Trevor's Latest

Blogger's Note: This blog serves many purposes: instant writer gratification, testing ground for new ideas, opportunity to spout off ... and, importantly, archive of cute Thorplet anecdotes. This post falls firmly into that category. (I apologize that one of these is a Facebook rerun from Jodi's page, but Facebook is temporary. Werd-Fu is forever.)

First, a conversation between Trevor and Jodi on Monday:

Trevor: "Mom, is there really an Easter Bunny?"

Jodi: "What do you think?"

Trevor: "Wow, there really is! But mom, I didn't know a bunny could hide eggs when it is hopping. It should be the Easter kangaroo!"

I especially love his reaction to the question, "What do you think?" That question is, hands down, the best parental response to any faith-related question from a child age 7 or less. They want to believe!

Now, a couple of gems from today. First, while he was eating lunch, completely out of the blue he said:

"Dad, if you have one more than an even number, then you can have a middle, right?"

Absolutely right. He claimed he was just thinking about it, and it came to him on the spot.

A little while later, while I was standing on a snowy front step, calling Puck:

"Dad, if I was you and I was outside, I would say, 'Meow!' because dogs like to chase cats!"

I tried it in the house a bit later. Puck looked disgusted.

Omen

There are Mondays, and Mondays. The start of every work week is a challenge, and in my case, the start of a Board week (a week in which the University's Board of Regents is meeting) is especially heavy, because it promises to be a stressful, busy, and tied-and-jacketed week.

But this Monday morning seemed particularly ominous, even for a Board week.

I drove in early to get a jump on the week's work. I arrived on campus between 6:30 and 7 a.m. and found myself alone on the sidewalk from the parking ramp to my office save one other person, an older women with a long black coat and black knit cap, hunched against the cold. I shivered a bit myself; it hadn't seemed so chilly when I left home, but on campus there was a dampness in the air that was hard to shrug off.

Ahead, three dark shapes flapped across the street, from one tree to the next, too quickly to identify. I exhaled a soft sigh, and watched the grey vapor float up, up in the light of the street lamp overhead. As I raised my eyes, I noticed the moon, waning yellow in the dark blue predawn haze. Suddenly a caw, and a another black shaped flapped quickly past, momentarily eclipsing the moon.

The crow had startled me, and as I reached the intersection with the silent women, we stopped and stared as from the countless campus trees ahead, scores of black crows rose in unison and passed overhead, cawing accusations and jeers. The two of us watched them pass over us, dumbstruck, and the cold settled deeper still into our shoulders. When the light changed, we hurried to our offices.

Blogger's Note: For past posts on crows, go here. I seem to have a "thing" for them.

From the Archive: Holiday Letters 2006, 2005, 2004 and 2003

Okay, thank you to those few people who told me to post the old Christmas letters online. I got a little misty reading them. Hope I can find back to about 1998 ...

In the meantime:

• Holiday Letter 2006
• Holiday Letter 2005
• Holiday Letter 2004
• Holiday Letter 2003

One more thing: We celebrate Christmas at the Thorp house, but have called these letter holiday letters since one of the early ones didn't actually come our until around Valentine's Day ...

From the Archive: Holiday Letters 2008 and 2007

I know this is cheating—and for many of you it won't be new at all—but a few people have suggested that I offer the Thorps' annual Christmas letter online, and a few others have suggested I post the "back issues." Bless you for your interest in a letter that runs too long and includes footnotes.

Here's a start on the archive:

• Holiday Letter 2008
• Holiday Letter 2007

Spotted on Campus ...

solitary nut:
bewildered squirrel, atop
a limbless light pole

A Love Letter ... To You

I've made a lot of choices
Most have not been wise
But I have some really good friends
I've been fortunate enough to find
They get through the lonely days
When I want to stay inside myself
They get me out of my shell
Out into the world ...

Heartless Bastards, "Hold Your Head High"

I used to think I was good at being alone. I remember my last two years of college in Connecticut, with my future bride half a country away, I felt like I had being alone down to an art form. I had routines. I got sleep. I listened to my own music, watched Polish movies no one else wanted to, ate in the dining halls when most of my friends moved off campus, worked 20+ hours a week and still went to class. I got stuff done, talked to Jodi on the phone (and chatted online, before we knew what it was called), and was generally a pretty happy guy.

I remember when I discovered I wasn't good at being alone. I went to Chicago for a conference. It was around Christmas, a few years after Jodi and I married. Certainly we had Brendan, maybe Gabe, too. I remember wandering downtown the first evening, wrapped like a package in my old wool overcoat and scarf, enjoying the swirling snow, the glittering lights, and the bustle of holiday traffic on the Miracle Mile. I remember the brief pang in my chest as I thought, Jodi would enjoy this. I remember calling home from the hotel, then settling in for a long winter's nap.

I lay awake a long time. I tossed and turned, turned on the tube, discovered that old truth of cable (hundreds of channels and nothing on), and nonetheless watched parts of several movies. I finally drifted off in the wee hours, woke tired at the alarm's cry, and shuffled off to the conference's morning session.

By the end of the first full day, all of things that sparked wonder the previous day now only increased the hollow ache in my chest. I wanted to go home. I was a family man.

In college and thereafter, I discovered something else about me: not only am I not good at being alone or apart from the people I love, but I also tend toward being an all-or-nothing friend. I'm either right there with you, deeply, personally, and for the long haul, or I'll give you the old reverse nod and try to remember your name. I'm terrible with names, worse with birthdays and such, I generally hate phone calls, and, as a writerly sort, I can't send a casual email to anyone I don't feel I know pretty well. (My casual emails are studiously so, and I have the obsessive habit of re-reading them after I send them and wishing I'd worded them differently. Sometimes I'll clarify with a P.S. after the fact.) So you might imagine that maintaining a casual acquaintance isn't easy for me.

But I like people. Too much, sometimes. I like people to the point that I get emotional when strangers do. I like people to the point that when they do bad things I'm shocked and disappointed, almost moreso than angry. I like people with views so counter to mine that my guts tie in knots in anticipation of when it'll all blow up. I practice what I'll say when it does, in my head so you can't hear, hoping that it's the right combination of words that will convey vehement disagreement and utmost affection.

Somebody told me a couple of weeks ago that I don't seem like an insecure guy. Maybe I'm not. But I want to do right by you. All of you. It's completely naive and idealistic and impossible. It's exhausting at times, and about every two weeks I want to secede from society. I want to pull into my shell just so I can breathe.

You people invariably coax me out again. Today, dozens of you took a second to wish me a happy birthday, in the midst of a stressful, eat-at-your-desk, student-protest-outside-the-window, what-the-hell-am-I-doing kind of Tuesday. Facebook, of course, has made the casual friendship so easy that even I can do it now, but still—you took a couple seconds out of your day to brighten mine. Why did you do that? Maybe you're thinking it's not big deal, but I smiled through the sporadic train wrecks of the day because you decided to burn a moment on me.

Do you realize what that is? There's a word for it, one we use in a million wrong ways and are too often afraid to use right. Yup. That one.

So I'll say it, and may your cheeks burn to hear it: I love you. Yes, even you. And don't worry if you were about to let me have it regarding something I said or did. Go ahead. It's gonna be okay; I've got it all planned out.

Confessions of a Casual Sports Fan

We didn't watch a lot of sports when I was kid. I've been to two professional sporting events in my life: Tigers-Yankees at Comerica in Detroit a few years ago, and Yankees-Orioles last fall in old Yankee Stadium. But when we visited Busia and Dziadzi, sports were on—Ernie Harwell calling the Tigers game on the radio; the Lions telecast on Thanksgiving; college hoops or football in season if my uncles and cousins were there, too.

At home, we didn't pay much attention to sports unless a Michigan team was making a playoff run. I tracked the Roar of '84 on black-vinyl-covered portable radio with a 9V power source and a hanger for an antenna. We watched the Motor City Bad Boys elbow their way to back-to-back championships in 1989 and 1990, and watched the Wolverines bounce Seton Hall from the NCAA tournament in 1989. I had a big box of baseball cards, but didn't know the three Don Mattingly rookies were worth anything until a kid at school showed me a photo in a collector's magazine in junior high.

These days I get a lot of grief here in Minnesota for not rooting for the Twins and the Vikings, and a lot of grief all over the place for cheering for the Yankees. I have my reasons for the teams I cheer for, but none of them have to do with family ties or geographic loyalty. In fact, my reasons are only slightly better than colors and mascots. Here's the breakdown:

MLB: Yankees (Runners-up: Twins and Tigers)
As I said, I grew up with the Tigers. I loved Chet Lemon for his name; Señor Smoke (Aurelio Lopez) for his nickname, Lou Whitaker and Kirk Gibson for being Sweet Lou and Gibbie, game-in and game-out. About the only non-Tiger I could name anywhere else in the league was Kirby Puckett, and I loved him, too, for his name, his frame, and his game. Now I live in Minnesota, and the Twins always seem to put together a solid team. You gotta respect that.

As I got older, I lost interest in baseball. It seemed monotonous to me on television, and it wasn't until after I was married that I began to catch the subtleties of the game. In fall of 1999, Jodi and I and two-year-old Brendan were at her parents' place in South Dakota. Her older brother Brad was watching the World Series, cheering hard for the Braves, so I took the other side—the Yankees—just to keep things interesting ... besides, their shortstop, Jeter, is a West Michigan boy. And I like history and tradition. I like raucous home fields.

The next spring, when baseball rolled around, little Brendan said, "We root for the Yankees, right, Dad?" He told me his favorite player was Andy Pettite, because he wore his cap low over his eyes—and he began to do the same.

How can you argue with that? We've been Yankee fans ever since.

NFL: Packers (Runners-up: Lions and Broncos)
Barry Sanders was a class act. Crazy talented and all business: no spiked balls or touchdown dances. He's the one bright spot I remember for the Lions. Ever. I grew up in Michigan, so I wished (and continue to wish) the Lions well every year. But my cousin Mel was from Green Bay, right across the big lake, and Lambeau was legendary. Again: I like history and tradition. I like raucous home fields. When the Lions washed out, I pulled for the Packers. That hasn't changed.

However: the first game I ever remember watching start to finish was a Broncos game, with Elway putting on a show. When I met Jodi, I learned that she is the only member of her family who is not a Viking fan. Her uncle told her as a little girl to root for the Broncos. So Denver stayed on the radar, too.

NHL: Red Wings
Michigan team. Yzerman and Lidstrom. History and tradition. Raucous home fields. And when I went to college, they were deadly on Sega hockey. We played a lot of Sega hockey. 'Nuff said.

NBA: Pistons
To be honest, I watch very little basketball. But the Bad Boys, and the fact that my favorite soft-spoken superstar from those days, Joe Dumars, is leading the organization these days, means when I cheer, I cheer for them.

NCAA: It's complicated
I went to Yale. Long tradition of intercollegiate athletics, but aside from hockey, not grabbing national headlines these days. Still, I pull for the Bulldogs. I grew up liking Michigan basketball, but also have great admiration for Coach Izzo at State and Coach K at Duke. I grew up liking Michigan football, but I now work for Minnesota, so I pull for the Gophers whenever I can (football, basketball, hockey, and wrestling). I've never followed college baseball. I also worked for Ferris State, and will cheer for them, except when they play the University of Minnesota or University of Minnesota Duluth.

That's it. For what it's worth, the kids like the Vikings and hate the Packers. And Jodi likes the Twins. To each his our her own. As I type, New York leads 7-1 in Game 6 of the World Series. Matsui-san is on fire. Go Yankees!