Love of my life

Jen is my best friend in the world. She's a great mom and a wonderful wife. I am very proud of her, which is probably pretty evident. She works hard and has earned everything she has achieved.

Any description I could give of my feelings for her have probably been covered through music, poetry and literature before. Obviously, all of those descriptions of affection apply and I love her deeply. Instead, I would rather describe her enormous strength to give a glimpse of what she looks like through my eyes.

Jen is a rock. She embodies the phrase "calm, cool and collected" in the face of any obstacle because of her strength of character. Her pillars are made of honesty, industriousness and commitment to family. And she displays those traits continuously.

I appreciate that Jen will level with me and I know she will only say what is true. But, her honesty also comes through clearly when she drops a point of view as circumstances change. She is the opposite of an ideologue and takes genuine account of logic and reality. In short, she is intellectually honest and thoughtful.

I will never forget her absolute refusal to cut corners while working at KFC, and her calculation of work hours down to the minute. The last thing she would ever do would be to cheat anyone out of even a minute of work time.

Such deeds earn trust, but her insistence on not wasting time makes her career climb her own masterpiece. Obviously, that trait is beneficial to a career, but Jen works just as hard at home as she does for work.

Jen plans for Jacob's future and directs her efforts at home toward his better development and growth. We are lucky that Jen has the ability to work from home where she can be with Jacob. And, Jacob is lucky that that his time is spent every day with someone who is dedicated to his interests and plans his upbringing in a way to maximize his opportunities.

I do not mean to limit her traits, which are many. She is also a dreamer, creative and kind. But, I seek to express the traits that only someone who sits in my seat could see.

She is my dream girl and always will be.

The Front Lines

Well, I'm full into volunteer mode. I probably do not spend the time I should, or even the time I have verbally committed to, but I now make phone calls and canvass every week. I even got my first war wound (a bee sting... clearly sent by a McCain supporter).

The view from the front lines of a political campaign is difficult to interpret.

On one hand, I see a unique enthusiasm and the mechanisms of the political process churning from inside -- with people working together for a common purpose. On the other hand, dealing with a populace that pays attention on the shallowest of levels is an exercise in herding cats and hair-pulling.

Last week I experienced a very successful phone bank session that led to a few very enlightening conversations and (maybe) one voter convinced to leave the fence for the Obama yard. One can never be sure, of course, but this is a unique process and I have been thrust into some fascinating discussions.

On the other hand, I was also told by another person not to call back because "no son of a bitch who won't salute the flag or our troops should ever be president." After almost two years of campaigning, vetting like no human not running for president could ever experience, and constant scrutiny, some people just can't separate the fear from the truth.

As interesting as the experience has been, this whole political process has also been maddening. My fury over the indiscretions of the past 8 years is well known. My frustration is explaining to people who pay casual attention exactly why this is so important to me.

My sense of urgency has been patronized at times and I have had to bite my tongue more often than I'd like. Nothing bothers me more than the belittling of concerns based on fundamental matters.

But, the end result is what matters. Even though many people vote as they do for the wrong reasons ("he sounds Muslim" or "I just always vote [fill in party]"), the vote is what matters. Our job, on the front line, is to attempt to educate a sometimes-resistant and easily-distracted population that really doesn't have the time to scrutinize beyond sound-bytes or misleading commercials.

Like I said, it's a beautiful process, very rewarding, absolutely maddening... and very confusing. If that makes sense.

This campaign means everything to me because of fundamental beliefs I have about how our country should conduct itself. I fear that my view is simply not an accurate reflection of exactly who we are. What if we are torturers? What if we are fiscally reckless? What if we don't believe in that which was once inalienable? What if we really don't need evidence to use our power?

Before I entertain answers to those hypotheticals, I'm going to try to persuade my community. My job is to convey the importance during a conversation that usually lasts 30 seconds. No one said it would be easy.

But, never give up on hope without a fight.

Proud no matter what

Jacob just climbed on my back. That was fun. He's my little buddy.... now, where was I?

The last few weeks have been interesting. We tried to enroll Jacob in preschool. Poor little guy lasted only two-and-a-half days. He was just too overwhelmed. From all the fallout of the experiment, all the stress and all the tears (and there were many), I can say without question that I will always be proud of my boy.

I know that. I believe that will continue. The challenge? To make sure Jacob always knows that.

The experience did give reason for contemplation, though. It made me think back to my upbringing and how I somehow developed a capacity to categorize too many things as failure.

That got me thinking... why does such a thought even have to be suppressed? Shouldn't it never even creep into one's mind when applied to a child? Obviously, my toddler is not a failure for not being ready to start school at the age of 2. My concern is that at some point I may be tempted to apply that term too loosely... like dad seemed to.

A brief history: My dad's shoes will always have room in the toes. All of my abilities could never quite fill them. I've learned to accept that. I did well in school, he performed spectacularly (Boettcher scholar, member of AOA in medical school, and on and on).

Now, for the part that only three people in the world can really understand: Dad was very difficult to please when report cards were issued. So difficult to please (at least early on) that I was never quite sure it could be done.

I do not mention this to complain or play the victim. The point is, I woke up. So, his method was effective for me in that I took the challenge (sometimes in a vain effort to "show him") and traveled the path he advocated. It also taught me to steam over an A-minus when I was .002 away from my first college 4.0.

The question I am left to contemplate is complicated. Dad drove me to achieve, even if it was sometimes accompanied by some misery, hard feelings and stress. Mom made sure we were as loved as anyone could be. Does one work without the other? I say no.

Without mom's constant reminders that dad didn't mean to make us feel that inadequate (he often forgot to get to that part), I'm sure I would have probably lashed out.

After the lessons were taught, however, dad did a complete 180. To my shock, he didn't care one bit about my law school grades. You could have knocked me over with a deep breath when he told me not to sweat over a B-minus.

So, the point? I'm going to have to be careful. Left alone, I will bend toward being a hard-ass on grades. I will have to remember the time my academic tormentor shed his mask and told me to chill. Apparently, even hard-asses can be reformed.

Sometimes, even examples that produce results don't need to be followed by the letter.