Thank

This year, after very little consideration, we have decided to relocate Thanksgiving.  Once its vitals are checked, we will move Thanksgiving to a more hospitable date on the calendar, one not mercilessly sandwiched between the holiday sprawl of Halloween and Christmas.  Because of the mid-November snow, coupled with the fact that my small children have literally lost their minds to holiday fervor, we just kind of gave up.  From out of the attic the decorations came down, from out of the basement the tree came up, and so here we are.  Sorry, Thanksgiving.  Maybe next year.

Actually, another reason we’re skipping Thanksgiving is because I’m having surgery.  Later this week I will undergo a parathyroidectomy, which sounds worse than it is.  I hope.  Regardless, I scheduled this procedure on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving to minimize my time out of the classroom, and also so I would have a pretty good excuse for missing Black Friday shopping.  The down side is that I really won’t be presentable the day after.  After all, no one wants to eat dressing with the guy who actually has medical dressing on his throat.

Now, some of you are probably thinking, “Gee, we’re related, we’re friends, we’re colleagues, and THIS is how I hear you’re having minimally invasive surgery to remove a parathyroid, a body part that sounds made up in the first place?  I read about it on the Internet?  Wow.  That’s cold man, that’s cold.”

And you’re right.  I should have called.  But it’s a minor surgery, and just where do you place it in the conversation anyway?  “Oh, yeah, by the way, I have an overactive parathyroid and it’s causing calcium to get leeched from my bones.  Over time it could cause osteoporosis and kidney stones.”

 Kidney stones?  Are you kidding me?  No one wants to hear about kidney stones.  I’m sick to my stomach just writing about them.  Kidney stone talk is how you end conversations, not have them, so I just didn’t tell very many people.  Besides, this method is much more efficient.  Instead of going through the whole boring story dozens and dozens of times, I just have to write about it once.   So, you know, you’re welcome.

I did mention the surgery to an old friend a few weeks ago, and his take on it was interesting.  I assumed, after going through the whole spiel, he would respond with a, “Well, good luck,” or a “Hope things go all right.”  Instead he made a rather acute observation. 

“Modern medicine.”  He began.  “A hundred years ago you would have just ended up with osteoporosis.”

And he’s right.  In fact, had I not gone into the doctor to get my cholesterol checked in the first place, it’s possible I would have gone most of the rest of my life with elevated calcium.  The symptoms I do have—fatigue and irritability—I had always just chalked up to being the father of two small children while also trying to teach high school English.  It never occurred to me that I might be exhausted because part of me just wasn’t working right.

Thus, the events leading up to next week have been enlightening on one hand and humbling on the other.  For example, I have learned that when it comes to navigating the labyrinthine world of medical insurance and hospital visits, do not make assumptions. People are just people, regardless of their profession, and sometimes people make mistakes.  At the end of the day, it’s your health.  This means advocating for yourself and paying attention to the details; two things I’ve never been good at.

On a pointier note, I’ve also learned that when a nurse inserts a needle into your arm to get you prepped for a CAT scan, you might just have a needle hanging out of your arm for a while.  I had assumed that once injected, they would be pretty close to putting other things into my body, too, such as the iodine uptake.  This was not the case.  I just went back to the waiting room for about fifteen minutes with a needle stuck in my arm.  That was gross.

The process has also been humbling, however, because each time I went to a new doctor I had to fill out some kind of medical history form, and each time I was struck by how little of a medical history I actually had.  In my thirty-eight years, I had suffered no broken bones, no hospitalizations, no prescriptions.  Although I was inching toward my fifth decade on the planet, I was, on paper, ridiculously healthy. 

This disclosure is not meant to be boastful, and it’s certainly not meant to sound trite.  In fact, the exact opposite is true.  Throughout my multiple appointments and tests, I’ve come into contact with many, many sick people.  I have shared waiting rooms with bodies worn out and spirits worn thin. 

Someday the body might be mine.  Most likely, someday it will be.    

 In the end, part of what makes it all so humbling is that I have not really earned this health.  It has just been a tremendous gift.  It has been a remarkable gift that I’ve spent way too much time taking for granted.

  That is the real reason Thanksgiving has been relocated. 

  Thanksgiving is today.

Swim

Now that the midterm elections are over and I can no longer be accused of using this “kingmaker” of a column as a bully pulpit to sway voters, let’s talk about boats.  Imagine Illinois is a boat, and it is sinking.  Not hard, was it?  Our old captain was bad, as were many of his predecessors.  This past Tuesday, we all received a chance to remove this old captain and replace him with a new one with new ideas. 

Educators in Illinois, as well as many other public servants throughout the state, were basically left with two very bad options.  We could vote for the captain that helped get the boat in such bad shape to begin with, or we could vote for the guy who had basically said to us, if elected, he would take a hammer and hit us in the crotch.  Granted, this is some pretty salty language, but keep in mind we are discussing boats.  Sailors are known to use such terminology, especially when discussing pension reform. 

Now, to be precise, our new governor will most likely not physically harm me or any other public employee in the state.  The hammer thing was just hyperbole used to demonstrate why voting in last Tuesday’s election was so frustrating.  It’s over now, though, and I think that when any election ends, regardless of who won, there is often a sigh of relief from everyone except for perhaps those most closely linked to the loser.  After all, now ends the commercials.  Now ends the fliers.  Now ends the anxiety some felt as they wondered, “Who will win?  Who will be our next leaders?”

At least, of course, until next week, when the 2016 presidential election begins.

For those who spoke out against Rauner, and, based on former columns, I supposed I have to put myself in that category, we must remember that a governor is not a king.  Regardless of his goals, he cannot achieve everything he wants.  More specifically, the political currents Rauner finds himself now navigating are unique to Illinois.  They are not the same currents faced by Governor Scott Walker of Wisconsin, nor former Governor Mitch Daniels of Indiana, two fellow Republicans to whom Rauner is often compared.

For those who have championed Rauner, the same holds true.  Being the governor of any state is a tough job, but being the governor of Illinois sometimes leads to prison.  He will need much more than a heavy wallet and a fed up electorate to steer this ship of state back into calmer waters.  Seriously, may God help him.

Although I did not, could not, vote for him, I have to admit that I am curiously unperturbed by the results.  Rauner might very well be a bad idea but at least he is a different idea.  I cannot imagine him shaking up Springfield enough to fix what is so badly broken, but I also cannot imagine him making things worse than they already are.  Although it’s been said before, it’s certainly worth repeating right now:  in politics, in life, things rarely turn out as good or as bad as what we’ve been promised. 

Perhaps his supporters will be vindicated.  Perhaps he will put an end to the abject cronyism and graft for which our state is so vilified.  Perhaps, through his efforts, the economy will be so fundamentally improved that it becomes the envy of other states as opposed to source material for gallows humor.  Who knows?

On the other hand, perhaps his detractors are right.  Perhaps he will lower the minimum wage to disastrous results.  Perhaps Rauner will cut funding to education, gut pensions, and even make babies cry in their sleep.  Who knows?

Regardless, Bruce Rauner is the new captain.  Let’s hope he’s brought a map.  

Kitty No

Many years ago, before most of us were even born, the nation of Japan attacked the United States.  This did not end well.  Since that conflict, however, relations between the two countries have actually been pretty solid, and much of this cooperation has been due to the relatively fluid cross pollination of our cultures.  Unfortunately, this may soon change.

In case you have not heard by now, Hello Kitty, the adorable little anthropomorphic cartoon character created by the Japanese toy company Sanrio, is not a cat.  If you know what Hello Kitty looks like, this revelation is a bit shocking.  After all, Hello Kitty has whiskers.  She has pointy ears.  Her name has the word “Kitty” in it.  However, according to a recent Los Angeles Times article written by Carolina M. Miranda, Sanrio insists that, “Hello Kitty is… a cartoon character. She is a little girl. She is a friend. But she is not a cat. She's never depicted on all fours. She walks and sits like a two-legged creature. She does have a pet cat of her own, however, and it's called Charmmy Kitty."

On the surface this declaration might seem merely bizarre and repetitive. Unfortunately, this is not an isolated event.  Taken into context, Sanrio’s revelation is merely the latest in a decades-long plot designed to confuse the western world in general and the United States in particular.  The empire of Japan may very well have surrendered on September 2, 1945, but clearly they did not give up.  Their counter cultural attack was almost immediate, and it found its form in that of a giant fire-breathing lizard.

When Godzilla first lurched out of the sea sixty years ago, anyone could immediately tell that he was a villain.  After all, Godzilla is basically a huge radioactive dinosaur.  He smashed buildings and burned stuff with fire.  No one could mistake this monstrosity for anything besides what it was:  a giant insane monster.

Except what happens when one monster that looks like a giant lizard fights another monster that looks, perhaps, like a giant cockroach?  Now who is the villain?  Giant lizards, after all, have four limbs.  Humans have four limbs.  Cockroaches, however, have six.  Confusing, isn’t it?  Who is the bad guy?  Who are we to trust?  The subliminal, mind-scrambling, fire-breathing message?  Beware, world, for nothing is what it seems!  Your worst enemy, in fact, may be you!

The second cultural salvo came in much smaller packaging:  video games.  Granted, the earliest video games were technically created in the U.S., but we all know which country gave them menace.   They started out subtle and rather dull, but within a generation video games were being blamed for everything from teenage violence to childhood obesity.  Once again, though, perhaps the most damning aspect is the message that video games have now embedded into our increasingly mushy minds:  socializing with real humans is a waste of time.  Granted, some video games do allow the so-called “multi-player” option, but let’s face facts.  What are these “multi-players” usually doing? That’s right.  Shooting each other in the multi-face.

For the most part, their message has been clear.  The only thing that matters is how far you can get, all by yourself, in the video game. While Godzilla confused us, video games isolated us.

Voltron and other similarly clad giant robots came next, combining the angry girth of the initial attack with the high-tech sneakiness of the second.  Now, before continuing, I must admit that I loved Voltron when I was a kid.  Voltron was awesome.  Some of you may think you are unfamiliar with Voltron, but surely you are familiar with the basic concept.  Five animal robots would combine to form a giant humanoid robot capable of being controlled by both the guy sitting in the brain and the folks still hanging out in the robot’s extremities.  Weird, yes, but also cool.

I played with these crazy robots for hour and hours, and one might assume that the obvious message behind this toy—that by working together we can cut giant aliens in two with a huge laser sword—is a fairly positive one.  Juxtaposed, however, alongside the video game phenomena, we are left with a curious dilemma.

On one hand we have been led to believe that healthy social interaction is a bad idea.  Real relationships are complicated and often end up literally smelling bad.  On the other hand, however, we have also been taught that the only possible way to save the world is by putting aside our differences and cliché dialogue long enough to form a cohesive team of karate experts.  Once we combine all this confusion with a cultural landscape littered with fast food restaurants and angry talk radio, one might wonder how it is that America is even still functioning at all.

            In the end it seems we are left with more questions than answers.  Has our former enemy-turned- ally transformed itself, pun intended, back into our enemy? In the increasingly homogenized neighborhood we call Earth, has Japan become the little kid across the street we once thought was OK to have our kids hang out with?  Most importantly, should someone point out to this neighbor that their expressionless “little girl” has whiskers and pointed ears?

            None of these questions can be answered, of course, in an unnecessarily wordy column.  Only time will tell.  In the meantime, as we approach the holiday season and our thoughts turn to happy little children opening presents on Christmas morning, let us not spoil their joy by informing them of their friend’s pedigree.  Let them live, if only for a short while longer, in a world where Hello Kitty is a real cat, in the same world where a talking mouse can have a pet dog.