Archive for January, 2014
The Scoop
A clean out fever sometimes strikes my Mom. Over the years, I have trained her to wait a tick before tossing or donating, to give me a chance to peruse and scavenge. If I had saved nothing else over the years, I am glad I got my hands on this ice cream scoop.
This is the ice cream scoop my Dad used when we were kids. (Dad is fine by the way; he just got a new scoop.) But this is the one he used when he’d make us special sundaes or ice cream cones. It was an event that made us happy, in part, because, well, it was ice cream but also because serving ice cream was something my Dad got such a kick out of. He’d put joy and creativity into the effort. And he had a system.
I can picture it. Clear as day. My Dad, standing at the kitchen counter, looking down at me, smiling. He’d fill a small cup with warm tap water and dip the scoop in the water before digging into the ice cream, explaining, teaching, sharing a secret, this makes it easier to scoop.
Dad making ice cream sundaes or serving up ice cream cones was a tradition in our house, and everybody who has ever visited has had at least one of them.
There was a time when an ice cream shop up the street went up for sale, and there was talk in the house that maybe he should go into business. I was much too young to understand having a job or being the bread-winner or the risks of small business, but it made me sad that he didn’t do it.
Even very young humans are astute enough to recognize the things that make other people happy and to feel something, even if we don’t yet know the words regret or sacrifice, that feels a little sad, something that is a little less than perfect about being a grown-up.
Flash forward to me as an adult, and this same ice cream scoop reminds me of when my nephew Alex (now a 6-foot-something 16-year-old) was a tiny little human. My brother was in the Navy and his family was in town for a rare visit. We gathered at my Mom and Dad’s house. It was the first time I’d been around Alex that he could talk and walk. He was about 3 years old.
I walked from the dining room to the kitchen with a promise of getting him some ice cream. He came dashing in behind me, saying, “Wait! Wait! I have to tell you something.” I was at the kitchen counter, holding this scoop, looking down at him, smiling.
He told me to get a cup of water. He told me that if I dipped the scoop in the water, the ice cream would be easier to scoop. He added, oh-so-proudly, “That’s how my Dad does it.”
One of my favorite sweet, funny Circle-of-Life moments.
So, yeah, things are just things. But some things, unremarkable, everyday things, are more than utilitarian. They are memory triggers. Every time I use this scoop or even just see it in the utensil drawer, I feel a little jolt of happiness. I also feel a bit covetous and secretly lucky to be the kid who stayed in Pittsburgh and got the best hand-me-downs. This ice cream scoop is a mini-life preserver.
And, that, my friends, is my rationalization. Sometimes, winter doldrums and grown-up worries are easier to bear — if you eat a little ice cream on a Wednesday.
Rooting for Peyton
When it comes to the Super Bowl, it’s more fun to have a horse in the race. This time, mine’s a Bronco.
Let me state right up front that I’m from Pittsburgh, and Terry Bradshaw is and always will be my favorite quarterback of all time, but Peyton Manning is my favorite active QB. And not just this week; I’ve been saying that for years.
Why?
- I like Peyton Manning because he’s a great player who makes for some really exciting football.
- I think he’s hilarious. If you haven’t seen him on Saturday Night Live, google for video. If you haven’t seen his commercials, move out of your cave.
- I like him because he does a lot of work for charity.
- I like him because he is humble and self-deprecating. He’s a good sport.
- I like him because he wears his heart on his sleeve.
- I like him because Tony Dungy likes him.
- I like him because family dinners at the Manning house are rowdy and hilarious but also loving. They hug a lot. They laugh at farts. And post-dinner charades are epic.
Okay. I’ve never actually had dinner with the Mannings. And I can’t back up what are, obviously, my own inferences about a man I’ve never met. But I am also rooting for Peyton Manning because of one undeniable fact: He’ll be in MetLife Stadium on Sunday.
Despite major surgeries – on his neck. Despite lingering nerve damage – in his throwing arm. He’ll be there.
He’ll be there despite a kick in the teeth from the people who knew his work ethic best. Jim Ersay won’t be in East Rutherford on Sunday. But Peyton Manning will be there.
I want the Broncos to win — not just because I’m a Peyton Manning fan but also because it would be a life preserver moment. I’d like to see that, sometimes, that’s how Life works.
I’d like to see perseverance and courage pay off. I’d like to see the odds beaten. I’d like to see Ersay’s kiss-butt public relations dance. I’d like to see the Broncos’ faith rewarded. I’d like to hear their quarterback talk about a great team effort. I’d like to see him have that chance to be gracious and proud and happy.
I’d really like to see the nice guy finish first.
And then go get a Super Bowl ring sized for his middle finger.
Life Preservers 
Richard Sherman, May I Call You Dick?
I once dropped an enormous F-bomb in the midst of a heated softball game. A reporter and cameraman were not in the stands that day. But my parents were. It is difficult, even now, all these years later, to share what they said to me after the game, but I can tell you, they did not say, “Well, you played well, so we’re still thrilled to be your parents right now.”
True, an amateur softball game cannot compare to an NFL playoff game, but that’s not my point.
When I saw Sherman’s outrageous outburst following Sunday’s NFL playoff, I thought it was surprising (and kind of hilarious). I thought, “Boy-oh-boy-oh, this guy is going to be mortified once he calms down.” And I thought, “The media is going to have a field day with such a blatant display of poor sportsmanship.”
But he isn’t. And they haven’t.
His explanation has been, well, less than apologetic. (“I’m most sorry about the coverage this has received.”) Many are standing up for him. (“That’s the kind of guy I’d want on my team.”) And the Beats commercial featuring him rolling his eyes about his bad image has begun to run more often.
What the heck?
Despite what the talking heads seem to be implying in their coverage of negative reaction among fans, I am not a stupid, single-minded automaton who can’t understand the situation.
Guess what, regular folks know that competition can be emotional, that spirits run high when your adrenalin is pumping. We’re actually quite capable of understanding why Sherman lost his mind. We’re even capable of feeling bad for him that it happened in front of a reporter and a cameraman.
(Oh, and btw, most of us don’t make millions doing what we do, but we all face challenges with far greater consequences than a trophy. Just sayin’.)
Humans — regular or famous — are silly, emotional, passionate, imperfect creatures. We all make mistakes. We take our turn being stupid or angry or mean or thoughtless. But some of us? When we screw up, we acknowledge our mistake and aspire to do better. It’s likely the main reason our species has continued to exist.
Mistakes make us human. Admitting our mistakes and trying to do better makes us lovable. Acting as if you are exempt from the endeavor has the opposite effect.
And that is why people like me will carry on, knowing what’s really important in life, and understanding football quite well enough, thank-you-very-much. For example:
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January 22, 2014 at 10:27 pm Leave a comment