Peter Jennings

What do you say about the consummate professional? I grew up with Peter Jennings, as many of us did, and his voice brought clarity through the cacaphony of the world's events. His style was timeless and he brought an absolute sense of humanity to the news desk. His experiences became our experiences because he wanted to share them - to let us step into a world that we had not actually travel but he HAD, and he knew there were lessons to be learned at every step for those willing to listen. This is what set him apart - the constant drive to learn, and more importantly for us, to share what he learned.

A couple of years ago I was returning from studying in El Salvador for the summer when I met him on the curb at SFO. For 10 minutes he talked to me about my recent trip and what I learned, about where I was in school (a journalism major, with great interest in his career), and how did I liked San Francisco? This man, on a trip to visit his son who was going to school in California, appeared to be interested only in what I had to say about my life. The only thing that broke up this conversation was the arrival of my sister, and she thought I was talking to a professor of mine - he was so easy going and engaging.

I will never forget Mr. Jennings, from my kitchen every night before dinner during my youth, or from the curbside where we met at SFO during my senior year of college. When an athlete or movie star dies, even if they were your favorite, you realize that to you they were the best at whatever it was that they did - but they also simply played a role in the trivial side of life. Many people, including myself at times, will argue that the major news networks are little more than that themselves, but the fact remains for those of us who watch the nightly national news that these people become trusted members of something just beyond family. They bring us the positive news, but they also know how to cushion the blow of the negative. They are the cognoscenti of all things beyond our local radar at best, our in house international gossip columnist at worst. Peter was the best at it. The void left is enormous and it will remain for quite some time...

If One is Okay ... Two ... Two Is Just As Easy, Right?

In the life cycle of a tropical storm, there are very definate highs and lows - the ebb and flow of intensity. For instance, when Hurricane Emily recently went crashing through the Gulf of Mexico, it powered up to Cat 4, hit the Yucatan Peninsula, was a Cat 1, and then kicked back up to a Cat 3 before heading into the mainland of norhtern Mexico. I guess the point in explaining this is simply that the hurricane is still a wicked storm when it is over the Yucatan. A hurricane is a hurricane after all. As for the cycle of the last 2 years of my life, I see some striking similarities.

When we were waiting for Reilly to come along, we were at Cat 4 - no idea how crazy things were going to get when she hit us. But life settles down a bit. Everything is still crazy, but not as insane as the landfall of the first few months. I feel older. I just feel old some times. I suddenly don't care as much about foul odors, and I can only assume this ambivalence increases (hence the smell of EVERY grandparents house). But I am content, and actually quite happy with my place in the world. As it turns out this does not always mean "fair skies" as much as it means "the calm before the storm", or the eye of the hurricane.

A couple of months ago we found out that Reilly is to have a sibling. We figured at some point she would, but the first week of January, 2006 wasn't exactly on our radar. We do not know the sex of the baby yet, and most of my friends do not know we are expecting again, as I am sure most of them aren't over the shock that I am a daddy now. The realization that the Deuce was on its way carried with it a much greater calm than did the word of Reilly's arrival. Maybe its 'cause we had already gone through it, or maybe it is something else.

I think I might be deceiving myself, but this whole thing doesn't seem so bad. I like to think that it is because Annie nad I have our shit so together that the thought of doubling the workload "ain't no thang." I mean, we already have tons of baby stuff. We know (more or less) what we are doing. We have the room at the house. Maybe most importantly, we have become parents. Our lifestyle has already taken the biggest hit and we have made the right changes. Now is this all true, or is it like the veteran resident who thinks "this storm is weak compared to the others" and decides not to take any precautions only to be wiped out when the wrath focuses on him?

This is my fear, that we have not become better, wiser, stronger but that we are simply broken. I have been in but a few fights, but the first punch is always the worst. Kind of like jumping into a cold pool - that first instant the shock is at its greatest level, then you just become numb. Are we numb now? Do we know what is going on, or are we just trying to focus on the essential functions of getting through the day? I prefer to think that it is the previous, but you never know, I could "wake up" in 5 years and realize I have two kids in school, am coming up on my 35th birhtday, still haven't gone heli-skiing in Alaska, and generally feel like Tom Hanks in the beginning of Joe Versus the Volcano. This is what scares me.

Annie and I were recently talking about this, and as you can tell have yet to come up with a real answer; at least not one that we truly believe in. This is really what growing up is all about I guess. It's not the manual labor job you did for minimum wage. Or the dedication you spent towards getting through college and the first few years of your career. But none of this really gets the job done. What does it it is sitting there staring at your first child (and then presumably your second, third, et al) and realizing that this it is - your role in the world has changed and there is no going back. You cannot switch children the way you can switch schools or jobs. The job of a parent is far more difficult than the manual labor and pays nothing. This is not to say parenthood is bad at all, but it is sobering, both figuratively and literally for some.

Maybe the hardest part is convincing yourself that your life has changed. You still want to be an idiot, but now you can't be, at least not in the same way. So maybe the feeling that I am looking for is simply shock, and I still haven't come out of it. Or maybe I have, I just haven't realized it. Like a hangover, or sitting in the eye of the hurricane just before it heads back towards open water and starts picking up speed again. My feeling now is that if I am going through a storm, just bring it on. I have battened down the hatches as much as I can and am ready fro the brunt of it - I'll recover once it blows through. Then I'll look to the Canary Islands and see that a tropical storm named "Teenagers" is starting to stir...