When I run into people I haven't seen in a bit, they universally ask the same question. That question is not, how are you? How is your business? How is your health? How is your life? The number one question I get is, "How are the kids?". While we're making numbered lists here, the number two question I get is, "How is Marty?". And since the moment I had kids or was married, this has been the case. Even my own mother would inquire about my family before asking about me, so please know I'm not judging anyone. Just another of my observations. The truth is I am in aggreement. I too find Marty and my children more interesting as well.

I say all of that to say that since it has been a minute since we chatted, let's just go ahead and get how the kids are doing business out of the way. By now, you all know I am every bit as boastful and gloating of my children as any father. So to enforce some brevity here, I will just pick one recent thing (and by recent, I'm talking about the last two weeks) to say about my kids.

Anfer was recently inducted into the National Honor Society (for the record, both Baya and Aleo also received this distinction). When this happens, the student is asked to select a teacher to present their NHS certificate to them at the recognition ceremony. Anthony chose his social studies teacher, who also serves as his wrestling coach. As the words reveal, this selection emanated not from the classroom but from an odor-rich gymnamsium. When I first read this, I thought of something I've heard Marty express over the years. It typically surfaces after Bella shares some bit of wisdom she picked up in her travels. After sharing her insight and leaving the room, you will often find Marty muttering to herself, "Oh sure, I've been telling you that for seven years, but MARY (and the person's name is always elongated and exaggerated) says it, and now it is part of your life's gospel." 

So after reading the Lemay-lovefest, I felt a tinge of that Marty-hurt. Then after giving it a bit more thought, I concluded the hardest thing I've ever asked Tony to do is mow our backyard with a manual-push mower that has a gimp wheel. Lemay tells Tony to walk onto a mat with a muscle-ridden, half-dressed opponent and engage in six minutes of what, to my eye, appears to be worse than any six minutes I've ever lived in my life. And Lemay tells him to do this repeatedly. And Tony has done it repeatedly. If anything, I think I may need to write a fawning letter to and about Coach Lemay as well. 

Bella met a young woman at an event recently. They started chatting, Bella implementing her get-to-know-you protocol. After a few minutes, the woman interrupted Bella to say, "Boy, you ask really great questions!". Bella smiled, thanked her, and confessed it is something she works hard to do well.

The woman went on to say she never really gives that compliment to people, at least not many people. She explained that she was a Thought Consultant, which means her entire job is pretty much about asking questions of people and trying to get them to ask better questions of themselves. By my estimation, getting this compliment from this human is akin to Tom Brady saying he likes your throwing motion.

The bad news here is that this is yet another achievement my 23-year-old daughter has beaten me too. When I had kids, I knew it would be emotionally trying. I just didn't expect it to be professionally debilitating as well. And I gotta ask, how the heck do you get this dang title? I once asked my boss if I could be a Technology Evangalist. As I walked away from his laughter, he suggested I start with Technology Comedian and work my up.

A professor asked Alex if he would be his Teaching Assistant for a class in the coming year. Aleo was surprised at the request as he had never had the professor. It turns out that another professor, whom Alex did have, recommended Alex to the man. 

I was only ever asked two things by my university when in college.
1. To ask fewer questions in class.
2. To return my library books on time.

And that is not the end of interest in Alex's skillset. He's already turned the head of a few professionals before even completing his second year of film school. Oh, and Alex also turned 21 last week.

I know of multiple married couples who are starting that empty-nester phase of their life. In a troubling number of cases the prognosis looks bleak. To combat this, many are entering couples therapy to help them in their post-children lives. I see therapy in my future too but it is not the marital/couple type (though Marty may report something different). My therapy is going to focus on repairing my abused self-esteem as I watch my kids and their young successes where I cannot help but compare it to my faltering early years.

Given our trajectories, and their needing us less and less every day and us passing them on that scale where we may one day need them more, I feel compelled to remind them, that I changed their diapers when they were little. Well, ok, so Marty changed their diapers but there were times I didn't leave the room when it happened. That's gotta count for something, no?

End of an Era, Part I

Bella and I were sitting on the couch. I hadn't seen her in several days. Before now, travel-aside, I could count on one hand the number of times I did not see my oldest child for consecutive days. But those times have passed. Now, seeing her two days in a row is the unusual experience. As we sat catching up, she said she recently had a few tough emo...

Now that the kids are older and either moved out or are often out, Marty and I are edging our way into those scary waters where a couple has just one another to talk to. When I was younger, I thought this period would resemble life before having kids. Light. Carefree. Easy. In some ways, it is, but when you have sent children you love more than you thought possible into the world, I think my mind ...

Alex recently came to Marty and asked if she was ok. She was and said as much. He asked again, seemingly not believing her first answer. She repeated she was fine and asked why he was asking. He said that he noticed that she had not made dinner on two of the three nights this week. Marty took a moment to recall the week, and yes, because of some atypical evening events, we did not have our usual f...

I have a standard tennis workout I do when hitting against a practice wall. I will hit fifty forehands, followed by fifty backhands, followed by a hundred mixed single-bounce balls. That's a set. Then I do some pushups and squats and a few other equally dull things in between. I try to do six sets per session, so it is a routine I've become pretty competent at over the last few years.

I was in the middle of one of these workouts and hitting forehands. I found a nice groove and was striking the ball cleanly, which meant each return came right back to me so I could just pivot, prep and swing again. I had hit maybe twenty straight as an older guy, who looked to be in his late sixties or early seventies, came shuffling by on his way to a neighboring court. As he passed, he said, "It looks like you are either really beating that guy or he is really taking it to you. I can't tell which." He then gave a boyish smirk and continued his foot-scraping gait past me to meet his buddies.

I kinda love old guys.

there are two things you need to know for this story.

the first thing is that one of my best friends, bookguy, turned 50 six months before me. i have always basked extra-overtly in these six-month spans where he is older than me, with a lot of tired and sad jokes about old men and the like. these adolescent quips roll off him as easily as you'd expect with his knowledge that i am a few s...

50 (a 2-part essay)
PART 2: On Being 50
(Part 1: On Becoming 50)

i've long held this approach to aging where i liken it to a formal education, which if done right, aging rightfully is, no?

in your twenties, you're like a freshman in high school. scared and intimidated but when with other freshmen, cock-sure, loud, and certa...

50 (a 2-part essay)
PART 1: On Becoming 50

twenty years ago i had a breakdown of sorts. it kinda came out of nowhere. it was right around my 30th birthday. a year earlier my mom had given me the name and phone number of my biological mother saying she thought i was old enough to have it now. fact is, she thought i was old enough for a good while but kept waiting for me to ask about ...

growing up i remember goofing on my mom at how quickly she could get emotional at something. i have a crazy, vivid memory of a coke commercial that ran for awhile in the eighties that made her cry not just once but upon every viewing. it depicted a family adopting a little girl and then raising her, showing pivotal snippets of maturation (riding a bike, blowing out birthday candles, graduating hig...

my uncle tim had two grandpas. one was a minister and one worked the train lines.

when tim went to the minister grandpa's house as a kid, the three children in the family (tim, my mother and their sister) would sit stone-still while the adults caught up. i remember my mom telling stories about how tim, the family prankster, would try to get the girls to make noise. he would whisper funny...

the below email was waiting for me in my inbox when i woke on my 49th birthday.


i'm one of the few people that are giddy about getting older. given how simple and directionless i was when young, knowing more who you are and having a few experiences in the tank makes a huge difference in one's contentment and trajectory in life.

and fold in the fact that i'm in far better health today than when i was twenty-nine, well, now you're talking about that rich, creamy frosting slathered on top of an already sweet treat.

and as if all that wasn't enough, while knowing yourself is surely one of life's many lotteries, having friends who know you nearly as well, as evidenced by bookguy's knowing comment about my home-body-ness, well, that is just another one of life's windfalls.

MARTY
i was going to switch to contacts but then my doctor said i couldn't.

TROY
did he say why?

MARTY
not really. i told him i had them before but he said something changed.

TROY
i know my eyes have gone haywire in the last five years.

MARTY
i swear, i have the eyes and vagina of an 80 year old woman.

TROY
uhhhm. i don't think ...

our family was at ted drewes, a famous dessert shack in our town. after putting in our order we stepped to the side to wait for our treats. a group of old guys took our place at the order window. the first of them said, "i'd like a hot fudge sundae with extra-extra hot fudge and the seniors discount."

after completing his sentence, he turned to the two old guys behind him and said, "i bet you didn't know about the seniors discount."

the consented they did not. he flashed a schoolboy's smile.

then he caught marty's eye and before he could say anything to her she said, "and i didn't know about the extra-extra hot fudge."

his schoolboy smile got a bit younger and a touch wider at her clever quip.

a few years back on a ski trip i took a headlong spill and separated my shoulder. this is a very different injury than 'dislocating' your shoulder which seems to me to be the nastier of the two main shoulder injuries. a shoulder separtion i'm told is rather trivial and commonplace. that said, it still hurts. separated AC joints, the technical name, typically happen when blunt force trauma is appli...

marty and i went out on a date night. this might be the second one of these we've been on in the last five years. i took her to a new eatery i recently discovered and then we went to see kathleen madigan at one of our cities swankier venues (the peabody). after the show marty and i remained in our chairs as the other patrons streamed out. they seemed as intrigued by us keeping our seats as we were with their immediate need to vacate the premises (and willingness to fight the throngs of people). as we watched the parade before us, marty commented at the age of the crowd in they seemed a lot older than we expected. as we did our accounting marty leaned in adding, "or maybe we look like them and are old too". huh? what? when exactly did that happen?

and, it seems we are not alone in experiencing this odd phenemenon.

here's a recent lesson on aging marty and i just bumped into. scars on older people stick around much longer and in an uglier, darker form than when you're young. i commented on how two cuts i recently got were acting like they weren't in any rush to go away. she flashed me her own battle wound and it looked almost exactly like mine. to add to it she told me to keep an eye on anthony, a kid who seems to get a minimum of one cut/bruise a day, as you can almost watch his skin heal back to perfection before your eyes.

if you are storming up on this lovely physical milestone as well, the good news is while our external mars don't go away so easily, the internal cuts that used to take weeks and months (or longer) to heal in our teens and twenties, barely break our thicker, tougher emotional skin these days. so aging, as people sometimes like to claim, isn't just broken eggs and spilt milk—there is a fluffy, cheese-filled omelet (or two) sitting within arms reach as well. you just have to look on that side of the table.

my baby girl turns 14 years old today. last night i told her she had to spend a dad hour with me (a nightly ritual i do with my kids) on this night becuase it would be the last night i'd spend with my 13 year old daughter. then when we were done (watching an episode of lost) we stood in my office hugging. after the hug should have ended and i didn't let go bella slowly said, "uh dad, i kinda gotta go to bed". after five more seconds i lessened my grip, gave her a long kiss on the top of the head and she left for bed and fourteen.

is 2,000 a lot?

if you had 2,000 pennies, you'd probably say no. but if you had 2,000 mice in your basement you'd probably say yes, it is a mighty lot, a near unfathomable lot.

how about 2,000 days left to have your child live in your home as part of your in-home family? is 2,000 a lot then? that is the question i'm asking myself because this last saturday my bella countdown hi...

this recent post by dan martin stands as one of my favorite-ever facebook posts. granted, i've only ever read seventeen facebook post. still, it's one of the best i've seen. beautiful and thoughtful work dan. kudos.

i have a rule with my children that the first thing they say to me in a new day cannot be a request for something.

this results with them sometimes saying things like:

"did you sleep well dad? great. can you help me with my homework?"

or

"you look handsome today dad. can you log me on so i can check my mail?"

the other morning, the first thing anthony said to me, as he brought me from sleep was, "dad, you have a lot of hair in your nose".

i might need to extend the ban to include comments that make my first act of the day be studying my aging body, super-up-close, in the mirror.

a new TROYSCRIPT was posted today. confidence

in partial regard to the book i posted about yesterday, i remember when my former boss and mentor turned fifty i asked her if there was a best part of hitting this lofty milestone. she had an answer ready and looked happy to share it. with more than a small hint of excitement in her voice she said it was the realization, finally, that everyone is not talking or thinking about you and that in the rare moments that they actually might be, knowing that it doesn't matter, that it doesn't matter one iota.

for her, this epiphany proved one of the most liberating and meaningful parcels of wisdom ever set before her. the fact that my boss and mentor was an african american, female executive in a wildly conservative banking environment should add some weight to this discovery. while not yet fully there, i can sense myself trending in this direction. i can also sense the saliva building around my mental jowls at the thought of biting into the philosophy whole.

last week i visited my orthopedist about my shoulder. this would be the same man who laid his healing hands on my knee a few years back and took me from a guy known for a trick knee for the last twenty years to a guy known to run-down every ball on the tennis court. after some x-rays and range of motion checks it was declared that i had a separated shoulder. thankfully, it is a non-surgical condition and he gave me prescriptions for anti-inflamatories, pain-killers and rehabilitation.

three days later i flew out for my annual ski mancation with bookguy. although it hasn't been so annual the last few years because of an aggravated knee one year (me) and a torn muscle another year (him). this proved quite sad to both of us as we had a nice ten year run on our ski trips (and there hasn't been one of them where we haven't been overtly mistaken for a gay couple multiple times. this is good medicine for bookguy). even before the shoulder diagnosis (and while i could still barely raise my arm) i declared the trip to be on and that if i couldn't ski, i'd just hang out in the condo and we'd hang out at night and while traveling which for sure accounts for a large part of the enjoyment every year. additionally, a moment that further solidified my decision to go is when i was letting bookguy know about my shoulder injury, he deflatedly expressed his dissapointment saying our ski trip is one of the few traditions he has in his life and feared it was slipping away. i'm someone who feels traditions have been taking a serious beating in our country and our lives in recent decades and should be protected similar to an endangered species, so if there was any doubt for me earlier, there was no doubt now.

thankfully the meds made my pain and discomfort disappear like a fart in a theater seat. granted i knew this was a facade but i also knew from prior rehabs that part of the battle is continuing the use of your injured limb and working it out (granted, there is the other side of me that believes a body sending signals of pain to your brain is telling you to take things easy for awhile). but, after much deliberation on my part, upon arriving on the mountain and continuing to have my arm "feel" ok, i decided to get some skis and try things out. curiously, physically i felt fine but mentally, my crash was still fresh in my head and proved paralyzing, so much so that bookguy and i joked it looked like i didn't come here to engage in the sport of skiing but instead simply in the act of stopping. in thinking about it, in thirty years of skiing i've never been injured in a fall (keeping in mind, twenty of those years i had no acl in my right knee.). now that i have been cut, i couldn't shake the fear of it happening again.

finally, after a few days patiently working myself back into the game, i started looking more like i once had. and in a shared effort, a tradition and a life-long sports love are salvaged to be enjoyed another day.

MARTY
that stove is going to look bare one day without your kettle on it.

TROY
where's my kettle going?

MARTY
when you die.

TROY
that's a lovely morning thought to get my day off to a booming start.

MARTY
i do what i can.

shortly after marty and i began dating, in one of those early relationship questions, i asked marty if i died how long she thought it would be before she would date someone else. she thought for a few moments before saying, in a fully seriously tone, "i'm sure it would be at least a week."

a week! a week! now i'd be the first to admit the three years i wished she would say might have been a touch ambitious but a week. in seeing my startled response she quickly adjusted, saying, "not a week -- longer than a week" and then as if bracing for a firecracker to pop added probingly, "like a month -- three months". marty is pragmatic even in matters of the heart, even in matters of new love. but without this cut to the bone approach, marty wouldn't be marty.

she did pay for her cruel offense by shouldering six months of jokes about trying to pick up guys at my funeral and if it would be gauche to invite cute fellas who didn't know me to the funeral just so she could get a jump on the replacement relationship.

several years later when our path together looked a bit more certain, in a quiet moment marty said out of the blue, "ok. so maybe i'd need more than a week before taking up with some new guy." nicer words were never said to my young, longing heart.