Traditions

I used to really love Christmas Eve. Really, really love it. Pageants, children's services (I played the role of Joseph one year. Can you imagine? Me, the earthly father of Christ? Please do not answer that.) Without boring detail, suffice to say my childhood was traditional in every way, and this included Christmas.

My Christmas Eves are different now. When he was still very young, two guys in suits, and a woman in a robe decided that my son should be with others on Christmas Eve. He would be with me on Christmas Day. So it goes. In the eyes of the court, it often boils down to math. So I will get ready tonight, like every year, for Finn to be with me tomorrow. I have a tree, and Santa has already been here ( I got socks, again.) I also have favorite snacks stocked and his most comfortable "lounge wear" is clean, folded, and waiting on his bed. Tomorrow morning, after not sleeping much, I will head out to the East Side to pick my son up. I am saddened that he doesn't wake up on Christmas morning with his father near him. Instead, there's a live in boyfriend. Again, so it goes. Sometimes I wonder if I have failed him in some way, not being there at times that a father should be, but I really don't think so. My father says,"You play the cards you are dealt." And I'm playing as hard and as well as I can. No one loves anyone more than I love Finn.

My Christmas Eves are different now, but I still love them. The opportunity to ponder and reflect on things. The chance to put things into perspective. The willingness to humble oneself as a small part of a much greater thing. And perhaps the promise to do better and be better, if even just a little. But I love Christmas morning more. That's when Finn's dad gets his gift. It's just one gift, and it's the same every year, though the size changes. It's usually wrapped in a hoody and a head of unbrushed hair and Santa doesn't bring it, I have to go get it.

It's the best gift of all.
Merry Christmas.   

School Pictures

Wednesday is picture day at school for Finn and this year, for the first time, I'm responsible for getting him ready for his close-up. His mother and I split up before he entered the world of school pictures, and he has never been with me the night before.

The court and the lawyers gave us each a piece of paper that gives a plan for when Finn is where. Alternating holidays, four weeks in summer, breaks split in two, alternating birthdays, etc. Thankfully, it has served mainly as a guide, due to the fact that his mother and I seem to be able to schedule things out with Finn's best interest at heart. However, there is no provision for events like this: The things that are part of a child's day to day life. They just fall where they fall.

Am I nervous? No.

I am not now, nor have I ever been a "hands off" type of dad.  When he was a baby and a toddler, I spent quality, one on one time with Finn everyday. The divorce took that away from me, and that was its cruelest blow.  I now cherish all the time that I do have with Finn, but I don't coddle him as much anymore. He doesn't need it. (BTW, coddling and hugging are two very different things and, as I have mentioned before, Finn comes from a long line of huggers on his father's side. He throws a hug like a champ. Not the quick ones, with a pat on the back, but the long ones, that pass through you and stay with you awhile. In fact, he's made ME a better hugger.) I watch, as he grows both inside and outside. He's got his own deodorant (Old Spice) and now, "hair product." Dad hasn't had hair product since 2009. Finn has a good eye. He always has, and he's a good looking boy if I do say so myself, and I'm saying so, and lately he has shown real interest in how he looks. He is more than capable of picking out a good outfit (face it, just the shirt shows), but just in case, dad hung a shirt on the rabbit hanger on his closet door tonight, and his favorite jeans are in the top drawer.

Family Business

I am an artist. No really. People occasionally pay me in coin of the realm for my creativity. My grandfather was a lawyer in Detroit, and a damn good one. Sometimes he would get paid in meat, cheese, or other goods from his clients in various market based industries. Another time. Another story.

I have had a very productive, and fulfilling career as a creative maker of various types, as an educator, and even as a gallery director/administrator. Some folks even seek my opinions these days, and I give it more than freely. I guess that's called consulting. I even have 2 degrees in Art and one of them is a Masters. Whatever.

Now it's time for me to throw another hat on the rack: I am purchasing the guts to a mom and pop picture framing operation. I know enough about the process to get into a bit of trouble, as well as craft some nice homes for people's treasures. That's what a frame is. Sanctuary. At its most basic level, a signal and reminder of value and importance, be it monetary, sentimental, whatever. I will be providing this now and I do not take this responsibility lightly. I'll be leaning on some great framing mentors to get myself up to speed with the mechanics and I'm excited about this new chapter. There will be branding and there will be marketing as I look to find my niche, and part of that component involves "give-away-stuff." I love give-away-stuff.

 I am also excited at the prospect of having a traditional, craft based, creative, endeavor to share with my son, Finn. He has been raised in a what you might call an environment that fosters and supports creative expression. There are rules and there is order, but at the core of our household there exists a world of exploration and making. This new opportunity will plug right into that quite nicely, and if things go well, someday "it will all be his."

I will still be designing, I will still be illustrating, I will still be teaching, and I will still be consulting, but now I'll be doing this too. Along with my son who used to have long hair.

and it begins...

My son met a girl at the pool yesterday. He told me on facetime last night. He gathered the courage to ask her if he could have her e-mail address, then he went over to the lifeguard and asked for a pen. That's some lifeguard, man.

She lives in the Northwest (Seattle), and is visiting for a couple of weeks. "She's 10, really tall, has braces AND a spacer," according to Finn. I knew this day was coming. My son would meet someone who made him feel kind of all weird inside, but a good weird, and just like that, he would cross over. You can't prepare for this no matter how hard you try. Another bittersweet moment in the growth of your not little anymore-one, but so much more sweet to this dad.

I hope I am ready for what I anticipate to be a steady battery of questions and opportunities for "advice" that isn't too heavy handed or absolute (let's face it, what do I know?) The sudden interest and need for various grooming products. ("That's not the kind I wear, dad." or worse yet "Hey Finn, my Issey Miyake seems to be evaporating, know anything about that?") The urgency of all sorts of new things. I can't wait. Really. Honestly. I remember, several hundred years ago, when I too had that buzz in my head and my chest. It was wonderful and terrifying, but by far it was more wonderful.

I don't worry too much about Finn. He's raised by a village, or a tribe, or whatever and I think he's being raised right. I know he will be a true gentleman and I know he will treat the object of his affection with the utmost respect. I am also pretty sure that humor will play a large part in his courtships. I hope so. Perhaps, at the age of 10, I am putting far too much cart in front of his horse. I should just relax a bit. Let nature take its course. Chill out a bit.

I'll be accepting resumes from his perspective prom dates starting in January.

hugs

Official dad business today: Finn had to get a shot, and he didn't much care for it. It hurt, and he immediately buried himself into his father's arms where, after a minute or two of tears, some back rubbing, and kisses on the head, he emerged with a sniff, comforted and ready for dinner.

I was raised in a family that takes hugs very seriously. When you're hugged by a Schudlich, you're hugged for real. Finn has taken to this tradition like a fish to water, never afraid to "throw one on you." He even prides himself on what he calls "sneak attack hugs." Few things compare to one of these, when you least expect it, and maybe need it the most. Finn has an uncanny knack for knowing this.

I can't make shots hurt less, but I can hug like there's no tomorrow, and that kind of medicine is good for both Finn and I. No prescription needed.

mr. manners

Pot Roast with the Most. Finn and Stephen Schudlich, March 1, 2015

Finn and I attended a movie the other day in which the line, "Manners maketh man" was uttered  by a genteel, impeccably dressed British gentleman just prior to him delivering a thrashing to a pub full of thuggish blokes without so much as even slightly loosening his double Windsor.

In the 14^th century, William of Wykeham, Bishop of Winchester, founded two great educational institutions that is New College Oxford and the Great Public School at Winchester. He gave to both the same motto; “Manners maketh Man”. In those days the word “manners” did not mean mere outward behavior, as it does now, but what we should call good conduct or morality.

I was raised to have manners. Good manners. Manners that today in some circles may seem archaic and old fashioned.  Even so, I make every attempt to educate my son to observe the same social etiquette that his father was taught by his father. We say please and we say thank you. We ask people "How are you?" and we wait for the answer. We hold doors (this in particular seems to be a dying art, and when we are out and someone makes no attempt to hold a door even slightly, EVEN if we are directly behind them, I usually tell Finn "This person doesn't appear to have any manners," and it's usually loud enough for them to hear me.)

Finn has a wonderful way of swooping in and retrieving items dropped or forgotten by people, both young and old alike. "Here you are," he says with a smile on his face and in his voice, "I think you dropped this." There are times that people are just speechless for a second or two. I've seen it.

One of the things that Finn and I like to do is send cards to people. Hand done cards. Lately we have been "collaborating" on these. It's nice to send them off once in awhile for no reason at all, other than to just say "Hi, we're thinking about you," but birthdays, thank yous, etc. are good too. I refuse to believe that there is anyone who doesn't like to receive a piece of "human touch" mail with all of those 1-800-Hansons and Papa John's coupons.

Of course I would be remiss if I didn't touch on the topic of punctuality. Be on time. If you say you are going to be somewhere or do something at a certain time, be there or do that thing when you say you are going to. Being notoriously, carelessly, repeatedly late and devaluing, or non-valuing another's time is one of the great acts of disrespect. I never cease to be amazed at students, in particular, who waltz into class 15-30 minutes late, without so much as a "sorry, man."

 I have to go now. Midterms are due in today, and I have a bit of last minute look-over to do. One of the requirements in the syllabus is attendance. ON TIME ATTENDANCE. Tardies add up to absences, absences translate into grade reduction and this is with full administrative and institutional support and blessing.

"Hey, Mr. Steve, how come I got a C?"

"Sorry, man."

pet cemetary

There are tasks and duties that we have to see to as parents that are not enjoyable, but they are every bit as important as "the good stuff." As a single parent, I lack the benefit (or hinderance) of another's readily available opinion when it comes to such matters. I do the best I can. I learned from two very wonderful parents of my own.

Today, Buddy the Betta crossed over the River Jordan. The parent/child/pet triangle is a delicate one. Often times the child's pet becomes as much ours and sometimes it makes complete transfer in responsibility (though never "officially".) Such was the case with Buddy. Buddy was the first pet that Finn got with just his dad, and he lived at Finn and his dad's house. In ways, Buddy signaled a normalcy, a sense of "home" in our house. Located in the kitchen by the side door stairs, he was greeted upon entering, and said goodbye to when leaving. He was a good fish in that he was active and quite beautiful (handsome, rather.) He seemed to enjoy people being in the kitchen, which we always are and he would frolic around his tank in what appeared to be performance. He watched me bake many many cookies, sharing his table with floured boards and cooling racks. And he listened to good music of all kinds. 

I think Buddy lived a good life, as good as we could give him. After a few tears, and a big hug, Finn put Buddy into the freezer. We'll give him a proper burial in the Spring.
Finn asked me a couple of years ago if animals go to heaven. Yes.