Today is Ash Wednesday, the season opener for Lent. Ill go and get ashes pressed onto my thick head, and maybe Ill think of something decent to give up. Maybe Ill give up focusing on the sports page and half-listening when my kids want some attention. Or being irritated with the dog when Im in a bad mood. Or reacting like a lunatic when someone cuts me off in traffic, even though every now and then I screw up and actually cut someone off myself. I could give up stepping over the pair of dirty jeans that Ive pitched on the floor, instead of throwing them into the hamper. I could give up heaving light and dark clothes into the same load in the dryer, or throwing my wifes all-cotton blouse in there at high heat. I could give up acting hurried when my wifes trying to tell me what happened at work that day. Or being too lazy to pray whenever I get the perfect chance, on a long drive or when Im walking the dog beneath the stars at night. I could give up some of the stupid grudges that Ive held for many years, even though I cant fathom how anyone could hold a grudge against me. I could give up the deep belief Im always right - I must be right! - when I argue with my wife. I could give up letting the recyclables grow into a small mountain in the basement, so that when I finally take them to Wegmans, I end up chasing cans and plastic bottles that the wind blows from the cart. I could give up squirting toothpaste all around the bathroom sink, toothpaste that soon becomes as hard as concrete. I could give up some other male bathroom habits too odious to mention, the ones that make my wife maintain all men - at heart - are pigs. I could give up throwing spent paper coffee cups on the floor of the minivan, until I have to kick them aside to get to the brake. I could give up expecting my kids to think, feel and speak - on all issues - exactly like their dad. I could give up being lazy with the lids on our trash cans, so that the squirrels will no longer wait with bibs and forks upon the fence, eager to dig in for coffee grounds and chicken bones. I could give up looking away when I see panhandlers on the street, that whole burst of impatience for the folks - in their own way - who are closest to Ash Wednesday. I could give up looking away when I see some civic problem, a strangers trash can blown out in the street, the litter in a public park that I want someone else to clean. I could give up postponing the kind of medical checkup every man should get, the kind that can make all the difference in a life, the kind where the doctor makes small talk as he puts on plastic gloves. I could give up ignoring little repair jobs in the house, the cracked plaster or broken light that would not be hard to fix, except the Bills are on TV or the book is almost done and I just know I will do that job tomorrow. ... Which I dont. I could give up retreating into zombie time when my children are at my side, time when my bodys there but my mind is at the office. I could give up zoning out on the couch with the kids, focus lost on some mind-numbing cartoon, instead of getting on the floor to build monuments out of Lincoln Logs. I could give up all the time when I am in the kitchen and the TV becomes my baby sitter, when the only emotional company for my preschooler is Splinter, a mutant rat, and four Ninja turtles. I could give up sitting on my butt on sunny days. I could give up eating Fudgsicles when I could be running. I could give up forgetting what happened to my parents, the way they died too young because they beat up their own bodies, which means they never got the chance to hold my children. I could give up lecturing my kids instead of living what I preach. I could give up acting rushed when old friends, after many years, call me on the phone. I could give up reading schlocky magazines at bedtime when I could read some great books. I could give up griping about the personal quirks of so many other people, when my best friends know my annoying quirks are what hold me together. I could give up dwelling on the future or the past, when the instant at hand is the only time that matters, when my kids are at a moment I will never see again. Today I will stand in line to get my ashes, presented with this choice of so many things to dump, and I will leave the church and make a grand decision: This year, I think, Ill give up chicken wings. Sean Kirst is a columnist with The Post-Standard
Posted on: Wed, 05 Mar 2014 14:19:42 +0000
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