That's My Job

"That's my job.
That's what I do. 
Everything I do is because of you, to keep you safe with me. 
That's my job, you see." 
Those are lyrics from the Conway Twitty song that I nerdfully adopted as "the official song for my dad and me."  I even made him sign a contract to seal the deal.  I think I was probably 10...So it's been our song for awhile now. :)

In honor of Father's Day (which I will be out of town for, but leaving a card that I actually bought last year and forgot to give to my dad) I wanted to use this space to speak to the awesomeness that is my dad.  :)  It is appropriate to note that my card is technically a year late, because my dad invented the now widely used term, "JST," or to those uninformed people, "Julie Standard Time."  It's a real thing, and I operate on it more than I would like to admit (really always), and giving it a clever name makes it less awful.  But it really is awful.  I'm working on it--but it's not happening fast enough, which brings me back to what it IS.  Time that I operate within, in which most of the world is running circles around.  I'm not always...punctual.  One of my all-time favorite dad quotes was born on a morning that he was supposed to drive me to school for a student council meeting.  It was middle school, and Lord knows a middle school girl's hair MUST be PREPARED for school.  :)  His M.O. was to pace the hallway downstairs and jingle his keys.  Which annoyed the bajeebers outta' me, but I'm pretty sure he was just trying to reciprocate his own feelings of having to wait on a daughter who literally curled every single strand of her hair each morning before school.  Anywho, my very patient father yelled up from the bottom of the stairs, "Julia Grace!  I could disassemble and reassemble a CAR in the time it takes you to get ready for school!!!"  When you can be funny in your frustration, seriously, you are awesome.

My dad has so many classic quotes.  "I could make a meal on that!" is one of my faves.  Picture a dinner party, with several other couples.  Table is set with all the bells and whistles.  Salad forks, dessert plates, EVERYTHING.  Apparently some sort of soup was served.  Delicious soup, I've heard.  Very filling.  My dad gleefully and appreciatively turns to the hostess of this lovely dinner party and says, "I could make a meal on that!"  To which the offended party responded, "That.  Was.  The meal."  My dad has taught me so many lessons, and we've both confirmed that inserting our foot into our mouth is something we both do quite well. :)  Thanks for that genetic inheritance, dad. :)  When your social faux pas create a storytelling legacy, you know you're awesome. 

My dad was gone a lot.  He worked really hard for not just our family, but for our community.  He owned his own business, served our church in multiple roles, and was a board member of like EVERYTHING in our town.  But he always made time to come to my swim meets, plays, games, etc.  He also made time to take my sister and me to Purdue games.  Boiler basketball and football games are some of my favorite times with my dad.  I don't know how young I was when he started that tradition, but I remember being in college and finally realizing that the REALLY LOUD WHISTLER was my dad.  I totally thought that was coming from somewhere else.  I must say, he has an impressively loud whistle.  He indulged me in my infatuation with Woody Austin, and always bought me a giant soft pretzel or peanut M&M's.  He also would take me past the ticket office to look at the pictures of his grandpa "Pop" Doan, who managed the ticket office for years at Purdue.  I loved seeing the pictures in that case.  Some of them were of family, and I got to see my dad as a teenager.  He was extremely handsome, and I have always loved thinking about what my dad and mom must have been like when they were my age (at whatever age I am when I think that.)  My dad's pride in where he came from instilled my own desire to be connected to these amazing people my dad still tears up about.  My great-grandparents and grandparents were truly wonderful people, and when I got to go to Purdue games, I felt connected to them all somehow.  Like walking in their footsteps...in the freezing cold uphill footsteps from Mackey to the parking lot, am I right???  Basketball season in Indiana is flipping COLD.  But a dad who takes his daughter to see Boilermaker Athletics, and shares stories from when he would go to games with his dad, is, let's face it, pretty awesome.

I was super weird in high school and never went to basketball or football games with anyone else.  I was too social.  I literally fluttered from one person to the next, completely delighted in my socially attention deficit behavior.  It had to have driven other people nuts...and truth be told, I never grew out of that...my apologies.  So when I would leave home, alone, to go out on a Friday night, my dad's parting words were always the same.  "Do your best, do what's right, do unto others."  I kind of had forgotten that he said that until I started working with teenagers, and realized how much I wanted to tell them what choices they needed to make.  Don't do that!  Do this instead!!!  I get it.  But my dad, so diplomatic and wise, would simply share those nine words, which sum up what to do IN LIFE quite nicely.  Awesome.

 I struggle(d) with my weight growing up, although I was super active, I was also super amazing at consuming large amounts of food.  My dad always assured me that I was beautiful, but most importantly that I was a good person, and maybe don't have seconds on dinner AND dessert. :)  He told me that I was the kind of girl that can intimidate boys (with my stellar wit and amazing personality?  or maybe he meant that taking so long to get ready every morning could intimidate boys...), and that the right boy would be the right boy.  He would appreciate the things about me that my dad saw in me, no matter what I weighed.  My Link Larkin, if you will.  ("Hairspray" reference.)   He made me feel awesome about who I was, and I kind of think that is a dad's job for his daughter.  Awesome job, Dad. :)

So when I turned 33 (my all-time favorite number) and my dad said, "It's gonna' be a lucky year," I had NO IDEA what that would entail.  About one week before my 33rd birthday, I had filed for divorce, moved out of my dream home, and was literally spinning down a drain of shame, guilt, and failure.  Turning 33 meant that everything was going to HAVE to get better--it was my lucky number!  I had been looking forward to being 33 since I was 12.  But about 33 SECONDS after my dad spoke those words, his body started shutting down.  He had developed streptococcal pneumonia (that's the really really bad kind) because for months he had not been able to swallow correctly.  We would find out over the next 48 hours that my dad had an undiagnosed brain tumor, right at his brain stem, and would need to do surgery ASAP.  That night, on my 33rd birthday, we almost lost my dad.  His organs all started shutting down (sepsis), and the doctor pretty much told it like it was.  He was either going to wake up the next morning, or he wasn't.  Holy.  Crap.  It better be a lucky year, Dad!!!!  That moment kick started a crazy journey that continues today.  As a result of the tumor extraction, my dad lost a lot of his vision (he sees double.  like always.), balance, and his face is paralyzed.  And I have so many unbelievable stories about the way God surrounded my entire family in that time--that is a future blog called "Meeting Jesus.  Live.  In Person."  But all of this to brag on the awesomeness that is my dad.  I feel like most people would probably crawl into a hole with a tv remote and a box of twinkies if they had to endure some of the things my dad has endured.  The guy couldn't eat solid food for 6 months (at least!) after his surgery.  He had a feeding tube that went directly into his stomach.  Can you even imagine what that is like for a DAY?  My dad, though, is not only courageous, but extremely perseverant and determined.  He started going to the Y.  He started going back to his bank board meetings.  He started driving again.  Right now he's on a fishing trip with his buddies.  This man is freaking Superman, and he's my DAD.  My dad is SUPERMAN, PEOPLE.  And that, my friends, is AWESOME. 

Happy Father's Day to all of you.  I know that I am extremely fortunate to be able to wish my dad a happy father's day over the phone (and I could have in person if I weren't a terrible human being who is out of town that day).  My heart goes out to my friends who have lost their fathers.  I came so eerily close to being in that boat...I kind of get it.  I know one thing for sure, I have a totally different kind of appreciation for my dad now,  then I did before my 33rd birthday.  And I can speak for all of us with awesome dads out there--make sure you tell them how awesome they are while they're here.  Ferris Bueller said it himself--"Life moves pretty fast."  It sure does.  And hopefully you can slow down long enough to tell the awesome people who are making a difference in yours. 

Crazy, Wonderful Dreams

I would say that I have the craziest, weirdest dreams on the planet, but I know I doan't because my sister has shared what goes on in her wacky noggin.  Holy.  Cow.  So, I'm pretty convinced I have the SECOND craziest dreams in the world.  However, sometimes they are crazy and WONDERFUL, and I'd like to use my little blog space to share some of this awesome nonsense. 

Once upon a time, I was married, so I had a witness to my sleep talking/singing/laughing.  Those are some of the best stories, and it makes me want to record myself sleeping sometime...but that is just creepy, so I'll have to suffice with repeating the stories I've been told and hope that one day, (fingers crossed) I'll have another "witness" to laugh in the middle of the night with. :)  These are my faves, and they have titles, because they deserve them. 

The 16 Ounces Song
I was sleeping soundly, minding my own business.  My (then) husband was out on the couch playing...wait for it...video games.  (That's a story for another time.) :)  All I remember is that he had the nerve to WAKE ME UP with hysterical laughter. 
"Why are you laughing?  I'm trying to sleep here."
"Sing it again, Jules."
"Sing wh---what's going on?  What have I done???"
"You've been singing in here for the past 2 minutes."
"Huh.  What was I singing?"
"The 16 Ounces song, of course."
"Oh.  Of course.  The...16...ounces....why are waking me up and making up stories???"
"I came in and you were proclaiming, in a BRITISH ACCENT, that you were singing the 16 ounces song.  So I asked you to sing it for me."
"Did I?"
"Yep."
Because I can't sing in a blog, you'll have to imagine how AWESOME this song truly is.  I'm hoping to record it someday. :)  I actually have musical dreams often, and wish that I could retain an OUNCE of what I sing.  Or, rather, 16 ounces would be even better.

McDonald's The Musical
The only musical dream I still CAN remember is one that I think might have to be made into a full scale musical one day.  I think I could do it.  In this particular "scene" I am a customer, standing behind the counter of the old McDonald's that I remember from my childhood.  There are 5 or 6 customers behind me, and 5 or 6 employees on the other side of the counter wearing smiley face visors and LOVING their job.  (Wait...maybe it wasn't a dream...) :)  So, I start to sing in a very climactic moment of the number, "What kind of fish....(others join in) What kind of fish....(all join in) WHAT KIND OF FISH???"  To which the employees all respond, in unison but with majestic harmony, "BE-NOY!!!!"  Dang it.  It's not the same without the music.  I wish I could sing it for you... But wait, you say, what the flip is "benoy?"  It's nothing.  Not a fish.  Which solidifies the theory that McDonald's doesn't use real stuff in their food.  My musical dream told me so.

Grammy
This one isn't a musical dream, but rather sentimental.  I grew up just a few blocks from my grandmother's house.  I CHERISH my memories spent with her.  She's the one that introduced me to theatre, so she pretty much rocks, just for that alone.  But check this out:  She came to all of my events.  Swim meets, tennis matches, dance recitals, junior miss, plays, church stuff, EVERYTHING.  I remember staying at her house A LOT.  Lots of sleepovers.  And those were AMAZING.  I remember the smell of the books she would read to me, the feel of the satin rimmed blanket on my bed, the sound of the grandfather clock that chimed on the hour, her footsteps as she shuffled down the hall, checking on me every so often.  She was THE BEST.  Seriously, she gave us EVERYTHING, and did so selflessly and joyfully.  Her Sunday dinners were OUTRAGEOUS.  She made a mean ham loaf (it's amazing, don't judge), broccoli "schmack" and a strawberry jello salad that should have been a stand alone dessert.  The woman could cook. For breakfast on our overnights, she would make an entire SPREAD for us.  She would make oatmeal with brown sugar and cream, a poached egg, bacon, toast with marmalade--or a cinnamon roll, chocolate milk AND juice.  But here's the kicker--she did that THREE SEPARATE TIMES.  "Tom" (Grammy remarried after my grandpa passed away, and Tom was basically my grandpa, but we only ever called him "Tom") Anyway--Tom would get up at the crack, so she made his food first.  Then me.  Then my sister--she could sleep until like noon.  My point being that Grammy made all of that food, did all of those dishes, took care of all of us for her ENTIRE morning.  And never complained.  Wowee.  Ok, so all of that said, the DREAM.  My beloved Grammy passed away when I was 25.  I volunteered to speak at her funeral, but I COULD NOT think of anything to talk about.  Which is NOT like me.  Speechless.  Never.  Ok, so the night before her funeral, I SAW HER.  She was in my dream.  And she reminded me of something she ALWAYS did that I had completely forgotten about.  How do our brains DO that???  In my dream, I was riding my bike out of her driveway and down her street.  And Grammy, as she always did, stood at the end of her driveway waving.  Just standing there, smiling, and waving until I was completely out of sight (I know, because I would always turn around right before I turned onto the next block, and she was STILL THERE WAVING.)  This was one of my favorite dreams, because I felt like it was her way of saying goodbye.  And all of those memories just came FLOODING back, I wrote my speech in bed that morning, and even had a theme. :)

I LOVE when my subconscious takes me on visits with those I miss dearly.  I've gotten to see Jennifer Butchko's beautiful smile several times in my dreams.  Just last night I got to see Jerry Thompson.  He looked SO happy and healthy.  He said something that cracked me up--though I can't remember it now...I do remember laughing out loud.  Grammy still shows up every now and then, and she is young and beautiful. 

My crazy, wonderful dreams... 

All the World's a Stage :)

I fell in love with live theatre from the seats of the Red Barn Summer Theatre.  My "Grammy" would take us there each year to the musicals.  I didn't just love the shows--I loved the smell of the stage makeup, the costumes they wore, the scenery, the crickets chirping through the converted barn windows, the fish swimming in the pond out back, and the summer night sky on the drive home.  When I arrived home, I would quickly rush up to my bedroom and perform each song and scene (as well as I could remember them anyway) in front of my mirror, paying close attention to imitate the facial expressions they used and how to make my voice change to match my emotions.  Those actors were my heroes, and I wanted to be JUST.  LIKE.  THEM. 

It's no surprise that as I got older, I sought after a spot on that very stage.  I will never forget the first time I got to perform at the Red Barn.  I was entering my junior year in college, and they were doing "The Pajama Game."  It was OPENING NIGHT.  I arrived at the theatre, checked my props and costumes, and "C.A." (our business manager) walked back and handed me....wait for it...A CHECK.  MONEY.  I was getting PAID to do what I had always DREAMED of doing!  What???!!!!!  I was all, "What is this???"  C.A. was all, "It's a paycheck, Julie.  We are a professional theatre company.  We pay our actors."  Huh.  You doan't say.  "Well, I'll be dipped."  Then, I took said paycheck out to my car, climbed into the driver's seat and BAWLED.  I seriously had no idea they were going to PAY ME to act on their stage.  I was overcome with gratitude for a moment I had been anticipating with such longing for most of my childhood. 

I have since had several wonderful opportunities to be on stage performing.  I totally love it.  Like more than any THING else I can think of.  I was part of a 10 minute play festival a year ago, and it was the first time I had been on stage in a year and a half.  The best way I can describe that experience was like being HOME.  I felt alive again.  And, now, I am back for the second year in the 10 minute play festival, feeling like my soul is being FED from the challenge and excitement of performing. :)  I am so grateful for each time I get to be under those lights, pretending to be someone else for a little while.  Although I love being me :) I also love becoming someone else for a smidgen of time.  And I love that there are other actors who will pretend alongside me and create a story with me on a stage, in front of a live audience.  So.  Awesome.  

And....SCENE. 

http://lafayettecivic.blogspot.com/2014/05/in-wings-second-annual-10-minute-play_9221.html

An unfortunate NICKname...

My best friend growing up was NICK.  Our parents were besties, we lived down the street from each other, and we were born two days apart.  He couldn't pronounce my name when we were little, so he called me "Dewey."  That evolved into "Doo Doo" (who knew anything could EVOLVE into Doo Doo???)  So, ironically and appropriately, my NICKname became DOO DOO. 

I can tell who of my friends has known me (or my history) longest by what they call me.  Obviously "Doo Doo" belongs to those who have known me since the beginning.  "Jules" goes to the next group.  Then, there's "Doaner" (another GREAT one...) and then just plain "Julie."  I'm sure there are other names people have called me that I doan't want to think about, so I won't. :) 

I've been wanting to start a blog for awhile.  I figure since I'm an elementary school teacher and single-mommin' it, I have LOADS of spare time to blog, so why not?  Actually, because of said factors, I have LOADS of thoughts I can't always share out loud to the typical 5-8 year old audience I am surrounded by each day, so a blog could be a fun way to out my thoughts.  DISCLAIMER:  MY MIND IS WEIRD.  MY THOUGHTS FOLLOW SUIT.   IN MY DEFENSE, DO YOU REMEMBER THE PART ABOUT BEING CALLED "DOO DOO" DURING MY FORMATIVE YEARS?  CAN YOU ASK QUESTIONS IN A DISCLAIMER?

Life is weird.  It's challenging, enjoyable, turbulent, traumatic, incredible, wonderful, heart-wrenching, interesting, miraculous, hilarious, sobering, mysterious, and full of crazy things happening all around us.  They say s&*# happens, so I say Doo Doo happens.  In a blog.  Starting now. :)