A Sharp Dressed Man

I'm putting together some blogs for my son about becoming an adult. So if some of my posts seem a bit "master of the obvious" just bear with me. He's graduating this year and I want him to have stories that he can read, or not, about life and lessons learned. This one is about shoes. 

Shoes. Just writing the word makes me want to go shopping. At the Marshall's shoe superstore of course, because I've got a kid leaving for college in a year. Shoes are my Achilles heel.  Even when I've sworn off shopping, shoes will lure me back. My other weakness is travel. For example, this summer I went to France with my friend Sylvie completely on a whim, partially financed by credit card debt, and I'm so glad I did. 

When I was a kid, our family traveled quite a bit. My dad worked for IBM and was very successful, always winning trips to beautiful places like Hawaii. And then we moved to various places too, as all IBM'ers did back in the day. The only trip I recall taking outside the US as a kid was crossing the Rio Grande into Mexico via rowboat. Then small donkeys took us to a tiny border town. I'm pretty sure we made that crossing illegally, but it was back in the 70's when there wasn't a wall.

In college, I spent my junior year in Paris. Lucky girl. I know that now. I probably knew it then, but I definitely know it know. Having a home base in Europe gave me the opportunity to train it to lots of other destinations and I traveled as often as I could. When I got out of school, I continued to travel frequently. My mom planned this wild trip to Egypt and India and it was on that trip that I learned the lesson about shoes. 

I also learned about dysentery. But here's what I learned about shoes. 

We were riding on a barge down the Nile for several days with a group of fellow travelers from England, New Zealand and Canada. One of the women traveling was a headhunter in London. She had a very scary demeanor, even with the Egyptians, that said don't mess with me. And she had one of those classic English hairstyles like the Queen. I have no idea how she kept it so rigid under the conditions we were living in on that boat.

We were talking one night about her job and the interviewing process. She told me she makes an immediate decision based on the job candidate's shoes. If their shoes are scuffed or not cared for, they're out. That's it. Not because they don't have the credentials or the education. She makes a snap decision based on their shoes. 

I thought wow that's harsh. Then she explained that if the job candidate doesn't take care of their shoes that says something about them. Maybe it says this interview isn't important to me or I'm disorganized, I'm sloppy etc... She explained that the shoes don't have to be new or expensive, they just need to look sharp. Today, I have pairs of shoes I've had for years and I make sure when I'm headed out to a meeting or a party, those shoes are polished and look good. Sometimes I take a black sharpie to them to fill in scuffs.

My advice for you Will is to buy the best shoes you can afford and then keep them looking sharp. You never know who's watching.

 

Not Yet Men

Last night Will was coming home from the gym and ran into some kids he knows from baseball. One of them has a dog that apparently gets out of the house quite a bit. They live near a busy intersection.

The dog followed Will across the street and was hit and killed. The driver didn't stop. Will carried the dog home to the boy's house who was also a witness and obviously distraught. I don't know what to say to my son about this. He was washing blood off his shoes and I was washing blood out of his clothes. What do you say about that?

N.B. I was harassing Will about AP English homework last night and he said something about what I must think of him -- that he's a slacker. And I said I don't think of you like that. I think you're heroic. What I think I meant was he has great character. He may not have great grades, but he has great character. This is what I think about Will. 

The Makings of Mr. Right

Too long off the blog. Not for lack of content. Writing for work and writing my blog for fun...can at times be mutually exclusive. I'll keep this brief since I'm getting back on the horse after weeks. This thing happened with my son and I just thought it was sweet.

Will was away most of the summer so I'd left his room alone. I didn't worry about peach pits growing fuzz in his garbage can, or dirty socks left under the bed. It was nice and quiet and lonely as hell.

When he came back home, I returned to my old habits of daily visits to his room. Will is an A #1 pack rat. This trait gets in his way at school when he can't find his book in the piles. Or he does his homework but forgets it under the papers on his desk. Will collects random scraps of paper, guitar picks, chapsticks, pencils in various states of sharpness, receipts, beef jerky pouches, etc. He dumps everything out of his pockets on to his desk and then doesn't give it much thought. Or so it seems to me.

I was shuffling through a stack of papers on Will's desk to see if there was anything that could be tossed. Then I found it. It was a 3 x 5 note card lying face down . On it was a list of 5 items for dating. 

Will has many girl friends that he sees frequently to hang with on weekends or go to parties. My favorite party so far was the one for his friend from Nepal. Her father is extremely strict. For her 15th birthday she was allowed to invite one boy in a sea of girls. I dropped Will off and went inside to meet the parents. Nice parents. But it's strange having your son be the only boy. I gave him lots of completely obvious tips like use your manners, be polite, no swearing. He's since gone on to be one of the only boys invited to a New Year's Eve party, bowling parties and movie nights.

Will has had some dates with girls from school.  The first girl was a beauty. She looked like Mila Kunis. But she made her sister cry in front of Will so he decided she was kind of mean. A few more dates with another girl. They decided they were better suited as friends. It's all been very civil so far. While he's still where he is, I am delighted to know that what's been on his mind is a simple list of 5 dating rules.

The first? Be friends with her.

The last? Take her somewhere that costs $30.

I think he's definitely on the right track. I'm not exactly sure where he got the $30 figure but it sounds fair to me.

Reading Between the Lines: Conversation with My 14 Year Old

My conversation with my son yesterday morning went something like this:

Him: Can I go to Kareem's birthday party tomorrow?

Me: Sure. What time?

Him: 12 am.

Me: 12 am? At night? Or do you mean pm in the afternoon?

Him: I think the one in the day time.

Me: Okay. But we need to get him a gift.

Him: (Pause)

Him: Okay because we're going to shoot guns.

Me: What?

Him: For the party, they're taking us to shoot guns.

Me: What?

Him: (looking exasperated) What?

Me: No. No way you're going to shoot guns with Kareem. I don't even know his parents.

Me: (I'm lying. I did meet his mom once and briefly spoke with his dad when he came to pick up Kareem. Mom is Lithuanian I think and his father is Egyptian)

Him: Fine.

Me: You can ask your dad but my answer is no.

Him: (walks off)

Me (now upstairs talking to my husband): Did you hear that conversation?

Other Him: No. What?

Me: He wanted to go to a birthday party for Kareem where they are going to shoot guns.

Other Him: Who's Kareem?

Me: You know Kareem. He came over here one time with Knife Boy. (Knife Boy. That's another interesting story. Gave my son a knife as a birthday gift.)

Other Him: I don't remember Kareem.

Me: Yes you do. You thought he was a girl. (Kareem is an extremely handsome kid with long, dark hair)

Other Him: Oh him. You know I think I actually called him a girl. I can't remember.

Me: Perfect.

Sometimes I think I'm going crazy. Literally. I later explained to Will that I can appreciate that he wants to go, but there's no way I'm letting my only child go shoot a gun with somebody I barely know. And yet here I am up at 5:49 am still thinking about it.

How to Say Goodbye to Benjamin

This is the one I can't get out of my head. This is the smile I can't forget. I know I've been a bit morose lately so I promise my next blog will be a hilarious take on my marriage or a foray into sagging middle-aged skin.

But this one I've been thinking about and had to write.

Benjamin is Beniyam Kefele. He is 14 years-old and in the 11th grade. His favorite subject is English and his best friend is Ephrem Kibru.

Benjamin is one of over 130 boys who live at Kolfe Orphanage in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. He has a kind face. Little dimples appear when he smiles. He is thin like all the other boys but he is tall.

We played a game one day. The boys were sitting on the steps to the rec room and I suddenly realized one of them looks exactly like Tiger Woods. Then they all wanted to know who they looked like. Ephrem you look like Jimmy Stewart. Of course they're too young to know Jimmy Stewart. The older boy, he looks like Brad Pitt with his new goatee. Then they asked about Benjamin.

I was stumped. I said I had to think about it.

It occurred to me later that night that he looked like Usher. So I told him the next day.

"Oh yes. I like Usher," he said.

We'd greeted each other in the standard Ethiopian way. It's sort of how men greet each other in the US, by clasping hands, pulling each other close, and bumping chests. Only I kiss the boys on the cheek too. I don't think I'm supposed to do this but I do.

Benjamin greeted me and then we went to work again. The day before we'd bonded over paint. We were painting and we kept trying to clean up but we'd get our hands dirty again. It became a running joke.

More painting that day. New black latex paint that was very difficult to clean. He always smiles this boy even with black paint all over him.

When we finished painting we moved on to the next project, photographing the boys for the non-profit's website. He left briefly and returned with a huge American flag draped around his shoulders. More smiling. He loves this flag.

In a storage room we were photographing boys, one by one. The idea is to create a visual record of them, their ages and their "future jobs". Their dreams, their ticket out, what they want to be some day. Never mind that we learned later the Ethiopian government will choose what they study, if they are lucky enough to study. Today it was about their dream.

Later I was invited to see Benjamin's photo album. He showed me photos of the parents he remembered, dead now. Photos of him with his twin brother China. Photos of him with his brothers at the orphanage--photos carefully arranged in an album.

As I sat there, maybe 8 other boys sat with me on a tiny bunk bed mattress. When I first came to the orphanage, it made me uncomfortable how close they came to me. They wanted to see my iPhone or they wanted to read the bios I was writing about them. They would pin me in a corner.

If you know anything about Finnish people or Scottish people, my other clan, you know we're not a touchy feely lot. They would sit so close to me I felt their skin, their bones. I felt one of the boys flicking my hair behind me. Then Gitane, another boy, started twisting my hair like my son Will used to do when he was a baby.

This was a very special moment for me. First, I conquered my fear of being so close to them. Mainly I felt accepted and loved. Like one of them.

I did some interviews with the boys, compelled to pull back into observer mode. As I sat scross from them asking how the hell they ended up here, I knew I didn't or couldn't understand anything about what had happened. This isn't reality TV. They aren't screaming or yelling or throwing things. They sat there quietly describing waking up to a dead mother and a neighbor taking them to an orphanage.

When I had to go, Benjamin walked me to the car. He started to cry but he was crying in that sad way big boys do because they can't cry out loud anymore.

I waved goodbye and held it together until we left. Then I started crying thinking about Benjamin and the others. How can I say goodbye to him, to all of them?

I don't know.