Sep 09 2026 2026-09-09 2026-09-09 NoComment by Ross

I’ll Stick With My Current Model Forever….

Posted in Misc

The new foldable iPhone is going to retail for $1,999. 

And for that reason, I’m out.

I’m am curious what will happen in this market.  I’m starting to think they will raise prices more than features warrant and people will start demanding, not dumb phones, but basic smartphones.  I want to pay $1200 for 2000 megapixel cameras when a simple camera is fine.  Frankly, I don’t know what else would justify the pricing structure….other than people are buying them and the “value” is what a willing buyer will pay a willing seller.


Sep 09 2026 2026-09-09 2026-09-09 NoComment by Ross

Trip One…

Posted in Travel

One of the things I said I wanted to do with my newfound unemployment/retirement/semi-retirement/whatever-we’re-calling-this was take some trips. Nothing particularly elaborate. Just go places, see people, and enjoy the fact that for the first time in a very long time, I don’t have to worry about getting back to work on Monday.

Trip One is officially in the books.

This weekend I drove up to a friend’s cabin in northern Wisconsin. I’ve always loved that part of the world. I went to camp up there as a kid; we took vacations in northern Wisconsin, and there’s just something about the lakes, trees, little towns, and bars where you’re pretty sure nobody has ordered a martini since the Eisenhower administration.

My friend’s cabin is in a campground, and the day I arrived they were having a big potluck picnic. It was not in my honor. But since it coincided perfectly with my arrival, I have decided to remember it that way.

The Welcome Ross to Wisconsin Festival featured good food, bags—which I did not play—beautiful weather, and some excellent drunken drama that, for once, did not involve me. There’s something very enjoyable about drunken drama when you have absolutely no role in it. It’s basically live theater. We hung around there most of the day, and that night we went to the bar on the property to play Picto.

Picto, I learned, is basically Bingo with pictures. I did not win. I strongly suspect anti-Illinois bias. I have no evidence of this, but that has never stopped anyone from alleging a conspiracy before.

The next morning, a few of us went shooting. This was actually something I’d wanted to do for a long time because I have a confession: I have owned a shotgun for about 15 years and had never fired it. Worse, I wasn’t entirely sure how to load it. There is a longer story explaining how a person comes to own a shotgun for a decade and a half without knowing how to operate it, but we’ll save that for another day. My friends showed me how to use it safely, and I finally fired a few rounds. They brought a variety of rifles and handguns, so we spent some time trying different things. I was also amazed to learn that the outdoor range—with several different shooting areas—was completely free.

Free! In Illinois, I assume we would have paid $38 to park and another $14 convenience fee just to walk to the range.

That afternoon was almost the exact opposite activity: a few of us grabbed inner tubes and floated down a river. And that may have been my favorite part of the weekend.

It was incredibly peaceful. I found myself doing something I’m not always very good at: being completely present. I wasn’t thinking about what I needed to do later. I wasn’t replaying yesterday or worrying about next week. I just floated. I looked at the different trees, shrubs, and grasses along the riverbank. I watched turtles. At one point there was a beautiful eagle sitting in a tree above us. And I just took it all in. No phone. No schedule. No destination that particularly mattered. Just floating down a river in northern Wisconsin.

It was about as close to meditation as I get without somebody telling me to close my eyes and focus on my breathing, which usually just makes me wonder whether I’m breathing correctly.

We eventually returned to civilization, had dinner at a bar, and later that evening I may have overserved myself back at the cabin. Apparently mindfulness has its limits.

Monday morning, I hung around for a while talking with my best friend before finally getting in the car and heading home. He had suggested I stay until Tuesday.

In retrospect, he was right. Traffic was awful. The drive home took about an hour longer than the drive up. Normally, that would have driven me crazy.

But somewhere along the way, sitting in traffic, I realized something: I wasn’t in a hurry. I didn’t have to get home to prepare for work. I didn’t have emails waiting for me. I didn’t need to mentally prepare myself for Tuesday morning. There was no alarm clock looming.

I’m retired. Or unemployed. Or taking a sabbatical. We’re still working on the branding. Whatever I am, I have nowhere to be and all the time to get there. And that’s a pretty wonderful feeling.

So Trip One of my planned fall/winter/spring adventures is complete: northern Wisconsin. Good friends, good food, a little shooting, a long float down a river, an eagle, some completely unrelated drunken drama, and absolutely no reason to rush home.

Next up: Boston in October.

I could get used to this.

 


Sep 08 2026 2026-09-08 2026-09-08 NoComment by Ross

How Not to Train…

Posted in Running

Friday – Dang, I’m limping badly.  My foot hurts.  I think I have a stress fracture.  Good thing I’m going out of town this weekend. I can take a day or two off from running.

Tuesday – Okay, it still hurts, but it feels like I’m mending.  It hurts, but not as bad as Friday.  I bet with a few more days I’ll be right as rain.  Nah, I think I’ll go for a run and make sure it doesn’t heal.

Sounds about me.


Sep 03 2026 2026-09-03 2026-09-03 NoComment by Ross

I’ll say it…

Posted in Misc

There is nothing worse in the arts world than a one-man show.

Alan Alda IS Winston Churchill.  $68.  One night only at the Glenview Community Theater.

See Pauly Shore BECOME Gandhi at the Ravenswood Covenant Church on 9/11.

Nothing. worse.


Sep 03 2026 2026-09-03 2026-09-03 NoComment by Ross

Four Days Into Retirement: A Performance Review….

Posted in Life

Don’t worry. This won’t turn into a daily retirement blog. But that has been the most recent issue in my life, so that’s what you get for another few days.  This weekend I’m going to Wisconsin to hang with friends.  It’ll be bars, bags, guns, and fun.  Then I’ll turn this into a “bad decision” blog.  Anyway…

Yesterday, a friend asked how it is going. All in all – and granted, it’s been four days – it is going well. In large part, simply because of a change of mind. Permanent vacation vibes.

Retirement is easier when you actually believe you’re retired.

For the past several months, I was stuck in this weird limbo where I didn’t know where I’d be working, how long I’d be there, or whether somebody from CPS would suddenly decide I should report to a school 47 miles away because a guidance counselor’s cousin heard I once taught government.

Now I know exactly where I’m reporting every morning:

Nowhere.

And I have to admit, the commute is fantastic. I do not miss driving in Chicago traffic. At all. There hasn’t been a single moment when I’ve been sitting at home drinking coffee and thought, You know what would make this better? The Kennedy.

I also don’t miss having to be at work at 8:00, which, for me, meant being there by 7:30 because, apparently, I spent my entire working life afraid someone might catch me arriving on time.

On a morning like today, I’d already be leaving the house. Instead, I can drink another cup of coffee. Read the paper. Read the Bible. Eat breakfast. Exercise. Put something away as part of my ongoing Swedish Death Cleaning project. Look at the clock.

9:17.

Well, shit. Now what?

That is the one downside I’ve discovered. Retirement mornings are delightful. Retirement afternoons are…long.

In the morning, I get my exercise done. I read. I do whatever little tasks I’ve assigned myself to maintain the illusion that I’m a productive member of society. Then sometime around 1:30, I realize I’ve completed everything on my agenda.

I can read some more.

I can watch a movie.

I can take a nap.

I can stare at the dog until she becomes uncomfortable.

Normally, I’d go kayaking, take the dog somewhere, ride my bike, or just get outside. Unfortunately, Chicago has decided to celebrate my retirement by being approximately the temperature of Mercury’s surface. It’s been in the mid-90s, so I’m not taking the dog to the park unless I want to return home carrying her in an oven mitt.

But something else has happened that I didn’t expect.

I’ve slowed down. Literally.

When I walk to the gym to swim, I just…walk. This is new for me.

Normally, walking is simply an inefficient way to get from one thing I’m supposed to be doing to another. I walk quickly because I need to get to the gym, swim, shower, get dressed, get home, and move on to whatever comes next.

Now I amble.

I walk to the gym. I swim. I take my time getting dressed. Then I amble home. I’ve even started running farther from my house, knowing I’ll have a longer walk home afterward.

Because why not? There is nothing waiting for me. For someone who has spent most of his life rushing from one thing to another, this is surprisingly pleasant.

The other adjustment is that I’m alone a lot during the day. Yesterday after swimming, I stopped at Starbucks and sat there reading for a while. Yes, I wanted coffee. Yes, I wanted to read. But mostly I wanted to be among the humans.

I didn’t need anyone to talk to me. I just wanted confirmation that civilization was continuing while I was at home reorganizing a drawer. So I need to work on that part.

My original plan was to substitute teach a couple of days a week, which seemed perfect. I’d get out of the house, make a few bucks, interact with people, and then leave before anyone could ask me to join a committee.

Unfortunately, I quit a little too late for that. The private schools have their substitute rosters filled, and CPS apparently isn’t even hiring substitutes. (but I really didn’t want to work for CPS again anyway)

So, ironically, after spending the last few months desperately trying to escape teaching, I am now unable to teach.

Life comes at you fast.

I’ve started looking for other things. Next week I’m volunteering at a senior center where I’ll help play Bingo. I’ve volunteered there before, but back then anything in the evening came with a calculation: How tired will I be after work? How late will I get home? Is this worth giving up my precious free time?

Now? Sure. Bingo. Let’s get crazy.

I also signed up for two board-game nights at local bars. I like board games. I like bars. The only downside is going without a wingman, which isn’t exactly my favorite thing. But maybe I’ll meet some people who also enjoy board games, have a beer, and spend an evening arguing with strangers about whether I am legally allowed to place a settlement there.

Four days ago I was a high school teacher.

Next week I’m playing Bingo at a senior center and searching the Internet for other retired people. This transition is moving quickly.

There are also trips coming up. I’ll spend time at Webster, Wisconsin this weekend. October in Boston, November/December in Ohio, January in Utah, February in California, March in Banff.

Once winter arrives, I can ski during the week. And one of the nicest things about all of those things is knowing there isn’t work waiting for me afterward.

No Sunday dread. No wondering what fresh organizational insanity awaits Monday morning. No commute. No 7:30 arrival. And no feral fourth period.

That last one is important.

Whenever I start thinking, Maybe I should have kept working, I remind myself that every year there was at least one class that made me question every decision I’d made since birth.

Even at my old school, where I generally enjoyed teaching, there was always that class. You teachers know the one. The class where the bell rings and you briefly wonder if you could make a living selling plasma.

This year, my feral class was a double period.

A DOUBLE PERIOD.

So if I find myself bored at 2:15 one afternoon, sitting comfortably in my air-conditioned house wondering what to do with myself, I can always close my eyes and remember what 2:15 used to feel like.

Suddenly boredom seems pretty damn good.

I don’t know what this version of retirement will ultimately look like. I don’t even know if it is retirement. I may find another job. I may teach a college class. I may volunteer more. I may buy a little business. I may become the most feared 60-year-old board-game player on the North Side.

Or maybe I’ll just learn to be a person who doesn’t need every hour of every day filled.

That might actually be the biggest adjustment.

For most of my life, I’ve had somewhere I needed to be and something I needed to do. Now, for the first time in a very long time, I can walk slowly.

So far, I kind of like it.

And that’s the mindset shift.  I’m living for me each day.  Not in a selfish way.  I do chores at home, make my wife dinner, etc, but I’m not on anyone else’s schedule or demands.  Like I said, vacation vibes.  And knowing it’s not just a week or two but could be for the rest of my life actually makes it easier.  My life has slowed down to a speed I’m enjoying.  I don’t rush.  I don’t stress.  I don’t worry.

For one, since I was a toddler, I’ve just been living each moment and enjoying that.

As the man said, “Enjoy every sandwich”

 


Sep 03 2026 2026-09-03 2026-09-03 NoComment by Ross

Random Song of the Day

Posted in Music

This song popped up on my random “liked songs” playlist.  I hadn’t heard it in a bit, but I instantly remembered why I saved it to begin with.


Aug 31 2026 2026-08-31 2026-08-31 NoComment by Ross

Throw in the Towel…

Posted in Something Good, Work

Last night I resigned.

I’m done. I threw in the towel. And, strangely enough, it feels pretty good.

The funny thing is, I actually liked my job. Not necessarily this job, in its current bizarre incarnation, but the actual job I signed up to do. I liked teaching. I liked working with kids. I liked creating lessons. I liked those moments when a student suddenly understood something, or got interested in something, or just stopped staring at me like I was an obstacle standing between them and lunch. There was a reason I chose teaching as a second career.

Unfortunately, at some point the job I liked became a smaller and smaller part of the job I actually had. What remained was the dysfunction.

The uncertainty over where I would be working. The uncertainty over how long I would be working there. The possibility of being moved every month or two. And finally, the announcement that I was being sent to some bizarre assignment almost as far from my house as one can travel while still technically remaining in Chicago.

Three hours a day in the car. For what? Nobody could really explain.

That, of course, was almost beside the point. The way it was handled was simply another example of how seemingly everything is handled.

Eventually I realized I was in an abusive relationship. Sure, there were some good times. And the paychecks were nice. Really nice, actually. Let’s not pretend I won’t miss those. But eventually you have to stop saying, “Maybe they’ll change.” They’re not going to change.

So I packed my metaphorical suitcase and left CPS.

I don’t know what’s next. That sentence is as scary as it once might’ve been in my life.

With the exception of a few years when I was transitioning careers and staying home with my kids, I’ve worked since middle school.  Since then, I’ve almost always known what came next. School led to a job. A job led to law school. Law school led to being a lawyer. Eventually, law led to teaching.

There was always a next thing.

This time there isn’t.

I can’t really say I’m retired. But I also can’t really say I’m not retired.

Maybe I’m retired for a month. Maybe six months. Maybe forever.

Maybe there’s a third career out there waiting for me.

But keeping with my relationship metaphor, I’m never going to meet the right one if I insist on staying with the bad one.

So, for once in my life, I’m going to see what happens.

I have some ideas. I’d like to volunteer. I’d like to get involved helping adaptive athletes. I’d like to find some game nights and meet some new people. Maybe one of those things will turn into a job. Maybe something completely unexpected will turn into a job. Maybe nothing will. That’s okay too.

Because I already have plenty to do.

For starters, my travel calendar somehow looks considerably busier than that of someone who supposedly has nowhere to be.

Labor Day in Wisconsin. Boston in October. Ohio and South Carolina in November. Ohio again in December. Skiing in Utah in January. A West Coast hockey trip in February- three games, three arenas. Skiing in Banff in March.

And that’s just what I’ve booked so far. Apparently unemployment requires a surprising amount of travel.

When I’m home, I’ll practice guitar. I’ll strength train. I’ll train for triathlons. I’ll read. I’ll cook. I’ll volunteer. I’ll kayak while it’s warm and ski when it’s snowy. And maybe, occasionally, I’ll do absolutely nothing.

I’m going to have to practice that one.

Mostly, though, I’m going to enjoy my life. That’s it. That’s the goal.

Not necessarily for the rest of my life. I’m not making any grand declarations about what I will or won’t do six months from now. For the next few days, weeks, months – or maybe years – I’m just going to enjoy myself and see what unfolds.

I’m letting go of the idea that I need to fight everything. For roughly 30 years, my professional life has been divided between two systems that desperately need people willing to fight to make them better: criminal justice and public education.

I fought. Sometimes I even won. I helped some people. I hope I made things a little better for a few of them. I know there are students I helped. I know there are clients I helped. There are probably some people I helped without ever knowing it. And there are plenty of battles I lost.

For years I’ve felt a little like Sisyphus, pushing that damn rock up the hill, watching it roll back down, muttering a few obscenities, and then getting behind it again.

Well, somebody else can grab the rock. I’ve done my shift. That doesn’t mean I don’t care anymore. It doesn’t mean the problems aren’t important. It just means I’ve finally accepted that I don’t have to fix them myself.

Someone else can fight that fight.

I can walk away with my head held high.

I showed up.

I cared.

I tried.

For 30 years, I pushed.

That’s enough. So I’m throwing in the towel. I’m putting down the rock. I’m walking away from the fight.

And for however much time I have left – whether that’s 30 years or considerably less – I’m going to try something radically different.

I’m going to enjoy it.

 


Aug 29 2026 2026-08-29 2026-08-29 NoComment by Ross

There Is Another Way to Go Through Life…

Posted in Work

I’m about 75% sure I’m going to quit my job this week. That sounds dramatic, so let me explain.

I was laid off this summer. But because I have tenure, being laid off doesn’t necessarily mean being unemployed. Instead, I became a “reassigned teacher,” which is one of those wonderfully bureaucratic phrases that means, “We don’t really have a job for you, but congratulations, you still work here.”

Honestly, my first reassignment wasn’t terrible. I wasn’t exactly living my educational dream, but I was getting paid, the commute was manageable, and nobody had set me on fire. At this stage of my career, I have learned to recognize a win.

Then today I got re-reassigned. I’m not sure “re-reassigned” is an actual word, but I’m pretty sure it is an actual CPS employment status.

My new school is approximately as far from my house as you can get while remaining within the city limits of Chicago. Any farther and I believe I would need to obtain an Indiana teaching license. Depending on traffic, I’d be looking at something close to a three-hour round-trip commute.

Three hours.

I could fly to Nashville faster than I could get home from work. So I requested another assignment. Maybe they’ll change it. Maybe they won’t.

But somewhere between looking at Google Maps and contemplating spending 15 hours a week sitting in Chicago traffic, I realized something:

I don’t think I care. Not in the bad way. In the good way. I think I might just be done.

When I was in college, there was a wonderful used bookstore on campus. One day I stumbled across a book of sayings by Hugh Prather. It was very 1970s, very philosophical, very “perhaps we should all sit beneath a tree and reconsider our relationship with the universe.” I loved it.

There was one thought that has stuck with me for decades. I don’t remember the exact wording anymore, but the idea was that there is another way to go through life besides kicking and screaming. I remember thinking that was brilliant.

Then I apparently spent the next 40 years kicking and screaming.

Excellent implementation, Ross.

But maybe I’m finally ready to try the other way. Because I’m tired.

I’m tired of CPS.

I’m tired of bureaucracy.

I’m tired of caring deeply about things while sitting in rooms where it sometimes feels like caring is an eccentric hobby.

I’m tired of pushing the rock up the hill.

Camus famously imagined Sisyphus happy. Good for Sisyphus. I imagine my Sisyphus checking his pension, dropping the rock, and saying, “You know what? Somebody else can push this thing for a while.” And then going home for lunch.

Maybe that’s where I am.

I’ve worked since I was in seventh grade. I’ve had jobs almost continuously for more than four decades. I’ve been in the Army Reserve. I’ve been a lawyer. I’ve been a prosecutor. I’ve been a teacher. I’ve had deadlines, bosses, clients, students, court calls, meetings, lesson plans, alarm clocks, commutes and people asking me to do things that could absolutely have been handled in an email.

Maybe I’ve done enough for a minute. Maybe I don’t immediately need another career. Maybe I don’t need a five-year plan. Maybe I can just stop.

I can wake up and decide what I want to do that day.

I can exercise.

I can read.

I can learn something completely useless.

I can practice an instrument.

I can cook dinner.

I can do things around the house that have been sitting on my list since approximately the Clinton administration.

I can volunteer at a food pantry.

I can help people who actually want my help.

I can explore hobbies.

I can write.

I can travel.

I can sit outside on a Tuesday afternoon and commit the radical act of not being anywhere else.

And maybe after six months I’ll be bored out of my mind and desperately searching Indeed for something to do.

That’s possible.

I know myself. There is a nonzero chance that by November I will have taken up woodworking, started a small business, joined three nonprofit boards and somehow become treasurer of a neighborhood organization I didn’t know existed.

But maybe not.

Maybe I can learn how to simply live for a while. That idea feels strangely uncomfortable. Which is probably a sign that I need it.

So, yes, I’m 75% sure I’m quitting this week.

Maybe CPS will give me a better assignment. Maybe they won’t. Strangely, that doesn’t seem like the important question anymore.

The important question is whether I really want to keep pushing the rock.

For the first time in a very long time, I think I’m willing to consider putting it down.

Hugh Prather was right. There is another way to go through life besides kicking and screaming. It only took me about 40 years to consider trying it.

 


Aug 29 2026 2026-08-29 2026-08-29 NoComment by Ross

AI — My New Personal Assistant

Posted in Misc

I am a big fan of AI. I use it all the time.At work, it has helped me create unit plans and lesson plans. I’ve used it to research vacations, compare hotels, figure out things to do, and answer the endless random questions that pop into my head. And, to be completely honest, I’ve also used it as someone to talk to when I’ve exhausted my wife and friends on a topic that I can’t stop ruminating about.

There are only so many times you can say, “But here’s the thing I’m worried about…” before another human being starts looking for an exit. ChatGPT, on the other hand, never says, “Yes, Ross. You already told me that six times.”

Recently, though, I discovered an AI feature I didn’t even know existed.

As a side project, I’ve been looking into buying a small business. My ideal would be something like a coffee shop or hot dog stand. Nothing huge. I have no desire to become the next Ray Kroc. I just think it might be fun to own something small, run it for a few years, and see what happens. Originally, part of the idea was that eventually one of my kids could take it over.

My kids have responded to this plan with roughly the same enthusiasm they would have if I suggested we open a family asbestos-removal company.

So apparently this would be my business. Still, I keep looking.

There was even a great little sushi place for sale in Park City that intrigued me. Unfortunately, despite my ongoing campaign to convince my family that we should all abandon Chicago and live happily ever after in Utah, nobody else seems interested in moving there full time.

Sushi empire: postponed.

One day I was asking ChatGPT about a business listing. As we talked, it started asking questions: What kind of business was I looking for? How much did I want to invest? What locations would I consider? How involved did I want to be? Eventually, it asked if I wanted it to automatically search for businesses that met my criteria.

Wait. What?

I didn’t even know it could do that. So I set it up.

Now ChatGPT searches for businesses for sale that might fit what I’m looking for and sends me the results. As I’ve looked at listings and discussed the pros and cons with it, I’ve been able to refine the search further.

Too expensive. No.

Franchise pretending to be a business for sale. No.

Owner wants $400,000 but somehow can’t provide financial statements. That’s going to be a no.

Small neighborhood coffee shop with actual revenue and profit numbers?

Now you have my attention.

Once I realized how useful this was, I set up another automated search for high school social studies teaching jobs in Chicago. Same idea. Instead of checking a bunch of websites every day, I get a report showing me what it found.

The next experiment will be airfare. I have a trip planned for March, and I’m going to have it keep checking fares and see how good it is at spotting a deal. Maybe it saves me $300. Maybe it doesn’t. That’s part of the experiment.

Anway, just thought I’d pass it along if you didn’t know you could automate ChatGPT for things like that.


Aug 28 2026 2026-08-28 2026-08-28 NoComment by Ross

I Was Someone’s Child…aka Whiny as hell post…

Posted in Family

For years and years, I judged my father for a decision he made. He had an opportunity to take a risk that, in hindsight, probably would have paid off. Instead, he took the safe road. I thought this was ridiculous.

I would never do that.

I wasn’t going to be like my father. I would take the chance. Bet on myself. Go for it. Fortune favors the bold and all that inspirational-poster bullshit.

Now I’m 60, I’ve raised three children, I’ve had mortgages and tuition payments and careers and layoffs and all the other fun things adulthood throws at you, and I’ve reached an unfortunate conclusion:

I would have done exactly what my father did. I’d like to say I wouldn’t. But I would.

Because apparently my father wasn’t a coward. He was a guy with a family who understood that “betting on yourself” sounds a lot more exciting when other people aren’t depending on the outcome.

This is one of the annoying things about getting older. Your parents keep being proven right even after they’re dead.

My father died about five and a half years ago. My mother had died suddenly about a year before him. I’m not particularly proud of this, but at the time I didn’t think about either death nearly as much as I would have expected. Obviously I was sad. But there wasn’t some movie version of grief where I wandered through the house clutching an old photograph while sad piano music played. Life mostly kept moving.

After my mother died,  I ended up taking care of my father, who had been ill for a bit. I actually think I did a pretty good job.

I paid his bills and handled the things that needed handling, but I also tried not to turn our relationship into one long elder-care administrative meeting. We had brunch every Sunday, long after he lost the ability to hold a conversation. And we kept having those brunches every Sunday until he died.

At the time, I thought that was mostly something I was doing for him. Now I’m not so sure.

Because strangely, I’ve missed my parents much more as the years have passed.

Not in an Oh my God, they’re dead, I’m next! way. Although at 60, I do occasionally encounter an obituary of a 62-year-old and think, “Well, that seems unnecessarily close.”

It’s something different.

My children grew up. Or, more accurately, they became semi-adults and then actual adults, although I’m still waiting for someone to provide me with the official certification process.

And parenting adult children turns out to be weird.

When they’re little, the problems are relatively straightforward.

Kid is hungry? Feed kid.

Kid is bleeding? Apply Band-Aid.

Kid is being an asshole? Time-out.

Adult children don’t work that way.

You can’t put a 24-year-old in time-out. I’ve checked.

Instead, they have jobs and relationships and disappointments and anxieties and opinions about how you raised them.

Especially that last one.

And somewhere along the way, I started wishing my parents were still around. Not because I needed them to fix anything.

I just wanted to ask:

Was I like this?

Did you worry about me this much?

Did I blame you for everything that was wrong with my life?

Did you ever hang up the phone with me and think, “Jesus Christ, what did we do wrong?”

Mostly, though, I think I want one of them to tell me I’m doing okay. That’s the part I wasn’t prepared for. When my parents were alive, I was still someone’s child.

No matter how old I got, there were two people in the world who remembered me before I had accomplished anything.

Before I was a lawyer.

Before I was a teacher.

Before I was a husband.

Before I was a father.

Before I had any idea what I was doing.

Which, to be fair, remains largely the situation.

Someone was above me on the organizational chart. Now they’re gone. And I’m management. This seems like a serious oversight.

My mother actually did tell me she thought I was doing a good job raising our kids.

My father? Not so much. He wasn’t exactly Tony Robbins.

Still, I find myself wishing he were here so I could ask him what he thought.

I’m probably romanticizing the conversation. In my imagination, he’d put his hand on my shoulder and say:

“You’re a good father. Your kids will figure it out. I’m proud of you.”

In reality, he’d probably say…well, nothing because his generation didn’t hold on to kids that way.   Then we’d order brunch.

There’s another reason I’ve been thinking about him.

One of my sons once told me he didn’t want to be like me.

That hurt. A lot. Probably more than he knows.

And then I realized something. I once felt exactly the same way about my father. I wasn’t going to be like him.

Except now, decades later, I understand him.

Maybe that’s one of the great jokes of parenthood. You spend 20 years raising children who eventually explain all the ways you screwed them up. Then you have to wait another 20 years to see if they revise the report.

And here’s the other strange part:

I don’t want my son to be like me. I want him to be better at being himself. I don’t want him spending his life looking around for approval—from me, from his mother, from a boss, from a girlfriend, from anybody.

I want him to wake up and think:

This is my life. I like it.

I want him to live with joy. If that means being different from me, fantastic.

I’d just prefer he discover that without making me the villain in his origin story.

But I suppose I don’t get to control that either.

Maybe someday he’ll look back at some decision I made and think:

Oh.

Now I get it.

Just like I did with my father.

Unfortunately, my father isn’t here for me to tell him. That’s probably the part that bothers me most.

I spent years judging a man who was making decisions with responsibilities I didn’t yet understand. By the time I understood them, he was gone.

Maybe that’s why I’m tired.

Tired of worrying about whether my kids are happy.

Tired of wondering whether I did enough.

Tired of wondering whether I did too much.

Tired of wondering whether some insecurity I passed along screwed somebody up.

Tired of occasionally feeling like I’m the asshole in everybody else’s story.

Which brings me to my current retirement plan:

Utah.

Preferably tomorrow.

I would like to move to the mountains, ski, ride my bike, read books, drink coffee, sit outside, have dinner with my wife, see my children when they want to see me, and generally stop conducting a nightly performance review of myself as a human being.

I realize this is an extremely privileged existential crisis.

“My adult children have complicated feelings about me, and I own a house near ski resorts.”

GoFundMe forthcoming.

But maybe getting older is partly about realizing that eventually you have to stop trying to get an A in life.

My parents are gone.

My children are adults.

They get to decide what their lives mean.

They even get to decide what they think of me.

And I get to decide what I do with whatever time I have left.

I hope someday my son understands me a little better. But perhaps I don’t need him to understand me today. After all, it took me about 50 years to understand my father.

And Dad never got to hear me say it.

So I’ll say it now.

I get it, Dad.

Thank you, Dad, for loving me no matter what and no matter how you showed it.