It’s now 11 days before Christmas and as usual life is sucking pretty hard right now. I’ve thought about making this post for a while but kept putting it off. I guess I was subconsciously hoping that the situation would somehow level out on its own. Not a chance.
One of my favorite shows as a kid was Mr. Rogers. I’ll wait for you to stop laughing at me.
I’m not going to go into what was so great about the show; I’m just attempting to draw a line from my early childhood to today. For those that have never seen the show, in one segment the host would look into a picture frame and a video clip would begin to play. Primitive huh? Anyway, one particular video clip caught my imagination and has always stuck in the back of my mind.
This clip involved a working sea port. This harbor was a very busy place with massive cranes, boats and docks. The focus however, was not on these massive pieces of equipment, carrying goods two and fro. This clip centered on the little tug-boat, the workhorse of the harbor.
As a child I watched this tiny little boat slam itself against the side of these huge tankers, steering them to their final destination. Watching the dark green water churn and bubble behind the tug it seemed almost impossible that this speck of a ship could do something that the much larger ship could not. Against all odds it would move this behemoth carefully to the dock. They did it over and over again without stopping, without complaint.
Because of my being an October baby I found myself enrolled in school a year earlier than my classmates. When I graduated from High School I was just seventeen, not the eighteen of so many of my peers. Of course the difference between seventeen and eighteen is not all that much a matter of inches, a step or two of maturity. The further back you go the difference widens, inches become yards, miles even. I struggled with the differences; height and maturity were obstacles to overcome. I threw myself against them, declared my social independence and attempted to provide for myself financially as much as any teenager could. I met with limited success but did not stop rushing into the fight, pushing those larger ships with my smaller less developed mind and body.
Fifteen going on thirty would be a good way of describing me as a teen. Always ready to be a big ship, ready to be an adult. People like me always hear: “Enjoy these years, they are the best!” or “It only gets harder as you get older, enjoy being a kid.”
It went a lot faster than I imagined and I am now 35. I sit at my desk, looking out the window. The same window I look out of from 6:00AM to 5:00PM Monday through Friday two hundred and fifty five days a year. The sun literally rises and sets through this window each day for me. Surrounded by desks spilling over with paper, 10 post-it notes stuck to the frame of my monitor, and miscellaneous parts to computers and pumps sitting on the remaining open spaces, I come to a realization.
I was a Tug as a kid, pushing against my youth, steering and pushing against the ‘enjoyment of childhood’.
I’m a Tug now, pushing projects, people, and deadlines. All of these things are bigger than me, more important than me, more urgent than me. This will never change. My role at work is Goalkeeper. When everyone else is at their wits end and a part MUST be found, I find it. When half of the staff is out sick I go in the field and turn wrenches. When it looks like the ball is going to drop I grab it and throw it back in the air again. It’s exhausting and when I succeed no one notices. Just like the hard working tug.
I need to switch from ‘I’ to ‘We’ now since my wife has become a Tug too. She might not realize it but she has. I don’t know if she has always been a Tug or if she is new to this.
We are Tugs at home, pushing kids, chores, pushing towards happiness. We are both certain that there are plenty of families out there that have more on their collective plate than ours. We don’t know any of them but they have to exist right?
We push towards a fully toilet trained house. Not a single one of our children accomplished this easily. Son #1 was most likely due to our own anxiety towards training someone and took 3-4 weeks longer than he could have had we relaxed about it. Son #2 has a disability that prevents many people with it from EVER training. We approached him with extra caution, two tugs attempting to move a 500 ton tanker loaded with explosives. The tanker barely noticed our efforts, our soft taps against his hull. Then one day, almost like magic, our tanker was secure against the docks. Granted, he was late, late as hell, but he was safe, and he was trained! So now these two tired tugs, having pushed ships up and down toilet alley since 1998 (that’s right six years of changing diapers) look at Son #3. He’s old enough, he doesn’t have the explosive nature of a disability and the tugs are experienced. So why are we pushing and pushing against this boat with no success? If we knew he’d already be trained right?
Our little Tug horns repeat over and over again: “Say excuse me when you burp….What is a nice way of asking for that?…Don’t push/shove/hit/punch/kick/pinch/bite/pull hair/scratch the wall/pull on the carpet/touch the Christmas tree/touch the cook top/touch each other/touch the computer/and on and on…”
Do these ships move? Maybe for a day, then they slip back into that comfortable channel, far away from the dock. Inertia you see…
We try to maintain sanity. We are kind to each other. We are lucky that 95% of the time when one Tug just can’t do it the other somehow manages to push it on their own. Speaking for myself I couldn’t be luckier than to have the partner in life that I do. She is my better half, all the things I can not be. I am so lucky to have her. I couldn’t manage this harbor without her.
My wife has an unbelievably hard job. She pushes her three boats from 6:30AM to 8:30PM Monday through Sunday. She manages their schedules and gets them to four different schools and drags another to yet another therapy session. She deals with specialists, bureaucracies, teachers, repair men, mechanics an me.
Her harbor is full from sun up till long after the sun sets. It’s not uncommon for her to be still planning the next day at 10:30PM. Maybe there are ‘stay-at-home’ Moms that have it easy. This one most certainly does not.
Now the barrage of Christmas cards arrives. Slowly the chain of well wishes stretches across our mantel. Other people tout their year – it sounds so great. Kids that listen, new houses, new pets, great successes are trumpeted.
Just once I would appreciate a Christmas letter from another Tug. That would make me smile.