needs a brain hat? I guess she's paying attention after all.
March 27, 2008
Eighteen years ago
(Quick book biz: I made a best-seller list, here in Dallas. Not the end-all hootenanny of hootenannies, I realize, but baby steps, I tell you. More stuff coming, too, so stay tuned. My plan to eventually install Schuyler as the Cyborg Queen of America is proceeding on schedule. Mwuh-ha-ha-ha...)
This week marked eighteen years since my father died. It wasn't exactly a sad anniversary; eighteen years is a long time, after all. It won't be long before I will have lived without him for longer than he was here, and not that much longer before I find myself having lived longer than he did. So I've had some time to come to terms with not just his death, but his life, and mine as well.
If you've read the book, you know better than others how many of my father's most egregious faults have become my own. I'm aware of them, and I've fallen prey to some but not all of them. I'm a better husband than my dad was, but not always by much (and fans of Chapter Seven know what I'm talking about), I'm a better diabetic by far, and while I have my father's temper, I watch it constantly and at the very least vent it in ways that don't hurt anyone. I'd like to do better with that temper, but I remember just how afraid I always was of my dad when I was Schuyler's age, and I won't allow her to feel that same fear, ever.
It's one of the reasons I refuse to spank/beat/whatever-word-you-like my kid, and to be honest, it's the same reason I don't think anyone else should, either. Who has the temperament and self-control to be trusted never to cross the line between discipline and abuse? You? Are you sure about that? I'd want to be pretty sure myself, but that's just me.
(Sorry, tangent. Settling down now.)
I'm working on a new project, and what started off as a book about fatherhood is turning into something more personal, sort of a fatherhood memoir, from my perspective as a father but also as a son. There are still other stories I am including, such as Paul and Gage Wayment, and Joseph and Rolf Mengele. But it's my own perspective as the father of a broken but extraordinary child and the son of an abusive but complex father that I find myself wanting, or perhaps needing, to explore.
I'm forty years old, and I'm working on a second memoir. How narcissistic is that?
Will anyone want to read it? Well, obviously I hope so. We'll see. I wasn't sure anyone would want to read about seven years in the life of a mute child, either. There are plenty of inspirational warm fuzzy fatherhood books out there. I don't know that the world needs another Tim Russert book, and if it does, I think Tim's probably got that one covered.
Eighteen years ago, standing at my father's graveside, I thought that perhaps I hated him, and that he certainly hated me. Almost two decades later, I know that I don't, and probably never did, not for long, anyway. As to how he felt about me, I find myself not much closer to that answer. He took that one to the grave with him. Which is perhaps just as well.
This week marked eighteen years since my father died. It wasn't exactly a sad anniversary; eighteen years is a long time, after all. It won't be long before I will have lived without him for longer than he was here, and not that much longer before I find myself having lived longer than he did. So I've had some time to come to terms with not just his death, but his life, and mine as well.
If you've read the book, you know better than others how many of my father's most egregious faults have become my own. I'm aware of them, and I've fallen prey to some but not all of them. I'm a better husband than my dad was, but not always by much (and fans of Chapter Seven know what I'm talking about), I'm a better diabetic by far, and while I have my father's temper, I watch it constantly and at the very least vent it in ways that don't hurt anyone. I'd like to do better with that temper, but I remember just how afraid I always was of my dad when I was Schuyler's age, and I won't allow her to feel that same fear, ever.
It's one of the reasons I refuse to spank/beat/whatever-word-you-like my kid, and to be honest, it's the same reason I don't think anyone else should, either. Who has the temperament and self-control to be trusted never to cross the line between discipline and abuse? You? Are you sure about that? I'd want to be pretty sure myself, but that's just me.
(Sorry, tangent. Settling down now.)
I'm working on a new project, and what started off as a book about fatherhood is turning into something more personal, sort of a fatherhood memoir, from my perspective as a father but also as a son. There are still other stories I am including, such as Paul and Gage Wayment, and Joseph and Rolf Mengele. But it's my own perspective as the father of a broken but extraordinary child and the son of an abusive but complex father that I find myself wanting, or perhaps needing, to explore.
I'm forty years old, and I'm working on a second memoir. How narcissistic is that?
Will anyone want to read it? Well, obviously I hope so. We'll see. I wasn't sure anyone would want to read about seven years in the life of a mute child, either. There are plenty of inspirational warm fuzzy fatherhood books out there. I don't know that the world needs another Tim Russert book, and if it does, I think Tim's probably got that one covered.
Eighteen years ago, standing at my father's graveside, I thought that perhaps I hated him, and that he certainly hated me. Almost two decades later, I know that I don't, and probably never did, not for long, anyway. As to how he felt about me, I find myself not much closer to that answer. He took that one to the grave with him. Which is perhaps just as well.
March 24, 2008
Mockingbird
A few quick book things to report. First of all, the book trailer I put together last year is being featured on the Barnes & Noble site, thanks to the tenacious work of the very cool Monica Katz at St. Martin's. I'm really happy with the continued support from St. Martin's. Also, while I am as "Fight the Man", pro-independent bookstore as anyone, I'll never say a word against Barnes & Noble, who have gotten behind the book in a big way.
Back in the spring of 2003, Jim Shelton at the New Haven Register in Connecticut did a feature about local bloggers, and was kind enough to write about me then. It was fun at the time, although the story of us changed rather dramatically a few months later when Schuyler was diagnosed with polymicrogyria and our world turned upside down. Last week, Jim called me up and we talked for a bit, and the result is a new story in the New Haven Register. It was a nicely done story, and it felt a little like a homecoming for me. I miss New Haven like mad.
Last night marked the end of Spring Break for Schuyler and me. Julie had to work most of the time, so we didn't go crazy this past week, but instead just sort of enjoyed the time together. We hung out, flew kites, watched a lot of Kim Possible (one of the few shows that Schuyler watches that i can stomach; it is the anti-Hannah Montana for me), and even went to a dog parade. It was a nice week.
After Schuyler went to bed last night, Julie and I watched To Kill a Mockingbird again. I can't tell you how many times I've seen it, or how many times I've read the book, for that matter. They seem like two parts of one whole experience, so perfectly matched as they are, in a way that is rare for books and their film adaptations.
I've loved that book most of my life, ever since the first time I read it back when I was probably about the same age as Jem Finch. And yet, in looking back on the years, it seems strange that I would have ever known that book or the film without associating them with Schuyler. I watch the movie now and I am aware of the relationship between the father and the daughter, the wild and different little girl who is curious about a world that is meaner than she is but which is also full of mysteries to be explored.
I always identified with the kid characters growing up, like just about anyone else who read it when they were young, but now I find myself experiencing the story from the perspective of the father. Atticus tells Scout that you can never truly understand someone until you see the world from their perspective, to climb in their skin and walk around in it for a little while. I think I finally understand.
It's an imperfect parallel, of course. Schuyler is herself equal parts Scout Finch and Boo Radley, and I am no Atticus Finch, although God knows I do try.
Back in the spring of 2003, Jim Shelton at the New Haven Register in Connecticut did a feature about local bloggers, and was kind enough to write about me then. It was fun at the time, although the story of us changed rather dramatically a few months later when Schuyler was diagnosed with polymicrogyria and our world turned upside down. Last week, Jim called me up and we talked for a bit, and the result is a new story in the New Haven Register. It was a nicely done story, and it felt a little like a homecoming for me. I miss New Haven like mad.
Last night marked the end of Spring Break for Schuyler and me. Julie had to work most of the time, so we didn't go crazy this past week, but instead just sort of enjoyed the time together. We hung out, flew kites, watched a lot of Kim Possible (one of the few shows that Schuyler watches that i can stomach; it is the anti-Hannah Montana for me), and even went to a dog parade. It was a nice week.
After Schuyler went to bed last night, Julie and I watched To Kill a Mockingbird again. I can't tell you how many times I've seen it, or how many times I've read the book, for that matter. They seem like two parts of one whole experience, so perfectly matched as they are, in a way that is rare for books and their film adaptations.
I've loved that book most of my life, ever since the first time I read it back when I was probably about the same age as Jem Finch. And yet, in looking back on the years, it seems strange that I would have ever known that book or the film without associating them with Schuyler. I watch the movie now and I am aware of the relationship between the father and the daughter, the wild and different little girl who is curious about a world that is meaner than she is but which is also full of mysteries to be explored.
I always identified with the kid characters growing up, like just about anyone else who read it when they were young, but now I find myself experiencing the story from the perspective of the father. Atticus tells Scout that you can never truly understand someone until you see the world from their perspective, to climb in their skin and walk around in it for a little while. I think I finally understand.
It's an imperfect parallel, of course. Schuyler is herself equal parts Scout Finch and Boo Radley, and I am no Atticus Finch, although God knows I do try.
March 21, 2008
Bok bok
Rather than make my usual, snotty and perhaps predictable "Zombie Jesus" jokes about Easter, I thought I'd remind everyone of the most persistent Easter memory most of us (or a certain age) still retain.
Well, okay, perhaps not the ONLY memory...
Well, okay, perhaps not the ONLY memory...
March 18, 2008
Aliens abducted my little girl and replaced her with a leggy tornado
Did THEY really think I wouldn't notice?
March 16, 2008
A Thousand Miles in a Ford Focus
I got back from the book tour a few days ago, and I've been getting caught up on work stuff, and Life stuff, for a few days. (The one thing I haven't gotten caught up on is email, so if you wrote to me within the past three weeks or so and are now thinking "Wow, what a dick!", I am going to answer your mail. I just don't want to respond with some pat little "Hey, thanks for writing, buddy. Buy my book!" Because then you'd be completely justified in thinking, "Wow, what a dick!" I don't mind you thinking that, I'd just like to earn it like in the old days.)
The book tour was a great experience in a lot of ways. There were a few with a big turnout and also a few with maybe a dozen or so people by the end, but I never had an event where the dreaded "what if you had a book signing and no one showed up?" occurred. I got to see writers I dig, like Gwen and Ariel, and a lot of old friends, and I got to meet people who touched me profoundly.
I've read a lot of critiques of the book tour as a marketing tool, and strictly speaking, I agree with much of what I've read. When you factor in travel expenses and hotels and all that, the sales you make on tour aren't going to even cover the cost of the tour itself. Perhaps the real value is in generating buzz and word of mouth, but still.
However, I wouldn't trade the experience of the book tour for anything. It's one thing to write about Schuyler's experiences and my own, and even to receive emails from the people who have been moved by those stories. It's quite another thing to meet people, however. I heard stories from parents who are in the place that we were with Schuyler a few years ago, a place with more questions than answers, and I cried with moms who were just happy to tell their story to someone. Never mind the fact that I was an author in my fancy pants. They were telling their story to someone who'd been there before them, and that was enough. What they didn't realize, perhaps, was how much I got from the experience.
So now it's over, and after driving over a thousand miles around Texas and feeling both very fancy and authorial one minute and then not one bit famous and fabulous at all the next, I'm home. Back to work, and back to play with Schuyler.
Yesterday I took Schuyler to see Horton Hears a Who, and when we got home, she took out her Big Box of Words. Together, we very carefully found all the words she needed (and spelled out a few not on the device), so that when Julie got home from work, Schuyler could tell her something very important she'd learned.
"A person's a person, no matter how small."
Today, Schuyler begins playing soccer, at a local program for special needs children. I took her to a sports supply place the other day and got her outfitted. We're taking Schuyler to play soccer today, and if you're a parent and that sounds like the most boring, every day, every kid sort of thing to write about, I agree.
It sure took a lot of work on Schuyler's part to get there, though.
The book tour was a great experience in a lot of ways. There were a few with a big turnout and also a few with maybe a dozen or so people by the end, but I never had an event where the dreaded "what if you had a book signing and no one showed up?" occurred. I got to see writers I dig, like Gwen and Ariel, and a lot of old friends, and I got to meet people who touched me profoundly.
I've read a lot of critiques of the book tour as a marketing tool, and strictly speaking, I agree with much of what I've read. When you factor in travel expenses and hotels and all that, the sales you make on tour aren't going to even cover the cost of the tour itself. Perhaps the real value is in generating buzz and word of mouth, but still.
However, I wouldn't trade the experience of the book tour for anything. It's one thing to write about Schuyler's experiences and my own, and even to receive emails from the people who have been moved by those stories. It's quite another thing to meet people, however. I heard stories from parents who are in the place that we were with Schuyler a few years ago, a place with more questions than answers, and I cried with moms who were just happy to tell their story to someone. Never mind the fact that I was an author in my fancy pants. They were telling their story to someone who'd been there before them, and that was enough. What they didn't realize, perhaps, was how much I got from the experience.
So now it's over, and after driving over a thousand miles around Texas and feeling both very fancy and authorial one minute and then not one bit famous and fabulous at all the next, I'm home. Back to work, and back to play with Schuyler.
Yesterday I took Schuyler to see Horton Hears a Who, and when we got home, she took out her Big Box of Words. Together, we very carefully found all the words she needed (and spelled out a few not on the device), so that when Julie got home from work, Schuyler could tell her something very important she'd learned.
"A person's a person, no matter how small."
Today, Schuyler begins playing soccer, at a local program for special needs children. I took her to a sports supply place the other day and got her outfitted. We're taking Schuyler to play soccer today, and if you're a parent and that sounds like the most boring, every day, every kid sort of thing to write about, I agree.
It sure took a lot of work on Schuyler's part to get there, though.
March 10, 2008
Jumping Monkeys
I've been looking forward to this for a while, because it's a program I've started listening to since I was a guest a few weeks ago, and I've really come to like it. I recorded a guest spot on a podcast called Jumping Monkeys, hosted by Megan Morrone and Leo Laporte, and they are running my program now. Go check it out, it's a lot of fun. It was easily the most fun I've had in an interview. Also, when you're done, check out their very funny interview with blogger Dad Gone Mad.
There's a funny story behind my Jumping Monkeys interview, by the way. When my publicist set this up, we worked out the date and time and I was given a phone number to call. When the time came and I sat down in a quiet office and called, it rang a few times and then suddenly I was hearing voices. It was the hosts, talking about no call lists.
I figured that like many stations, I was on hold and listening to a pre-recorded program instead of hold music. I'd certainly rather listen to Jumping Monkeys than, you know, Chariots of Fire on the pan flute, so I just sat back and listened while I waited for the program producer to pick up.
And that's when I heard it.
"Hey, speaking of calls, I hear Robert on the line!"
Oh, I'm live. I see!
Turns out, I had called directly into the program, and whether it was God or Fate or my Imaginary Friend in the Sky, some powerful force kept me from talking to myself or belching or practicing my F-bombs during that minute or so that I thought I was on hold. Aside from a slightly surprised "why hello there!" tone to my voice, I don't think you can even tell.
I tell you, I'm a cautionary tale just waiting to happen.
There's a funny story behind my Jumping Monkeys interview, by the way. When my publicist set this up, we worked out the date and time and I was given a phone number to call. When the time came and I sat down in a quiet office and called, it rang a few times and then suddenly I was hearing voices. It was the hosts, talking about no call lists.
I figured that like many stations, I was on hold and listening to a pre-recorded program instead of hold music. I'd certainly rather listen to Jumping Monkeys than, you know, Chariots of Fire on the pan flute, so I just sat back and listened while I waited for the program producer to pick up.
And that's when I heard it.
"Hey, speaking of calls, I hear Robert on the line!"
Oh, I'm live. I see!
Turns out, I had called directly into the program, and whether it was God or Fate or my Imaginary Friend in the Sky, some powerful force kept me from talking to myself or belching or practicing my F-bombs during that minute or so that I thought I was on hold. Aside from a slightly surprised "why hello there!" tone to my voice, I don't think you can even tell.
I tell you, I'm a cautionary tale just waiting to happen.
March 9, 2008
Schuyler in the Dallas Morning News
"New book chronicles Plano girl's battle with disability that's left her unable to speak" - Dallas Morning News (March 8, 2008). Annette Nevins reporting.
---
With apologies to everyone else who has written about Schuyler over the past few weeks and months, I have to say that this story, which apparently ran in yesterday's Dallas Morning News, is my favorite so far, if for no other reason than the video. We pretty much disrupted class for the better part of a morning to get this, so I'm glad it worked out. (I hadn't disrupted a class and gotten away with it in a long time, so it was nostalgic. And I didn't even have to make any fake fart noises to do it, either.)
Today is my signing in Austin, at the store where I once toiled for The Man. Funny how things turn out sometimes.
---
With apologies to everyone else who has written about Schuyler over the past few weeks and months, I have to say that this story, which apparently ran in yesterday's Dallas Morning News, is my favorite so far, if for no other reason than the video. We pretty much disrupted class for the better part of a morning to get this, so I'm glad it worked out. (I hadn't disrupted a class and gotten away with it in a long time, so it was nostalgic. And I didn't even have to make any fake fart noises to do it, either.)
Today is my signing in Austin, at the store where I once toiled for The Man. Funny how things turn out sometimes.
March 7, 2008
"Say a little prayer for Mister Fancy Pants..."
First things first. Last week, I was interviewed by Jennifer Stayton at KUT Radio, the NPR station in Austin. Her story, "Taming a Hidden Monster", ran during Friday's Morning Edition, I believe.
I'll warn you, it's a little disconcerting. Since there's no introductory material included with the clip, it just goes right into it. Also, I'm stammering like a head injury patient, for some reason. (I recorded the interview at KERA in Dallas, so while it was live, I wasn't actually looking at the reporter, but instead was facing a big, intimidating, floofy microphone. For some reason, that made me nervous.) Other than that, I like how it turned out, especially the reading at the end. She actually got a little choked up when I read it, but that part didn't make it into the story, which I think is a pity. They also edited out the section of the reading where I got to drop a big fat F-bomb. I guess they enjoy their FCC license. Big babies.
So I'm sitting here in my hotel room in Houston, living a life of fancy pantsedness that you can probably only dream of. The glamor of a book tour is hard to describe in mere words; the empty Popeye's bag in the trash can will have to tell the tale for me. I went down to the hotel bar, but I'm staying near the airport and the collection of sad, half-buzzed businessmen didn't hold so much appeal for me as I thought it might. I reluctantly gave up the promise of that glitzy scene and came back up to my room to post for you fine people instead, because as you know, my biggest flaw? I care TOO MUCH.
I do have a traveling companion, however. Jasper 1.0 joined me on this trip, sitting smartly in the passenger seat the whole way down. Now that I've gotten accustomed to his one eye and his rough-chewed edges, I find myself becoming weirdly protective of him and his reputation. Perhaps I need to find some human friends tomorrow when I get to Austin.
I made an important decision about the Jaspers. When I get back to Plano, I'm going to come clean with Schuyler. I might even do it tomorrow morning via video conferencing, which Julie and I made work tonight, thanks to the magic of iChat. That would blow Schuyler's little mind. Julie already began explaining what happened to her earlier this evening, and she said that Schuyler seemed unconcerned. I'll show her Old Jasper and explain that he's delicate now and is going to retire up on a shelf of honor, so New Jasper is going to step in and take on his duties. Sort of like Joe and Steve on Blue's Clues, if Steve Burns had left the show due to a disfiguring accident.
Don't ask me why I feel so guilty about trying to deceive Schuyler regarding the Jaspers. I think it bothers me because I seem to have gotten away with it. I think I would feel better about it if she'd called me on my bullshit.
I'll warn you, it's a little disconcerting. Since there's no introductory material included with the clip, it just goes right into it. Also, I'm stammering like a head injury patient, for some reason. (I recorded the interview at KERA in Dallas, so while it was live, I wasn't actually looking at the reporter, but instead was facing a big, intimidating, floofy microphone. For some reason, that made me nervous.) Other than that, I like how it turned out, especially the reading at the end. She actually got a little choked up when I read it, but that part didn't make it into the story, which I think is a pity. They also edited out the section of the reading where I got to drop a big fat F-bomb. I guess they enjoy their FCC license. Big babies.
So I'm sitting here in my hotel room in Houston, living a life of fancy pantsedness that you can probably only dream of. The glamor of a book tour is hard to describe in mere words; the empty Popeye's bag in the trash can will have to tell the tale for me. I went down to the hotel bar, but I'm staying near the airport and the collection of sad, half-buzzed businessmen didn't hold so much appeal for me as I thought it might. I reluctantly gave up the promise of that glitzy scene and came back up to my room to post for you fine people instead, because as you know, my biggest flaw? I care TOO MUCH.
I do have a traveling companion, however. Jasper 1.0 joined me on this trip, sitting smartly in the passenger seat the whole way down. Now that I've gotten accustomed to his one eye and his rough-chewed edges, I find myself becoming weirdly protective of him and his reputation. Perhaps I need to find some human friends tomorrow when I get to Austin.
I made an important decision about the Jaspers. When I get back to Plano, I'm going to come clean with Schuyler. I might even do it tomorrow morning via video conferencing, which Julie and I made work tonight, thanks to the magic of iChat. That would blow Schuyler's little mind. Julie already began explaining what happened to her earlier this evening, and she said that Schuyler seemed unconcerned. I'll show her Old Jasper and explain that he's delicate now and is going to retire up on a shelf of honor, so New Jasper is going to step in and take on his duties. Sort of like Joe and Steve on Blue's Clues, if Steve Burns had left the show due to a disfiguring accident.
Don't ask me why I feel so guilty about trying to deceive Schuyler regarding the Jaspers. I think it bothers me because I seem to have gotten away with it. I think I would feel better about it if she'd called me on my bullshit.
March 6, 2008
Jasper 2.0
Either I got away with it, or she doesn't particularly care one way or the other. Welcome to the fam, Jasper the Second.
March 5, 2008
Le Roi est mort. Vive le Roi.
It was perhaps tragically fitting that my last post included a photo of Schuyler with her beloved friend Jasper. If you've read the book, or if you've been around for a while, you know that Jasper is Schuyler's oldest inanimate friend.
He was originally purchased while Julie was pregnant so that he could ride around in my car with me and let me see if I could ever get accustomed to the name "Jasper" in case we had a boy. I couldn't, of course (could you?), but the name stuck, and after a period of rejection by Baby Schuyler, he eventually became one of her most treasured friends. She even insisted on a girlfriend for him. (They have a baby bear, too.)
Julie and Schuyler fell asleep on the big floofy chair in the living room tonight, and at some point, Jasper slipped from Schuyler's grasp and fell to the floor, met by the gaping, slobbery maw of Max, Schuyler's very very very bad little dog. The rest you can probably figure out.
I looked over and saw the tragedy unfolding before it could get very far, and I managed to snatch poor Jasper up and take him to the other room before Schuyler could notice. The damage wasn't horrible, but it was bad enough. Ears chewed, one foot stripped of its fur, and most horribly, an eye completely missing. Jasper had been disfigured to an extent that couldn't be fixed.
Well, this is one of those parenting moments where they don't exactly tell you what you're supposed to do, now isn't it? What's the right thing to do here? Let Schuyler face the ugly truth and see what her nasty little hellhound had done to her best friend? Or run to the mall and pray that the Gap (Jasper's port of origin) would carry another that looked like him and try to slip a new Jasper 2.0 past Schuyler? In general, I am all about letting Schuyler see the world in all its grandness and all its pain at the same time, but tonight, I just couldn't do it. Ten minutes to drive to the mall, five minutes in and out of the store, and a sly switcheroo after she had crawled into bed in which she accepted the doppelgänger under darkened conditions, and the deed was done.
We'll see if it worked in the morning. These little Gap bears all seem to be a little different (lovingly hand-crafted by Chinese slave labor, no doubt), and Jasper Mark II looks a little different from his now one-eyed predecessor. Julie and I aren't in agreement on this, by the way. She feels like Schuyler is tough and could deal with the truth. I guess I agree, but then, I feel like she gets to handle the tough truths a lot. I will say that if Schuyler isn't fooled and notices the difference, then I'll come clean with her.
As for poor old Jasper, I think I'll take him on the book tour with me, one last hurrah for the little guy, and then maybe get him an eye patch and seal him up for the future, to be given to Schuyler when she's older and ready for a foolish, sentimental gift from her old man.
This was a tough call. There are times for me, I suppose, when honesty in parenting takes a back seat to the preservation of the fragile world that Schuyler creates. I'm not sure myself if this was the right thing to do. I only know that there's a lot I'll do in this world, right or wrong, to make Schuyler happy.
Happy trails, Jasper...
He was originally purchased while Julie was pregnant so that he could ride around in my car with me and let me see if I could ever get accustomed to the name "Jasper" in case we had a boy. I couldn't, of course (could you?), but the name stuck, and after a period of rejection by Baby Schuyler, he eventually became one of her most treasured friends. She even insisted on a girlfriend for him. (They have a baby bear, too.)
Julie and Schuyler fell asleep on the big floofy chair in the living room tonight, and at some point, Jasper slipped from Schuyler's grasp and fell to the floor, met by the gaping, slobbery maw of Max, Schuyler's very very very bad little dog. The rest you can probably figure out.
I looked over and saw the tragedy unfolding before it could get very far, and I managed to snatch poor Jasper up and take him to the other room before Schuyler could notice. The damage wasn't horrible, but it was bad enough. Ears chewed, one foot stripped of its fur, and most horribly, an eye completely missing. Jasper had been disfigured to an extent that couldn't be fixed.
Well, this is one of those parenting moments where they don't exactly tell you what you're supposed to do, now isn't it? What's the right thing to do here? Let Schuyler face the ugly truth and see what her nasty little hellhound had done to her best friend? Or run to the mall and pray that the Gap (Jasper's port of origin) would carry another that looked like him and try to slip a new Jasper 2.0 past Schuyler? In general, I am all about letting Schuyler see the world in all its grandness and all its pain at the same time, but tonight, I just couldn't do it. Ten minutes to drive to the mall, five minutes in and out of the store, and a sly switcheroo after she had crawled into bed in which she accepted the doppelgänger under darkened conditions, and the deed was done.
We'll see if it worked in the morning. These little Gap bears all seem to be a little different (lovingly hand-crafted by Chinese slave labor, no doubt), and Jasper Mark II looks a little different from his now one-eyed predecessor. Julie and I aren't in agreement on this, by the way. She feels like Schuyler is tough and could deal with the truth. I guess I agree, but then, I feel like she gets to handle the tough truths a lot. I will say that if Schuyler isn't fooled and notices the difference, then I'll come clean with her.
As for poor old Jasper, I think I'll take him on the book tour with me, one last hurrah for the little guy, and then maybe get him an eye patch and seal him up for the future, to be given to Schuyler when she's older and ready for a foolish, sentimental gift from her old man.
This was a tough call. There are times for me, I suppose, when honesty in parenting takes a back seat to the preservation of the fragile world that Schuyler creates. I'm not sure myself if this was the right thing to do. I only know that there's a lot I'll do in this world, right or wrong, to make Schuyler happy.
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