I am my father's son...

In three months I will be a father. A father to Elliott Marr Wieler - the "working" name of the little mystery that is to be. I will say that grasping the full concept of the situation is easier said than done. I have found myself immersed in scheduling details, information, and all things *future*. A future that brings great promise, openings, and closure all at the same time...

It is a necessity that such things are planned for and that details are reviewed in advance - but it is much more dificult than I ever expected to remain *present*. I have found myself reflecting on my father and his relationship to me. I understand our similarities and appreciate the lessons that I have learned from him. My father shows his apprecation and love in a filtered way that is equal parts "how he was raised" as well as the "time at which he was raised". He grew up in the shadow of WWII - with his own father being shot down in a fighter plane over a faraway ocean before he ever met his son. I'm sure that changed everything...


He was cared for by grandparents and relatives (primarily female) who doted on him - wanting to make up for the loss with gifts and devotion. I can't tell if this made him stronger or weaker, but I do know that he can't really operate a washing machine, an oven, or basic household items that anyone with a few months alone is forced to figure out. I'm sure that changed some things...

He has a solid sense of humor - equal parts dry, quick witticism and cornball salad. I'm not entirely sure I agree with everything that he finds funny, but that's pretty normal. He is also very driven to succceed - this is demonstrated with long (often isolated) hours, pouring over work and Rotary details again and again until the finishing touches are complete. I appreciate the idea of "building something" in this fashion - leaving behind something for others to comb over. A "body of work" so to speak... How much of it is valid, of significance, or even interesting for anyone else is up for debate. I do know that focused time invested in anything changes things...

My wife and I chose "Marr" as our son's middle name because that was the last name of the father my dad never knew. I do believe in these types of traditions and their significance. I do believe in keeping the embers of family alive. I do believe that this matters.

I do love my father and I know that he loves me - for this I am lucky. I am excited about the idea of having a son that will get to know his grandfather, and I look forward to him understanding the significance of his place in time. I am my father's son...

Collision Course

We are bombarded every single day of our lives with information. Information that becomes our unseen weight.

Even those that pretend to be advanced in their thought patterns are subject to easy manipulation in the face of simple information.

Bombing statistics abroad, fathers to the child of Anna Nicole, who got voted off American Idol on Thursday... These are all things that I absorb through my CNN email headlines, my customized Google home page, and my DVR that needs a release from sheer neglect...

Speaking of release...

Expression comes in many forms - a spontaneous yet "perfect" conversation about things that took on different meanings after you let them go, an artistic rant involving words or music or brushstrokes or... ???, a diary you filled with the freedom of how you were feeling - marking your place in history (at least for yourself) in a warm hiding place. Everyone processes their information differently, and the end result (for those lucky enough to see the process through) is *release*.

There are things we talk about and things we avoid. There are things we would like to talk about, but the moment can't be forced and never appears as we think it should. There are also things that are expressed through music, painting, dance, and a whole slew of varied interpretations. The end result is the need to clear our systems of the information we ingest. Through this process of expression, we *release* the information we ingest into the wild....

Welcome to the world of blogging... a world where anyone can make all of their anonymous feelings available for consumption, digestion, and commentary. A world where we process our information and regurgitate it back for someone else to digest. A world where the diary suddenly sucks because no one can read what I wrote when it's hidden in my top dresser drawer. A world where communication about daily events can feel like that cold distant X-Mas letter that "catches everyone up" on the familial goings on of all things boring.

I have a wife that blogs to say things that she is too embarrassed to speak.
I have friends that blog because it's easier than picking up the phone to relay information.
I have friends that see it as a form of art.

I can't lie... I am all three.