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Just got back from an overnight stay at the casino. My wife had gotten us tickets to The Irish National Dance Company's "Rhythm of the Dance," and gave hers to the grandson so that he could see his first-ever live show. He's been going with us to the casino since he was about three, so we also know how to make a day of it.

We got on the highway right after picking him up at school and checked in at the hotel as soon as we got there. Despite some obligatory negotiating, pleading, whining - by him, and in that order - I insisted that we do the day's homework assignment before anything else.

Then we went over to the domed Sportsplex to hit a few long ones on the driving range. And, for a change, he was really pleased with what he did. He actually said that, for not having played in so long, he felt like he was hitting the ball really well. Which I thought was quite perceptive for a kid his age.

And he was right, having at least 4-5 drives that reached the back wall at about 100 yards. It's still funny to hear the comments of the adults as this little 50 lb. nine-year-old blasts them out past the 90-yard mark. He also commented that he could tell from his backswing if there was going to be a problem with the drive that followed it. And where the ball was going to go, based on what part of the club face he struck the ball with.

Pretty remarkable for a kid who's had about 10 minutes of professional instruction. Which kind of bears out what the club pro told me some months back, that he'd rather not subject kids to too much instruction but rather let them find their own way at the start. Which I think Jason is doing remarkably well at.

After a few minutes on the practice green, now shrunk because of a recent expansion of the pro shop, we headed off to the hotel pool where he seemed much more relaxed and confident in the water than when I last saw him.

Then we met his grandma for a rather hurried dinner before the show, which he seemed to enjoy. All-in-all, it was a much more positive experience with him than in the recent past. I don't know if he just appreciated it more because of the new living arrangement that's come about since our last trip out there, but I was really happy that we did this for him.

I had actually started to wonder, prior to this, why I was being punished for trying to do something nice for the kid. Now I wonder if his behavior was really displaced anger at his dad for his unwillingness to be the one doing these things with him.

Guess I shouldn't spoil the moment with reflections on the negative...

LPK
LiveJournal
3.1.2012 (b)
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the grandstands are crowded with the dead
screaming for a winner
wanting a number to carry them over
into living

Charles Bukowski
from The Roominghouse Madrigals



It's a little after 9:30 AM. Her Nurseliness is finally back from her overnight shift at the hospital and I can hear the water running in the upstairs bathroom as she gets ready for bed. "One more day," she says, "and then a day off."

We both know where she'll be spending her day off. It's become a sort of family joke to pretend that it could be someplace other than the casino. As in, "So, what're you doing on your day off? The casino? Really? You gotta be kidding." Then, everybody laughs as if it's the first time it's ever been said.

Little Jay is in the livingroom playing a Tony Hawk video game. At seven years old, he's played on every game system ever invented and mastered every game he's ever played on them. It's one of the ways in which he and his dad have remained connected, through the turmoil of custody battles, the endless procession of new girlfriends and, most recently, the arrival of the one who's given him a new half-brother and now lives with our son in the upstairs room once occupied by himself and Little Jay's mother.

Since this is the first that I've mentioned this arguably significant turn of events, the arrival six weeks ago of a new grandson, I think I might be excused for also mentioning here the absolute sh*tstorm of emotional, financial and relationship issues that've been unleashed on the household because of it..

Instead, let me just say that around 9:45 AM the phone rings and I answer it. The voice on the other end is pleasant, well-spoken and a little puzzled by my defensive tone. (It's a pre-emptive tactic I've adopted for dealing with my son's creditors who've once again been calling with irritating frequency.)

"Is this the Franciscan Family Services?" she asks.

"No, but I sometimes feel like it is," I answer.

"Oh," she says, "I'm so sorry."

"Don't mention it," I tell her. "It could've been worse. Buh-bye."

Meanwhile, Her Nurseliness sleeps upstairs, blissfully unaware. Tomorrow, following her next shift and a few hours sleep, she'll be on her way to the comparative sanity of the Oneida Nation's casino. Where there are no grandstands in the literal sense but the dead are, most assuredly, "screaming for a winner..."

LPK
LiveJournal
7.14.2010

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