Troy Maynard's Blog

As I begin the process of transitioning off my biggest account at work, the still professional but definitely sympathetic tone of the Project Managers is definitely the worst part. The sting is primarily because they aren’t wrong. I am struggling lately and we all know it.

Still burns my ass, tho.

Also, I am reminded that I work hardest/best when I’m pissed off that someone thinks I can’t do something.

I was in line for a Lead role on a huge, important account. And, now… I’m not. The diabetes is the primary factor. It’s been a rough couple of months (putting it mildly) and I’m still not 100%. I’m putting my health first, as I should, and my entire friend base and professional support network are all 100% in agreement. So, I’m stepping back. Yay me! Self care is important.

[stepping back – yay me]

[image error]

It’s absolutely the right thing to do, part of a plan to find other projects and roles where I’ll thrive. And I’m not fired, not disgraced, not punished. Just off that particular account and out of that role.

The other team members are being 100% professional and supportive. They are good at their jobs. But it’s there. They know that I’m stepping down and that I’m struggling. So there is just the tiniest hint of sympathy in their choice of words, the tone of voice. It’s subtle, and I’m definitely over-sensitive to it (and probably imagining at least part of it.)

Still burns my ass, tho.

Ugh. Why all this anger?

[image error]

Full disclosure: I literally suggested this move myself. This is not something that was forced on me. I initiated and engineered it. So it’s interesting from a psychological standpoint that I’m having a strong emotional, angry reaction to it. What is it inside me that must fight against being told I can’t do something, even when it’s ME that is saying it?

[image error]

Ah, the doubts were there. My gut knew it all along, if maybe not exactly why. Now, much time and soul searching later, I see how I was chasing the prestige, the high profile, but also going with the flow because it’s expected of someone in my position. But in reality the Lead role is absolutely, positively not in my wheelhouse nor a situation in which I would thrive.

This is a lesson I should have learned when I was 20. Background… I went to Rose-Hulman Institute of Technology right out of high school because it was (trumpets blare, angels sing) The Rose-Hulman.

[angels sing]

[image error]

I went to Rose almost entirely because that’s what everyone expected of me. The school is in my hometown and sits, pristine and elusive, on the eastern edge of town, a tiny castle of nerdy might, a Temple to the gods of Future Earning Power.

I didn’t have much choice. I have an uncle that, many years before me, was able to escape Satan’s Evil Clutches, AKA poverty, by getting his Rose-Hulman degree. So my family had pretty much resigned me to it since the moment I aced my first math test. Hell, I was voted Most Likely to Become an Engineer by my high school class. It’s a prestigious, exclusive, and powerful school and not everyone can go there even if they want to… so if you can, you should, right?

So, I went.

I fucking hated it.

[image error]

Other than the many, amazing life-long friends I made, I hated virtually every aspect of attending that school. And it was EXPENSIVE. Sure, my grades were fine, but I was not. Yet there is such a strong stigma against being a “drop out” that I stayed well beyond my expiration date. There it is again, that irrational desire to prove myself to the haters.

Like a good little punching bag, I dutifully agonized for months and months over the shame of it, the soul-shattering failure of dropping out of THAT GOOD COLLEGE, the mind-numbing fear of disappointing my family, friends, and well-wishers.

A word of warning to others who may tread this path: Yes, college is fun but this type of emotional purgatory, especially when paired with epic binge drinking, is NOT a blueprint for the healthy psychological growth of a young person just coming into their prime. The internal agony pushed me into what was the first of many deep depressive episodes that would then continue to occur fairly regularly across my lifetime. I was miserable in every way possible. I barely left my bed for a couple weeks. Inside my head, I crumpled, I wailed, I curled up and died, over and over.

[image error]

And yet, entombed in my blankets, shrouded in grief and a haze of cheap grain alcohol… something had to give.

Finally, after my Sophomore year at Rose, I tucked my tail between my booze-soaked, student-loan-burdened legs and transferred to Indiana State University, the small, much less prestigious liberal arts college also in my hometown. A failure, a mockery, a mere shadow of the man I once was, I resigned myself to at least try to enjoy ISU a little, and promptly signed up for as many Literature and Philosophy classes as they would allow.

Guess what?

I loved it.

LOVED. IT.

What the hell was all that anguish about? Why had I beat myself up so badly? What had I been trying to prove, and to whom?

Do not burden yourself too much with the work of meeting someone else’s plan for you. If they aren’t paying your bills, if they aren’t doing the hard work of living your life, then they have no right telling you what you should do. How do they even know what is best for you? SPOILERS: They don’t.

[image error]

Yet here I sit at almost age 50, beating myself up for basically making the same mistake again. I let external pressures guide me somewhere I shouldn’t have been, and instead of listening to my gut and making a simple adjustment early in the process, I doubled down on my bad decisions and made more, bigger, badder decisions. Yah! That’ll show ’em.

To those of young in years or at heart, please be careful what patterns you create for yourself. You have a long, long time to follow the trajectory that you create at age 20. It sounds ironic, but there is very real, very serious danger in putting so much energy into just going along with the flow of other’s expectations.

Also, just because something is the right thing to do, it can still hurt really deeply.

Make good choices. Love each other. Forgive yourself.

Peace and Love — VVV

Life is so hectic and dark lately. I’ve got so much going on, some of it good and some of it bad. The world feels like it’s falling apart yet we all just keep doing our thing. That’s all you can do, right? Maybe. I don’t know. Somehow 2020 feels different.

Me? Big things in motion. Work is difficult and rewarding (as always), I’m still separated and divorcing the Wonderful Wife (she’s still wonderful, still co-parenting together, she’s just no longer my wife), and the kids are going batty in captivity… er, I mean… in quarantine. Oh, hey, and my body suddenly doesn’t process sugar correctly which is causing my brain and my entire autoimmune system to freak out and possibly kill me from the inside. No biggie.

I suppose I’m lucky, really. I made it almost 50 years before my body decided to try to kill me. That’s a good run.

This is by far the biggest medical issue I’ve ever had. Hell, I’ve never even broken a bone (knock on wood,) and I’ve never spent the night in a hospital (knock on wood.) HOLY CRAP why did I just jinx myself by putting that in writing? [knocks on all the wood]

[image error]Knock on wood. No, this isn’t wood, but it’s not my hand either.

I’ve been “working on” eating better and getting healthy for a long time. For 20 years I’ve been trying to eat more veggies, to cut back on sugary crap. I’ve been slowly making changes with some good success, albeit in small ways. I’m proud of how much I’ve overcome my total lack of real food knowledge and role models, total lack of support. I’ve had lots of well wishers and encouragement, but everyone I know struggles with their weight. So, let me just say that I had already done a lot to change how I eat before this Diabetes diagnosis—though clearly not enough.

Mine is the same old story. My weight has been an issue since I was about 9 years old. I’ve always loved food: eating it, cooking it, baking it, eating it, talking about it, photographing it, and eating more of it. Also, I like eating it.

To top it off, I’m not much on exercise for the sake of exercise. Or for any sake, really. I used to do bodybuilding, but not really regularly enough to get much benefit. I like yoga but never seem to get around to it. In fact, I’ve never found any exercise routine that really works for me. I always get bored and discouraged. Plus, I’ll say it… I’m not naturally athletic. I’m not even a little athletic. I’m not graceful or tenacious or driven. (translation: I’m a lazy, out of shape slob.)

[image error]I am Fat Thor. I could do worse.

Don’t worry, I’m not beating myself up too much on any of this. Sure, I look back and wish I had taken it all more seriously, and sooner. That’s how hindsight works. But you have to remember it’s hard for anyone to get super serious about something so vague, even from a doctor. “Hey, do all this stuff and you *might* see results in 20 years.” Who can get excited about that? But now today, hoo-boy… it’s crystal clear that everything I eat or do is pushing me toward either health or ruin. Motivation is not so much a problem now.

The biggest eye opener of all the diabetes stuff is not the finger pricks, or counting carbs, or even the new pills. The part that has shocked me the most is how many people already caught the ‘Beetus and how incredibly chill they are about it. I’m losing my shit with every meal, every new ache and pain. But all the diabetes old-timers are like, “Meh. I just have to watch what I eat a little.” And shocking to me is that most people keep eating a lot of the same foods… even though it makes them miserable.

This has weighed on me a lot the past couple of weeks. Am I doing this wrong? Am I the only one who has to completely change how I eat and live? Why has this turned my life upside down? When will this end?

Of course, I’m not doing anything wrong. My only fault is that I’m very new to this and I’m not framing the conversation correctly in my own head. Yes I’m trying to re-create myself, to change my entire relationship with food, virtually overnight. I want to kick this thing, and fast.

Kick this thing?

Sorry, dude. That’s not how this works.

This is Diabetes, not some head cold or the transient flu. We’re tangling with Ol ‘Beetus himself. This isn’t going away overnight with some cough syrup. It won’t “clear up” in a week, or even a month. This is my life now. And the thing about being alive is… no matter how ugly it gets, you have to just get out there and LIVE YOUR LIFE.

Life goes on, my friends, even if a tiny endocrine gland in your gut is screaming “Help! I’ve fallen and can’t get up!”

[image error]My Pancreas, a re-enactment. (no pancreases were injured in the creation of this blog post)

So I live and I learn. Each day brings new challenges and new rewards. It’s maybe not much of a life, but it’s all I’ve got.

In the end, I’m just doing the best I can to soften the impact of a bad situation. And that’s all anyone can ask of me.

Peace and Love, my friends. Peace and Love.

— VVV

OK. So… last night I had a moment of weakness. Around 11pm I was driving home after some late errands (work ran way late) and I was hungry. I was 20 minutes from home and feeling pretty peckish. As I rounded a corner, my eyes lit up with a new, bright white light. The signs urged me forward, the smooth lines of the drive thru beckoned to me. Once I saw that sexy bell, all lit up and inviting, I knew I had to try it again.

Yah.

I got Taco Bell.

I’m that idiot. Bad Viking.

I gotta say, though, it was fun and easy and tasty, just like I remembered. The menu board glowed with joy and promise, the colorful pictures looked so delicious. So worth it, right? I mean, look at me! Eating Taco Bell. I’m not a prisoner to some low carb jail sentence called Diabetes! I can eat cool fast food and get away with it. An occasional cheat is healthy, right? This is cool. This is OK.

I pulled over and ripped into a taco supreme. Yay! This is fun! Then another taco, and another.

And then, it hit me.

Yuck.

Once I settled into my indulgence, once the pre-conditioned joy of the splurge wore off, I could suddenly taste just how plain and tasteless it really was. The crunchy taco shells were… chewy. How does it get chewy? The taco “meat” was mealy and bland. Wait, do I actually love this stuff? Or do I love the *idea* of fast, fresh tacos? Because this wasn’t it.

I gave the 2nd half of it to the dogs. They loved it. But, you know, they eat poop, so not exactly the connoisseurs I need to emulate.

Whew. OK, that was a mistake but I’ve learned my lesson. By not eating all of it, I’ve avoided causing a real issue. Good job, buddy. A moment of weakness, yes, but crisis averted. All done. Back on track. Back to normal.

Then it hit my stomach.

Ouch.

I’ll just say that my system is clearly not used to fast food. Which is a good thing, but not a lovely evening.

OK. OK. Lesson learned. You got me. Thanks for the wisdom. Never again.

But wait… there’s more.

I woke up to this today. My glucose EXPLODED this morning after I woke up, before I even ate food.

[image error]

This was NOT caused by my late breakfast of re-heated beef & broccoli.

I’ve been waking up to my glucose hovering around 120, starting to get even lower. Then when I eat breakfast it typically goes up to 140-ish, maybe 150.

Today I woke up to my glucose at 140, and it screamed up to 180 without even eating. WHAT. THE. HELL. That’s 30-40 points higher than normal and that’s BEFORE EATING.

And I’m feeling it. As I sit here typing, my head is spinning. I’m definitely light headed.

First, how the hell was I even functioning back two months ago when my glucose was 250-ish? Holy hell.

Second, never again with Taco Bell. This is horrible. I feel absolutely lousy. Totally not worth it. Never, never, never again.

Hopefully you all can learn from my poor choices. Maybe not? What food can you just not do?

— VVV

[image error]I made this green curry. It was easy and it looks like something you’d buy in a restaurant.

I’m sharing my thoughts today on healthy eating for a lifetime and making good long-term choices. You know, like a Viking, taking control of my life and doing what I want. In this case, I want to be around for my grand kids.

I’m not actually focusing on losing weight right now. Yes, I am losing weight, which is wonderful and I’m all about it, but that’s not my primary goal. It’s just a natural and delightful side effect. I’m much more focused on controlling my newly acquired Diabetes.

I’m not doing Keto, just something that borrows liberally from those concepts.

Full disclosure, I’m not a fan of causing my body to go into Ketosis, where it literally starts burning body fat because it’s in some form of distress. I’m not a doctor by any means, and I’m not shaming anyone who uses Keto to get healthy. If it works for you as a tool to create a healthy lifestyle, then by all means go for it. I’m just saying, to me, it feels too unnatural to stress my body that way. Plus, I’m lazy and want to make this a new, natural, and comfortable lifestyle, so the eternal tracking of carbs and strictness of staying in Ketosis is just not for me.

With that said, I have found from much experience that the fewer carbs I take in—especially fast and processed carbs like pasta, white rice, white bread, potatoes, any form of sugar—the less hungry I am over all. Now that I’m visually tracking my blood sugar levels and literally see how carbs affect my glucose, it’s really super obvious. So I’m avoiding 100% of sugar and going super, super light on carbs with maybe a single piece per day of a nice complex whole wheat bread, etc. This just naturally makes me get hungry less and snack less.

So I’m using the phrase “Keto-ish” because the Keto community has done an amazing job of creating wonderful recipes that don’t include sugar and virtually no carbs. So I’m leaning heavily on those concepts and recipe sites.

So then what am I eating? A lot of amazing food, actually.

I’m eating whatever meat I want, cooked just about any way I want. So I’ve got that going for me, which is nice.

[image error]Steak is low carb! Watch your portion sizes. Viking portion pictured above.

I’m eating cheese, but in controlled amounts because I’m lactose intolerant. Otherwise, cheese is great. I love cottage cheese as a super simple, fast side dish. Goes great with meat! And a hunk of Colby cheese is a great snack at my desk.

I’m eating all the veggies. All. The. Veggies. Roasted, toasted, pan fried, stir-fried, steamed, grilled, sliced, diced, riced… all the ways. And they are delicious. If you don’t have the cooking chops to create yummy vegetable dishes, I highly recommend you start educating yourself on some of the simple, basic, easy techniques for cooking some tasty veg. Hint: Whatever it is, cut it into bite size pieces, toss in olive oil, lightly salt and pepper, then roast in the over at 400 for 20 minutes, turning occasionally. Yes, it works for everything, and yes it’s that easy. You can branch out later into steaming and sauteing and all the fancier stuff. It’s all pretty easy. You can totally do it.

[image error]Steak and bacon, because bacon, with cottage cheese and pan-fried Zucchini and Squash that I grew myself.

I’m also eating fruit, but sparingly. It has a lot of natural sugar. It also has vitamins, minerals, and fiber… but still lots of sugar. So I’m keeping it light. Maybe a banana every other day. I splurged with fresh strawberries when the grocery store had them 1/2 off.

If this sounds restrictive, it shouldn’t. Watch your portion sizes and you can eat virtually whatever you want. I’m eating steak and burgers to the point I’m almost tired of beef (just kidding, that won’t happen.) I eat grilled chicken and roasted chicken and even fried chicken with not much breading. I’m eating pork chops and sausages and bacon and ham sandwiches. I’m making lots of soups, and curries, and chili (light on the beans). I’m swimming in eggs any and all the ways. I’ve even made tuna salad, chicken salad, and salad-salad. Yes, salad. Do not underestimate the grandeur of a big bowl of baby spinach greens covered with all your favorite veggies, grilled meats, nuts, bacon crumbles, olives, plus a good shake or five of your favorite salad dressing.

[image error]One of many amazing Salads I’ve been eating.

Do I miss dessert? Sure. But I also recognize that most of my dessert enjoyment was an addiction to sugar. I’ve fought, painfully, for three months to break my 50-year sugar addiction, so I’m not going back there. Outside the sugar cravings, I was using sweets for emotional eating, to get that feeling of control when the world was too difficult. Upset about something? Well, here, eat some ice cream. You can’t fix your problems, but you’re so good at eating ice cream! Look at you go!

So desserts were part of the problem, a crutch, and bad choices, splurging despite knowing I’ll pay for it later. That’s just simply not healthy or sustainable. That’s not who I am, not who I want to be. And now, three months in, and I’m getting more comfortable with this new lifestyle, I’m looking into sugar-free low carb dessert options. I’m finding artificial sweeteners that are acceptable. FYI — Erythritol is a great table sugar substitute with no blood sugar reaction but some… ummm… intestinal effects, and liquid Sucralose is good for mixing in drinks. But none of them are great, so I’m limiting it all pretty tightly. Even when I eventually do desserts again, it will be very small portions and sparingly.

Remember, this is a punishment, it’s not torture. If you’re feeling stifled, that’s when you need to get creative. I eat Chinese take-out occasionally, especially when I’m feeling a little restricted. I just don’t eat the rice or noodles, and I’m careful to limit the breaded stuff. Won-tons and General Tso’s chicken are right out, but there are so many other options. More importantly, I’ve taught myself (thank you YouTube) to make a pretty decent stir-fry at home. Just throw in protein and veggies and some aromatics, toss in a sauce, and YUMMY.

[image error]Beef and Broccoli I made in my kitchen. So delicious, so fast, so easy.

Really pinched for time? Most fast food restaurants will make you a cheeseburger as a lettuce wrap. Wendy’s in particular is tasty and they will let you sub in a small chili instead of french fries. Add a large unsweetened iced tea and you’ve got a very fast, pretty tasty, and fairly low carb lunch on the go. Fast food is not the goal, but remember I’m building a lifestyle that needs to be sustainable while traveling, etc.

So, it’s not perfect. I’m growing and changing and learning as I go. That’s how this works. I’m learning and trying to do better.

What are your thoughts? I’d LOVE to hear your experiences and what you’ve learned in your efforts to be healthy.

Good luck! — VVV

[image error]Photo by Renee Fisher on Unsplash

So, I’m losing weight.

You can see it in my face now, even under the giant Viking beard. My belly is no longer rotund, just pleasantly jolly. My waist is much smaller. When my belt wasn’t holding up my shorts a couple months ago, I put an extra hole in it to cinch it up tighter. A couple weeks later I put in another one. Then I bought a belt three sizes smaller. That new belt was so small that I could only buckle it in the very first hole.

Today, three weeks later, I’m now buckling the second hole.

Losing weight is very affirming. Everyone approves. It’s one of the crowning gems of Adult Success, along with Money and Beautiful Smart Children. It’s something you know is hard, but you also know you can do it. But, hey, what’s the hurry? I can’t speak for your relationship with your body, but I just never got around to being healthy. I never had time to do the planning, never felt the rush to clean up my eating habits.

Then Diabetes clarified my timetable for me.

So much is different now. I’m feeling different, better, every day. I feel good, now that I’ve survived the nasty, months-long brain-clouding diabetes symptoms, while simultaneously fighting through, cold turkey, an almost 50 year sugar addiction. And I’m not exaggerating “addiction” for effect. It was very much full-on withdrawal, along with the night sweats, blurred vision, ongoing confusion, no mental focus, no energy, intestinal distress… dark days, my friends.

I don’t want to get too dramatic, so I’ll just say, as cliche as it sounds, I would not wish my last three months on my worst enemy. Talk to your children about sugar. It’s basically crack cocaine but with a better PR team.

But here I am! Looking better, feeling better, moving better, with my head screwed on straight (mostly).

Most obvious is that I now eat differently. My relationship with food has changed unalterably, and there’s no going back. I eat so little sugar now that fresh fruit literally tastes like candy. Any amount of simple carbs (white rice, pasta, potatoes, etc.) makes me feel bloated and groggy. Speaking of sleep, I’m sleeping much better, thank you very much

With some exceptions, I’m eating 3-4 small meals a day. And by small, I mean about half of what I used to eat. It’s not an exact science, but I’m ingesting roughly 50% as much food.

The funny thing is, a small sandwich, a pickle, and a handful of pork rinds and I am STUFFED. I get a little uncomfortable and I couldn’t eat another bite, not even a wafer thin mint.

All my life I’ve been totally accustomed to eating really large meals. Because… I dunno… I’m a big guy, that’s how I learned to eat, because food is delicious, just a bad habit, the sin of gluttony, maybe low moral fiber…

Does it really matter why?

Well, yeah, it probably does.

I think my biggest personal fault is my sense of dread at missing out on something, and food plays very much into that. I want to know what other people are eating, how it’s prepared, how much it cost, how the different flavors and textures meld together to create something new and different. I love buffets precisely because I want to taste it all. I pour a lot of mental energy into worrying about something out there even more delicious and fun that I just haven’t tried yet. I’m terrified, irrationally, to miss out on any of it.

Lately I have been living in the moment, day-to-day with my struggles, but I still have a fear that I’ll backslide into pigging out again. It’s been my pattern for my whole life. And it’s not hard to predict that some tragedy or problem will push me into eating my feelings again someday. Which is bad enough when overeating just means overeating, but now it very literally means going blind or losing a foot to diabetes.

And let me clarify—when I mention I had “blurred vision,” that is not a metaphor. The diabetes caused me, for almost two months, to have blurred vision so bad I couldn’t read anything on my phone, and I had to turn my work monitor up to giant text. I won’t sugar coat it… Diabetes is not fucking around.

“I won’t sugar coat it.” LOL. See what I did there?

But, by the grace of Odin, I’m doing well now, and I’m trying to enjoy it, day to day. Weight loss truly is its own reward.

Most importantly, it’s pretty clear I was, in fact, missing out on something all those years. I’ve been missing out on myself, buried under 50-100 lbs of mediocre food, sugar highs, and bad choices.

So, here I am. Finally me. Mostly. OK, I’ll probably keep changing. But this is all me, right now.

So be nice… I’m new here.

— VVV

Today would have been my Mom’s 74th birthday. Man, she loved her birthdays. I think maybe I should drive her grand kids over to Terre Haute and eat at some crappy chain restaurant in her honor.


 


Maybe not.


 


I can’t decide if losing your mom gets easier with time or not.


 


One benefit of time passing is that I don’t forget it as often. I can’t tell you how many times those first few months I would hear something and think, “I should call Mom and tell her… oh, right. She’s dead. I’ll never call and talk to her again. Gosh, I sure do love spontaneously crying in the canned vegetable aisle at the supermarket.”


 


Brains are cruel little bastards. The scientist in me knows those blips are just part of me processing the loss. She’s on my mind, I miss her, but I’m also trying to wall off the pain. So part of my brain would remember what the rest of my brain was trying to forget.


 


At least I’m not torturing myself like that. Well, not as often.


 


I know people like to say Time Heals All Wounds, but, well… not so much. Sure, the heat and fire of the emotions have tapered off. But now the pain is just deeper, more calm. It’s not an enemy now as much as a grouchy friend that’s here to stay, so no use fighting about it.


 


The worst of all of this is, the more I accept that she’s gone forever, the clearer I see my own grave.


 


Mortality is a bitch, my friends. No one gets out of this alive.


 


I’ve said a few times over my life that it would be better to not think so much, to not harness myself with the weight of the world as much as I do. Ignorance is bliss, right? These days I think I’d really enjoy a moment or two to feel that naive immortality I felt when I was 18 and invincible.


 


I read in a book this morning (The Moon is a Harsh Mistress) that the definition of an adult is someone who has accepted their own mortality. I don’t know about that as a definition. I just know that these days it feels like I know as many dead people as living people, and the ratio keeps getting worse.


 


Sigh.


 


My friends, please tell your people you love them, often and with feeling. Always believe in yourself, especially when you have no idea what you’re doing. Go out there and attack life like you mean it. Be kind to each other.


 


Do me a favor today, would ya? Call your mom. Because you can. Or, better yet, give her a hug, then give her another one for me.


 


Thanks.


 


Troy


 


Sep 10, 2018


 

I walk through the mall, hair pulled back and still frizzy from rolling out of bed in a rush. Yesterday’s cargo shorts and geeky t-shirt were retrieved and thrown back on, a little rumpled but presentable enough. My beard shows bends and kinks from being hastily pulled out of its braid as I rushed out the front door. I was running late to pick up the girl from basketball practice, no time for fashion.

Now at the mall after practice, she walks ten paces behind me, staring at her feet, tiny arms folded angrily against her chest, too angry to even look up. She marches with a furious slouch, still wearing the basketball warmup shirt from her practice.

A nice lady tries to engage her with small talk and a high, lilting tone. “Did you just come from playing basketball, dear?” she asks.

My daughter looks up slowly, meeting the little old lady’s gaze. The girl stares, blankly, silent.

“Do you like basketball? I bet you’re good at it. You look very strong and fast.”

Staring. Silence.

“Maybe you don’t like the rain today? I think it will clear up and be nice later. Won’t you like that?”

Staring. Silence.

I steer the girl away and continue walking. “She’s having a rough day and isn’t in the mood to talk,” I say over my shoulder.

As we scoot away, my daughter still walking several paces behind me, the lady looks confused and a little ruffled. She’s probably shocked that I didn’t force my daughter to respond. I wanted to tell the woman that her intentions were surely honorable, but my daughter does not owe her any form of interaction. We don’t force our kids to hug or kiss or even talk. We explain why they should, and how they come across to people if they don’t, and what fun interactions they are missing out on — but we don’t force them.

Finally, we arrive at the promised land, the plastic neon culinary hell that is the Mall Food Court. The girl perks up, excitedly pointing at the pizza stand.

“What do you want,” I say. “I’ll let you choose anything you want.”

“I want cheese pizza. No — I want spaghetti. Can I have both? You said ANYTHING.”

“Sure, kiddo. Both.”

“And Sprite.”

“Yes, and Sprite.”

It almost hurt her to speak to me even to order food. At least she’s talking, but she’s still very mad at me. She’s furious. Her rage is radiating like a forgotten hot plate, her indignity blaring like a college dorm stereo.

Why is she mad, you ask? Because I bought her two pairs of basketball shoes.

But they weren’t the right pairs. I bought the two cheapest pairs they had, each on sale for half price. I offered to buy two pairs if they were on sale, or one pair at full price. Have you priced kid’s athletic shoes lately? She loved the idea of getting two pairs, but this full price pair had that special shade of pink, and this other one has… And then she was lost, totally overwhelmed with choices.

For 45 minutes we walked the aisles and talked prices and how shoes are supposed to fit and today’s shoe budget. She wanted all the shoes, and then none. She wanted socks. She wanted boy’s high tops, then running shoes, then only basketball shoes in hot pink would do, then only shoes with pink and some purple. Then she declared the store unworthy, and wanted to go home.

So I bought the cheap pairs. But not without protest. The Founding Fathers would be quite proud of this one’s embrace of her right to protest her oppression by the Establishment. And that’s me, of course. I’m The Man, holding her down. (eye roll)

But I bought them anyway because I had spent my Saturday morning fetching her from practice and tromping around a mall. I didn’t want to go home empty handed. So I bought her two perfectly good pairs, each of which she had said she loved and wanted at some point or another during the god awful roller-coaster of a shopping trip. I bought shoes so we could at least say we accomplished something. We came for shoes, and shoes were bought. God Bless America.

You know, of course, that she has more shoes in her room right now than I had my entire childhood combined. She has an entire rainbow of colorful sneakers, flats, hiking boots, rain boots, slippers, etc. So many shoes. Last week she asked for special basketball shoes because she’s playing basketball now. So of course I agreed to buy her some.

After I graduated college (best nine years of my life, but that’s a different story), I got a crappy job. Then a different but equally crappy job. Then another slightly less crappy job. And then I got a real job over in Indy and commuted from Terre Haute to Carmel for almost a year. It was 90 minutes one way, and gas was 97 cents a gallon. I could fill up my Honda Accord for about 15 dollars, and I did so about twice a week. It seemed ridiculously expensive, but it was my ticket out.

Once I had that real job, with a salary and medical benefits and all the trimmings, the first thing I did was go buy two pairs of sneakers. I had never in my life bought two pairs of shoes at the same time. It had always been one pair to last the school year, and we’ll replace them as they wear out. At some point I had bought additional pairs, on sale, walking shoes with more support, dress shoes, etc. So I owned more than one pair. But I had never bought two at the same time.

The triumph I felt, at age 29, walking out of that store with two brand new pairs of size 15 cross trainers, was off the charts. It was the first moment in my entire life when I had felt just a tiny, miniscule whiff of financial independence. I wanted two shoes, so I bought two shoes. I am man, hear me purchase.

Now, to be clear, I “paid” for them on a credit card, so I effectively paid double for them over the next couple of years — but that’s yet again a different blog post.

So today at the mall I didn’t have much sympathy for my girl who couldn’t choose shoes because she had too many options.  I mean, I wasn’t a jerk about it. I know her pain is very real to her, and I don’t want to make it worse. But she needed shoes, and I bought them. Problem solved.

I engaged her in small talk as she gobbled her food court lunch. Or rather, as she inhaled it. She originally laughed at how much food I bought her, literally pointing and chuckling at the giant piece of mall-style cheese pizza as it arrived. But she ate it plus a big bowl of plain mall-style spaghetti, and slurped up her Sprite. Then she asked for a smoothie and then it was gone, too. I don’t believe she understands just how much energy basketball uses. She’ll sleep well tonight, methinks.

After dumping our trays into the food court trash bins, we walked silently to the car. She chose to still walk a couple steps behind me. I kept turning my head just a bit to catch her in my peripheral vision, to make sure she was still there, but not so much to make her feel I was watching her.

As I backed out of the parking space, she broke her silence. “Dad, can you hand me back my new shoes? I want to try them on.”

“Sure thing, honey. I think they’ll be great basketball shoes for you. I don’t know much about sports, but I hope these shoes help you feel stronger and faster, so you can enjoy playing.” I waited for her to respond, but still silence.

I drove, quietly, enjoying the turn of events. I had won. I had played my odds, played the long game, and had succeeded. Dad of the Year material here, folks. I never doubted myself.

We were about half way home before she spoke up again.

“Dad?”

“Yes, honey.”

“These shoes…”

“Yes? Pretty awesome, right?”

Several long moments passed without a response. I mulled the rainy streets, wondering if the weather would in fact clear up later.

“Dad?”

“Yes, honey.”

“These shoes…”

“Yes, dear.”

“They don’t fit.”

 

I was interviewed at Starbase Indy by the famous local podcast, Gaming with Scott!

Tune in and enjoy my thoughts on parenting styles, racism, vegetarianism, passion and honesty, why horns don’t belong on viking helmets, and getting exposure as a writer and new author.

Very Vocal Viking on Gaming with Scott

(34 minutes, a little language)

Filed under: Books and Reading, Geekiness, Getting Older, Living Large, Parenting, Personal Writings, Things My Kids Say, Viking Stuff Tagged: Author, Gamers, Interview, Parenting Is Hard, Podcast, Starbase Indy, Vegetarian, Viking Stuff, Wonderful Wife

I did an interview for the local radio station last week! It was a ton of fun and I really enjoyed myself. You can take a listen below. Sorry for the scratchy audio at the beginning.

Big Talk! with Michael G. Glab interviews Troy Maynard

Filed under: Books and Reading, Living Large, Parenting, Personal Writings, Things My Kids Say Tagged: Bloomington IN, Famous Local Author, How To Raise Viking Children and Other Tales of Woe, Interview, Radio, Self-Promotion, Self-Publishing, Ursine

Little Miss Thing, age 8: “You started it. You always start it!”

Danger Monkey, age 11: “No I don’t!”

Me: “OK, kids, cut it out. The only thing worse than arguing is arguing about arguing. Trust me, you have better things to do with your time.”

(long pause)

DM: “But now you are arguing about arguing about arguing.”

Me: …

LMT: “I told you he always starts it.”

Filed under: Parenting, Things My Kids Say, Wisdom Tagged: (long pause), Arguing, Arguing About Arguing, Arguing About Arguing About Arguing, DM, He's Not Wrong, LMT, Sibling Rivalry, Snark, Too Smart, You Started It [image error] [image error] [image error] [image error] [image error] [image error] [image error]