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At about that time, my father walked into my room in Miami, and turned on the light next to the bed. Having just rousted myself from whatever faraway reverie I had in order to funch, I luckily noticed him making his way to the night stand and managed, at the last moment, to avoid that sudden, piercing light which took me back to so many high-school mornings.
Not quite two days prior, I subjected myself to a similar sort of Chinese-Light Torture, where, at about 1:00 AM on December 24, I went to sleep with the light on my nightstand still blazing. Knowing full well that an alarm alone wouldn't wake me up on less than, say, five hours of sleep, the light was my insurance that I would not miss my 9:50 AM flight. Given the stories of the previous days (see my previous entry), I felt it somewhat necessary to get up extra early to make my flight--and were I to have an expected surplus of time, I could just catch up on a few episodes of South Park or Inu-Yasha.
Christmas with the family was pretty much business as usual, and we went to the requisite parties/luncheons. On the night of Christmas Eve (following a much needed nap), we went to Auntie Lydia's place where we met with a whole slew of old childhood friends. Well, mostly my brother's childhood friends--I was probably far too young to really be anything more than the token little-brother figure for the lot of them. Most of them are now married, and a good number of them now have children, which makes me feel as though I've somehow fallen behind in the race to acheive my life-goals. At this point, I'm not even near having a girlfriend, despite my father's assumptions, suggestions, and insinuations. Hell, I think I now know more people in my high school graduating class who have married and/or have children, than those who are single and/or are sans child. Of course, at this point in time, I hesitate to think I'd make a very good dad, despite my willingness to give them my steak***.
But part of me can't shake this feeling of missing out on something, especially when the wives of said associates are quite attractive.
More on Christmas later...
***The Steak Theory: My personal theory of fatherhood. Imagine, if you will, that you're sitting at Bone's or The Highland Tap or whatever your favorite place to eat great steak is (somewhere not All-You-Can-Eat, like Fogo de Chao), and you're currently cutting into what could quite possibly be the greatest steak you've ever eaten. It's juicy, it's flavorful, it's charred in the right places; it needs no sauce of any kind.
Your hypothetical child looks up at you and says, "Dad, can I have your steak?"
You're not ready for fatherhood unless you're willing, eagerly willing even, to relinquish the greatest steak of your life and give it to your child.
That's the Steak Theory.
Not quite two days prior, I subjected myself to a similar sort of Chinese-Light Torture, where, at about 1:00 AM on December 24, I went to sleep with the light on my nightstand still blazing. Knowing full well that an alarm alone wouldn't wake me up on less than, say, five hours of sleep, the light was my insurance that I would not miss my 9:50 AM flight. Given the stories of the previous days (see my previous entry), I felt it somewhat necessary to get up extra early to make my flight--and were I to have an expected surplus of time, I could just catch up on a few episodes of South Park or Inu-Yasha.
Christmas with the family was pretty much business as usual, and we went to the requisite parties/luncheons. On the night of Christmas Eve (following a much needed nap), we went to Auntie Lydia's place where we met with a whole slew of old childhood friends. Well, mostly my brother's childhood friends--I was probably far too young to really be anything more than the token little-brother figure for the lot of them. Most of them are now married, and a good number of them now have children, which makes me feel as though I've somehow fallen behind in the race to acheive my life-goals. At this point, I'm not even near having a girlfriend, despite my father's assumptions, suggestions, and insinuations. Hell, I think I now know more people in my high school graduating class who have married and/or have children, than those who are single and/or are sans child. Of course, at this point in time, I hesitate to think I'd make a very good dad, despite my willingness to give them my steak***.
But part of me can't shake this feeling of missing out on something, especially when the wives of said associates are quite attractive.
More on Christmas later...
***The Steak Theory: My personal theory of fatherhood. Imagine, if you will, that you're sitting at Bone's or The Highland Tap or whatever your favorite place to eat great steak is (somewhere not All-You-Can-Eat, like Fogo de Chao), and you're currently cutting into what could quite possibly be the greatest steak you've ever eaten. It's juicy, it's flavorful, it's charred in the right places; it needs no sauce of any kind.
Your hypothetical child looks up at you and says, "Dad, can I have your steak?"
You're not ready for fatherhood unless you're willing, eagerly willing even, to relinquish the greatest steak of your life and give it to your child.
That's the Steak Theory.
