Today I got a missed call and a voicemail from my dad. I love when that happens.
His voicemail was 15 seconds of the radio cranked and him singing along to T-Swift's "Shake It Off," following an explanation that thanks me for introducing him to this song. He explains how he's going to incorporate it into his personal philosophy:
"That's my new motto. If there's a problem, I just SHAKE IT OFF!"
He thanked me for the CD Brian and I made for him featuring the song and exclaimed the above sentiment for me to re-listen anytime I need a pick-me-up.
Happy Tuesday, friends.
Showing posts with label dad. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dad. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 20, 2015
Monday, December 22, 2014
Good Dads
I was thinking about my first year of teaching. On one of my first days ever as a teacher, one of my little girls, T, was crying at dismissal. I bent down and asked her what happened. Another teacher came up to me and said, "Oh, Gesch, don't worry about it, she always cries at dismissal because one day last year nobody came to pick her up after school," kind of in a nonchalant, it-is-what-it-is type of way. I was kind of shocked that someone thought it was no big deal that a 7-year-old was crying for this traumatic reason, but it's an attitude I came across often: brushing off the real emotions of children. I don't say this as an offense to the heart of my coworkers; on the contrary, many of my coworkers in East Garfield Park were some of the most amazing individuals with the biggest hearts for kids I've ever met. More so, it's a comment on the intensity of life in my old school's neighborhood: if you got worked up every time a kid got a little worked up, you'd be burned out by Thursday. And you have to last all year. A few people didn't even last all year. But there was T anyway, tears streaming down her (beautiful - and I mean that - she really is a beautiful kid) face. And I started to think about that.
As it turns out, she was supposed to be picked up by her dad that night. Perhaps it was a miscommunication, maybe it was an innocent mistake between her mother and father in a game of phone tag about who was picking up T that night. I don't think her parents were terrible people, just people who had a lot on their plate and were capable of making mistakes, just like I am. I don't know all the details of why, exactly, she was forgotten. Being left at school was a watershed experience for T, as she continued to cry at dismissal every single day after school for the first few months of school. We would get into the routine of me hugging her for basically the whole time until someone picked her up. She wasn't forgotten today, whew. She could wipe her tears. Crisis averted.
It made me think of our world, and how mistakes, large or small, may be seemingly insignificant to us adults, but how deeply real they are to kids. It makes me think of kids like T, who was picked up at the end of a long 4 hours at a police station, 8:00 pm on a school night instead of the usual 4:00 pm, horrified that nobody was coming to get her, so uncertain of what was going to happen to her, defenseless against anything.
As I go on through this third year of teaching, I am, ever so slowly, sussing out what the last two years of my life have really meant. I'm just now starting to process the impact that my experience with Teach For America left on my heart. A lot of it, to be honest, is depressing to rehash and think through in hindsight. I think of T and how she buried her wet cheeks into my leg while I stood on the lookout for her car. I think of how she was afraid that her dad forgot about her. I think of dads in general and how rare it is to have a Good Dad in our world, to have a dad of character, who is there for you, who always comes through. I think of my dad and of Brian's dad, and how good they are, and how lucky we are to have them. It makes me despair a little bit that dads like ours are so rare, that so many in this world go without a Good Dad. It all gives me a shot of pessimism toward our world's future.
Then, I zoom out and get a little historical perspective on how my own dad came to be the person he is. He also came from a Good Dad, my Grandpa Gesch. A hardworking, strict, hilarious, intelligent, kind, principled, faithful man of integrity. An example. A Christian leader. That's who my Grandpa is. Where did my Grandpa learn to be all of those things? By watching his own father? Actually, not at all. I never met him, but I hear that his dad was a little bit of a tough dude. In an effort to avoid slandering my own ancestors, let me just say that my great-grandfather, my Grandpa's dad, was not setting forth a loving Christian example and leave it at that. And yet, God intervened anyway, and he grew up little Wilfred Gesch to be a leader, a teacher, a believer, a father, and the patriarch of a large faithful family of Christ-followers. It's amazing how good of a dad he has become. He didn't learn it through an earthly example. He learned to be a Good Dad through following the person of Jesus Christ, setting forth a chain of events leading to an immense impact on his (massive) family. I know that my Good Dad wouldn't be who he is without the influence of his own father. It is a beautiful cycle of God's love sent down through generations by the means of Providence and Faithfulness and the mysterious work of the Holy Spirit. It is a beautiful testimony, my family.
So what does some German guy have to do with T, crying on the sidewalk, waiting for her dad to pick her up? These intersecting stories in my life give me a small dose of optimism; they point me to a larger picture of what is possible and the Hope we have in this dark world for progress, love, and redemption. My Grandpa Gesch didn't need a Good Dad on earth to understand how to be one himself. T doesn't need to wait for a Good Dad to come around. She doesn't need to have a perfect earthly example in her life to make the choice to begin something new in her own life, in her own family.
The truth is that T already has a Good Dad. He is of the heavenly sort, who already shows up and comes through when he says He will and will be faithful to His word. We all, T included, have access to this dad who will be consistent to His promises, true to what He says He will do, even if the earth gives way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea. This heavenly father is the kind of Good Dad who comes down to fill in the voids that human parents tend to leave conspicuously wide open. In a world full of imperfect dads and moms, it is beautiful to think of that.
So whether you have a bad dad, a mediocre dad, a good dad, or maybe even a dad who is gone from this earth, I'm sure you will be confronting that situation soon over the holidays. Family gatherings have a way of making us come to terms with our own dad and mom situation. Maybe it will be a happy time, but perhaps it will be difficult or even sad for you to think about the impact (or lack thereof) your dad has had on your life. Whatever that situation may be, perhaps it might help to think of T, and to know that you are not alone in shedding a tear or two. I hope that you and I can remember the Good Dad we all share who is faithful to us: a refuge, a strength, and an always-present help in trouble.
As it turns out, she was supposed to be picked up by her dad that night. Perhaps it was a miscommunication, maybe it was an innocent mistake between her mother and father in a game of phone tag about who was picking up T that night. I don't think her parents were terrible people, just people who had a lot on their plate and were capable of making mistakes, just like I am. I don't know all the details of why, exactly, she was forgotten. Being left at school was a watershed experience for T, as she continued to cry at dismissal every single day after school for the first few months of school. We would get into the routine of me hugging her for basically the whole time until someone picked her up. She wasn't forgotten today, whew. She could wipe her tears. Crisis averted.
It made me think of our world, and how mistakes, large or small, may be seemingly insignificant to us adults, but how deeply real they are to kids. It makes me think of kids like T, who was picked up at the end of a long 4 hours at a police station, 8:00 pm on a school night instead of the usual 4:00 pm, horrified that nobody was coming to get her, so uncertain of what was going to happen to her, defenseless against anything.
 |
| My dad. |
As I go on through this third year of teaching, I am, ever so slowly, sussing out what the last two years of my life have really meant. I'm just now starting to process the impact that my experience with Teach For America left on my heart. A lot of it, to be honest, is depressing to rehash and think through in hindsight. I think of T and how she buried her wet cheeks into my leg while I stood on the lookout for her car. I think of how she was afraid that her dad forgot about her. I think of dads in general and how rare it is to have a Good Dad in our world, to have a dad of character, who is there for you, who always comes through. I think of my dad and of Brian's dad, and how good they are, and how lucky we are to have them. It makes me despair a little bit that dads like ours are so rare, that so many in this world go without a Good Dad. It all gives me a shot of pessimism toward our world's future.
Then, I zoom out and get a little historical perspective on how my own dad came to be the person he is. He also came from a Good Dad, my Grandpa Gesch. A hardworking, strict, hilarious, intelligent, kind, principled, faithful man of integrity. An example. A Christian leader. That's who my Grandpa is. Where did my Grandpa learn to be all of those things? By watching his own father? Actually, not at all. I never met him, but I hear that his dad was a little bit of a tough dude. In an effort to avoid slandering my own ancestors, let me just say that my great-grandfather, my Grandpa's dad, was not setting forth a loving Christian example and leave it at that. And yet, God intervened anyway, and he grew up little Wilfred Gesch to be a leader, a teacher, a believer, a father, and the patriarch of a large faithful family of Christ-followers. It's amazing how good of a dad he has become. He didn't learn it through an earthly example. He learned to be a Good Dad through following the person of Jesus Christ, setting forth a chain of events leading to an immense impact on his (massive) family. I know that my Good Dad wouldn't be who he is without the influence of his own father. It is a beautiful cycle of God's love sent down through generations by the means of Providence and Faithfulness and the mysterious work of the Holy Spirit. It is a beautiful testimony, my family.
So what does some German guy have to do with T, crying on the sidewalk, waiting for her dad to pick her up? These intersecting stories in my life give me a small dose of optimism; they point me to a larger picture of what is possible and the Hope we have in this dark world for progress, love, and redemption. My Grandpa Gesch didn't need a Good Dad on earth to understand how to be one himself. T doesn't need to wait for a Good Dad to come around. She doesn't need to have a perfect earthly example in her life to make the choice to begin something new in her own life, in her own family.
The truth is that T already has a Good Dad. He is of the heavenly sort, who already shows up and comes through when he says He will and will be faithful to His word. We all, T included, have access to this dad who will be consistent to His promises, true to what He says He will do, even if the earth gives way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea. This heavenly father is the kind of Good Dad who comes down to fill in the voids that human parents tend to leave conspicuously wide open. In a world full of imperfect dads and moms, it is beautiful to think of that.
So whether you have a bad dad, a mediocre dad, a good dad, or maybe even a dad who is gone from this earth, I'm sure you will be confronting that situation soon over the holidays. Family gatherings have a way of making us come to terms with our own dad and mom situation. Maybe it will be a happy time, but perhaps it will be difficult or even sad for you to think about the impact (or lack thereof) your dad has had on your life. Whatever that situation may be, perhaps it might help to think of T, and to know that you are not alone in shedding a tear or two. I hope that you and I can remember the Good Dad we all share who is faithful to us: a refuge, a strength, and an always-present help in trouble.
Saturday, August 2, 2014
On Being a Gesch: An Ode to my Last Name
Yesterday I sat in the Social Security Administration office waiting in line for 3 hours. This was the first step in changing my name over to Brian's, a step important to both of us when it comes to getting married. At first, I went with the idea of Anna Kathryn Whartnaby as my full name, dropping the old last name and replacing it with the new. The moment in our wedding when my hand was transferred from my dad's to Brian's to go up to the altar was the bittersweet picture of this. As I thought about changing my name, though, I couldn't let it go completely. I had to keep Gesch in there somehow, not as a hyphenated thing, but as my new middle name. So Anna Gesch Whartnaby it is. I had to keep it, because being a Gesch is a special thing. I'll try to explain.
This is not everyone's experience in my family, it is solely my own, as I have the particular brand of Gesch-ness influenced by my parents, grandparents, siblings, and geography. There are so many things that go along with this title at the end of your name, and when I think of being a Gesch, I am so proud to be one. Here is a little bit of what it means to me.
1. When you are a Gesch, you have to know that you are pretty quirky and high strung. It's just one of those things that go along with the territory. You and your people are weirdly talented, but kind of like purebred animals, also a tad temperamental and nuanced. I have family members who are brilliant jazz pianists, historians, pigeon-raisers, writers, singers, trumpet players, artists, bow hunters, bicycle fixers, self-taught craftsmen and carpenters, hunting outfit guides, and a lot of preachers who never went to a day of class in a seminary, yet are delivering theologically layered sermons with the best of them. Walk into a room of Gesches and the subject of conversation can be anything from Shakespeare to shotguns, and you can believe there is a lot of incessant foot tapping, finger fidgeting, and coffee sipping as the debates or rants ensue. We're all just a tad uptight.
2. When you are a Gesch, you have strict parents. It's just how it is. You hate it at 16, but are pretty grateful for it later on.
3. When you are a Gesch, you are painfully early to everything. You are overly punctual. Of course my wedding started 5 minutes early. My dad, meeting my mom and I at a restaurant for dinner a few weeks ago, showed up 45 minutes before the meeting time we agreed on and hung out in a booth, greeting other patrons and making conversation with our server. A Gesch tends to make friends with the custodial staff at various places of worship and business, because those are the only other humans present in these locations at such ridiculous hours. Gesches spend large potions of their lives waiting around awkwardly for things to begin. But it's okay, these kinds of lessons in delayed gratification build a lot of character, a virtue also incredibly important to the Gesches.
4. When you are a Gesch, you have learned from your family to be faithful and loyal. They stick with their local roots, spouse, family, and church. Of course we are not always perfect just like anybody, but this little area is very important to the clan.
5. When you are a Gesch, you are a communicator. My grandma was famous in far off countries throughout the world for writing letters to missionaries on a consistent basis. We all tend to write in one way or another, and we definitely have the problem of talking too much. This means large vocabularies, stimulating discussions, and opinionated children articulately lobbying for later bedtimes (guilty as charged; I think the Brian Gesch clan's offspring was particularly strong in this area). It also means a necessity to do the whole foot-in-mouth thing every once in awhile due to the lack of filter between your brain and your mouth. Please forgive us, for we Gesches mean well.
6. When you are a Gesch, you tend to get emotional in old age. We are a sentimental bunch. In my case, "old age" is the ripe, ancient year of 24, because I get teary-eyed every time I talk about my grandma, say goodbye to my parents, or hear Edie Ritsman sing anything in church.
7. When you are a Gesch, you are part of a friendly, handshaking crew. You meet new people all the time (probably other people who are early to events) and are well versed in the art of Meeting New People. Gesches bombard New People with talking too loud, enthusiastic yet random inquiries into cultural heritage, and invitations to Thanksgiving dinner celebrations so that other Gesches may Meet the New People.
8. When you are a Gesch, you sing. This is not optional. There is no question of whether or not you participate in church singing groups and choirs, it's just sort of assumed with your name that you will. You can always count on a Gesch to belt out the favorite hymns.
9. When you are a Gesch, you are sarcastic and witty. You laugh a lot as a Gesch, but it's a hard-achieved humor, one you have to work for. No easy laughs. Not much is easy-going in the life of a Gesch, but it is worth it to be present for a brilliant joke cracked by Uncle Jeff.
10. When you are a Gesch, you're probably a teacher, married to a teacher, a sibling of a teacher, or born of a teacher in one way or another. All of those categories happen to apply to me. Being a Gesch means loving to learn and loving to help people learn. It means an odd talent for trivia games, episodes of Jeopardy, and any other form of quickly generating information. It also means having so many random and useless facts up in your brain that you have a hard time remembering other things, like where you put your keys. Or whether you turned off the oven. Things like that.
So that's why I couldn't let go of my wonderful last name, not altogether at least. I will always love the book hoarding, coffee stirring, muskrat trapping, small town loving, churchgoing people who raised me and the values they instilled in my life, no matter how quirky that might make me. I look forward to seeing what it means to be a Whartnaby, and even helping define what that means in our own family unit with Brian and I. When I look at my name, my whole name, I will still get to see Gesch right there in the middle. And I am very proud of that.
 |
| Dancing with the guy who gave me the name in the first place. |
1. When you are a Gesch, you have to know that you are pretty quirky and high strung. It's just one of those things that go along with the territory. You and your people are weirdly talented, but kind of like purebred animals, also a tad temperamental and nuanced. I have family members who are brilliant jazz pianists, historians, pigeon-raisers, writers, singers, trumpet players, artists, bow hunters, bicycle fixers, self-taught craftsmen and carpenters, hunting outfit guides, and a lot of preachers who never went to a day of class in a seminary, yet are delivering theologically layered sermons with the best of them. Walk into a room of Gesches and the subject of conversation can be anything from Shakespeare to shotguns, and you can believe there is a lot of incessant foot tapping, finger fidgeting, and coffee sipping as the debates or rants ensue. We're all just a tad uptight.
2. When you are a Gesch, you have strict parents. It's just how it is. You hate it at 16, but are pretty grateful for it later on.
3. When you are a Gesch, you are painfully early to everything. You are overly punctual. Of course my wedding started 5 minutes early. My dad, meeting my mom and I at a restaurant for dinner a few weeks ago, showed up 45 minutes before the meeting time we agreed on and hung out in a booth, greeting other patrons and making conversation with our server. A Gesch tends to make friends with the custodial staff at various places of worship and business, because those are the only other humans present in these locations at such ridiculous hours. Gesches spend large potions of their lives waiting around awkwardly for things to begin. But it's okay, these kinds of lessons in delayed gratification build a lot of character, a virtue also incredibly important to the Gesches.
4. When you are a Gesch, you have learned from your family to be faithful and loyal. They stick with their local roots, spouse, family, and church. Of course we are not always perfect just like anybody, but this little area is very important to the clan.
5. When you are a Gesch, you are a communicator. My grandma was famous in far off countries throughout the world for writing letters to missionaries on a consistent basis. We all tend to write in one way or another, and we definitely have the problem of talking too much. This means large vocabularies, stimulating discussions, and opinionated children articulately lobbying for later bedtimes (guilty as charged; I think the Brian Gesch clan's offspring was particularly strong in this area). It also means a necessity to do the whole foot-in-mouth thing every once in awhile due to the lack of filter between your brain and your mouth. Please forgive us, for we Gesches mean well.
6. When you are a Gesch, you tend to get emotional in old age. We are a sentimental bunch. In my case, "old age" is the ripe, ancient year of 24, because I get teary-eyed every time I talk about my grandma, say goodbye to my parents, or hear Edie Ritsman sing anything in church.
7. When you are a Gesch, you are part of a friendly, handshaking crew. You meet new people all the time (probably other people who are early to events) and are well versed in the art of Meeting New People. Gesches bombard New People with talking too loud, enthusiastic yet random inquiries into cultural heritage, and invitations to Thanksgiving dinner celebrations so that other Gesches may Meet the New People.
8. When you are a Gesch, you sing. This is not optional. There is no question of whether or not you participate in church singing groups and choirs, it's just sort of assumed with your name that you will. You can always count on a Gesch to belt out the favorite hymns.
9. When you are a Gesch, you are sarcastic and witty. You laugh a lot as a Gesch, but it's a hard-achieved humor, one you have to work for. No easy laughs. Not much is easy-going in the life of a Gesch, but it is worth it to be present for a brilliant joke cracked by Uncle Jeff.
10. When you are a Gesch, you're probably a teacher, married to a teacher, a sibling of a teacher, or born of a teacher in one way or another. All of those categories happen to apply to me. Being a Gesch means loving to learn and loving to help people learn. It means an odd talent for trivia games, episodes of Jeopardy, and any other form of quickly generating information. It also means having so many random and useless facts up in your brain that you have a hard time remembering other things, like where you put your keys. Or whether you turned off the oven. Things like that.
So that's why I couldn't let go of my wonderful last name, not altogether at least. I will always love the book hoarding, coffee stirring, muskrat trapping, small town loving, churchgoing people who raised me and the values they instilled in my life, no matter how quirky that might make me. I look forward to seeing what it means to be a Whartnaby, and even helping define what that means in our own family unit with Brian and I. When I look at my name, my whole name, I will still get to see Gesch right there in the middle. And I am very proud of that.
Friday, August 23, 2013
Show Me the Money
This is one of those wise-words-of-my-dad moments, so if you're not in the mood for some life advice, go ahead and move on. I, on the other hand, am not above any advice to this whole adult world thing that I'm living in right now. It's a humbling experience and I grab hold of any wisdom I can to put in my pocket for later.
I was on the phone with my dad the other day after school. He's really good about calling me to check in over the phone. Our conversations are usually about 10 minutes or less, but it's just a good thing to touch base from time to time, and he remembers to do it more often that I remember. We were meandering through our usual catch-up conversations. Usually one of these questions is: "How are the boys?" Or most recently, "How is the boy?" and one of the questions is most definitely, "How is your situational awareness?"
Then we somehow got on the issue of money and how we know people on both ends of the very broad spectrum of the haves and have-nots (not to use the terms in the hyper-politicized manner you're thinking of; I'm no Marxist) and how we all fall somewhere in between. I know children who do not eat dinner at night; some of my kids only eat the school breakfast and school lunch provided in their classroom. I also know there are people who do not blink twice at a meal that costs 10 or even 100 times what one of those school lunches cost for their daily lunch. We all (or most of us) come in contact with either end of the spectrum from time to time.
I was talking over some money things of my own with my dad and going on one of my worry trips about whether or not, in the coming years, I'll be ready for things like down payments on houses and the like. I'd rather not be another twentysomething drowning in her credit card debt (I am thankful to have 0 dollars of that...) and manage my money somewhat logically, but even then, I get worried about money. My salary is not very exciting. Let's just say I didn't get into the charter school gig for the money.
But. But. But. Hold on a second. I also am extremely blessed. I have enough to cover rent, food, gas, and even have more than enough left over for clothes, plane tickets, and the odd expense that is coming on the horizon, like how this laptop on which I'm typing is about to byte the dust. (Okay terrible pun. Couldn't resist.) I do not need to go without dinner, and I do not need to think of contingency plans if my landlord evicts me. I do not ever need to wear the same shirt 5 days in a row, and my large dress collection is a little embarrassing. In some ways, by society's standards, I am considered poor because of my salary, but in most ways, in all the ways that influence my daily life, I am actually very rich. And this goes around in my head as I know friends who make twice, three times, and even four times my salary as fresh college graduates.
This is where my dad comes in. He reminded me to be happy for those with the big salary. He reminded me to be compassionate and understanding for those without one. He said all that is fine. We'll stay in this life with however much money we have for about 70, 80 years. "I would hope, that above all else, that I am spiritually rich."
And I hope so too. Because at the end of my 70, 80 (maybe 100? maybe less?) years, I won't be wishing I did anything else but this for my first years out of college. It's very simplified, and sure, I'll have changing opinions on how I use my money here and there, but I think that's a good guiding north star in keeping some perspective. Take that advice and save it for later, friends, because this one's a keeper.
I was on the phone with my dad the other day after school. He's really good about calling me to check in over the phone. Our conversations are usually about 10 minutes or less, but it's just a good thing to touch base from time to time, and he remembers to do it more often that I remember. We were meandering through our usual catch-up conversations. Usually one of these questions is: "How are the boys?" Or most recently, "How is the boy?" and one of the questions is most definitely, "How is your situational awareness?"
Then we somehow got on the issue of money and how we know people on both ends of the very broad spectrum of the haves and have-nots (not to use the terms in the hyper-politicized manner you're thinking of; I'm no Marxist) and how we all fall somewhere in between. I know children who do not eat dinner at night; some of my kids only eat the school breakfast and school lunch provided in their classroom. I also know there are people who do not blink twice at a meal that costs 10 or even 100 times what one of those school lunches cost for their daily lunch. We all (or most of us) come in contact with either end of the spectrum from time to time.
I was talking over some money things of my own with my dad and going on one of my worry trips about whether or not, in the coming years, I'll be ready for things like down payments on houses and the like. I'd rather not be another twentysomething drowning in her credit card debt (I am thankful to have 0 dollars of that...) and manage my money somewhat logically, but even then, I get worried about money. My salary is not very exciting. Let's just say I didn't get into the charter school gig for the money.
But. But. But. Hold on a second. I also am extremely blessed. I have enough to cover rent, food, gas, and even have more than enough left over for clothes, plane tickets, and the odd expense that is coming on the horizon, like how this laptop on which I'm typing is about to byte the dust. (Okay terrible pun. Couldn't resist.) I do not need to go without dinner, and I do not need to think of contingency plans if my landlord evicts me. I do not ever need to wear the same shirt 5 days in a row, and my large dress collection is a little embarrassing. In some ways, by society's standards, I am considered poor because of my salary, but in most ways, in all the ways that influence my daily life, I am actually very rich. And this goes around in my head as I know friends who make twice, three times, and even four times my salary as fresh college graduates.
This is where my dad comes in. He reminded me to be happy for those with the big salary. He reminded me to be compassionate and understanding for those without one. He said all that is fine. We'll stay in this life with however much money we have for about 70, 80 years. "I would hope, that above all else, that I am spiritually rich."
And I hope so too. Because at the end of my 70, 80 (maybe 100? maybe less?) years, I won't be wishing I did anything else but this for my first years out of college. It's very simplified, and sure, I'll have changing opinions on how I use my money here and there, but I think that's a good guiding north star in keeping some perspective. Take that advice and save it for later, friends, because this one's a keeper.
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
Why did the Easter Egg Hide?
....because he was a little chicken!
Okay. Weak joke. But not even a terrible pun can bring me down because I just had an awesome time visiting Alex and Heidi over Easter weekend and the first half of my (glorious) spring break. It's not your typical SUPER SICK SB13 PCB kind of week, but it's much better, in my opinion. I flew back to Chicago tonight and I am already missing D.C. and the people I left behind. My parents were with me for half of the time, and I got the privilege of staying at Alex and Heidi's new (and beautiful) townhouse for the whole visit. Here are a few highlights for you to relive the goodness right along with me. Read below each photo for the deets.
Okay. Weak joke. But not even a terrible pun can bring me down because I just had an awesome time visiting Alex and Heidi over Easter weekend and the first half of my (glorious) spring break. It's not your typical SUPER SICK SB13 PCB kind of week, but it's much better, in my opinion. I flew back to Chicago tonight and I am already missing D.C. and the people I left behind. My parents were with me for half of the time, and I got the privilege of staying at Alex and Heidi's new (and beautiful) townhouse for the whole visit. Here are a few highlights for you to relive the goodness right along with me. Read below each photo for the deets.
Easter dinner. This picture about sums up the extent to which my mad cooking skillz were utilized for this big event. (Hint: I don't have mad cooking skillz) Alex is somewhat (alottawhat) a foodie and embraced this opportunity to dazzle us with his talents in the kitchen. He made some fantastic salmon and did a top-chef-calibur demonstration for us guests. I think I could even recreate it someday. In other news, the wine was delicious.
One of the absolute highlights of my trip was a visit to the famous Georgetown Cupcakes shop of the TV show on TLC, DC Cupcakes. While the rest of my family saw the line and immediately admitted defeat, Heidi stood dutifully with me down the block for the hour long wait until we finally got to order our box of a half-dozen cupcakes. I will say, it was worth the wait. We stopped and ate the cupcakes on the steps of a beautiful multimillion dollar home that was for sale. We thought it might attract potential buyers to see four strange Wisconsinites chowing down on baked goods on the front steps. Nobody came to see the house while we were there. Odd.
I've added this picture purely for the fact that this is classic Dad: button-down dress shirt, dress pants, hiking all-weather shoes, cupcake in hand, posing for a picture and yet also somehow in mid-sentence.
Happening upon this sign was a significant moment for me. Sure, to the average onlooker, it could just be some dumb old Charles Dickens quote. But to me, it is the moment that March weather was so perfectly articulated like I have never been able to articulate on my own. It was outside a great coffee shop in Georgetown called Baked and Wired and I read it aloud three times in a row (passersby were confused at my excitement). I was always a little wishy washy on Charles Dickens, but now I am officially in his allegiance. It's pure genius. March weather totally is summer in the light and winter in the shade; it is absolutely when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold. That is exactly what it is like. It is the best description of spring weather I have ever beheld.
I like me some hard cider. I asked the waitress to bring me whatever cider they had, and this is what she brought to me. Original Sin. And I was out to eat with my parents! How scandalous. How risqué.
My parents left after the weekend, leaving me with Alex and Heidi to chill on Monday and Tuesday. On Monday night they took me out for some Vietnamese goodness. This soup is called pho. I finished not even half of it and was insanely full. It was really good. I also suck at using chopsticks. The sophistication comes in stages, people.
This was from Tuesday night when Alex, Heidi, and I were invited over to a friend of theirs' apartment for dinner (I had a really hard time figuring out the correct pluralization of that phrase and am still perplexed about whether or not it is correct.). I was exploring downtown when he was about to pick me up. Then he dropped it on me. Out of nowhere. SITUATIONAL AWARENESS. It's officially passing on to the next generation. Brian Gesch would be so proud.
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
What My Parents and I Talk About When We Go Out to Eat
Brian Gesch shares candid thoughts (does he ever share thoughts that aren't candid?) on pop culture icon and female rapper Nicki Minaj: the reason why he believes his once-beloved American Idol is now unwatchable. The following is a direct quote, taken from our dinner conversation at Rupp's in Sheboygan when I was home visiting last weekend.
That Nicki Minaj is so SO unlikeable. She is the MOST unlikeable person. She's either on drugs or something else because she's got this "neahhhh neahhhh neahhh" kind of whine-voice that she uses. ZERO appeal. That one, that judge, is dead to me. I now have absolutely no desire to watch the show. For goodness sakes, get Usher in there! He'd be a much better judge. He's got personality! Now THERE'S your guy.
Monday, January 14, 2013
Small Town
Yesterday, I had the privilege of being on the receiving end of a random act of kindness. It is absolutely wonderful when that happens. Although I've been fortunate enough to experience this kind of a thing before (here's the story of one of my favorite instances), each time a stranger goes out of their way to do something kind, it shocks me. It was especially cool this time because it happened in a big place like the city of Chicago, where people (like myself) tend to expect it the least.
This weekend, one of my favorites, Ashley Wisz, came to visit me (more on that in an upcoming post) and I took her around my neighborhood and favorite places to show her a little bit of my life in the city. This, of course, includes Simone's, my favorite bar. Ashley is too nice for her own good and treated me to my drink and would not take no for an answer. I should invite friends like her over more often. But then, that meant that I didn't have to check my wallet for the rest of the night. This means that my purse stayed on the bench for the duration of my meal. And this also means, of course, that when I left the bar, I was so happy and thankful for Ashley's generosity that I left my purse right there where I set it down in the first place.
Bad move, Anna. The prognosis on leaving a purse behind anywhere in public is not a good one. If I left my purse out in Cedar Grove, Wisconsin, I wouldn't be too hopeful about getting it back. Chicago, I thought, must be hopeless. Who knows who's walking past that bench? I figured it was a goner.
On Sunday morning, I was rushing around looking for my purse so I could drive us to church. Alas, I figured it out. Crap. I'm an idiot. That thing is never to be found again.
So we continued on to church and went about our morning, waiting until Simone's opened so I could give them a call. I'll admit to you readers (this is not a proud moment) that instead of confessing my sins during the silent prayer, I was asking God to PLEASE let that brown purse and all of its contents to be safely nestled behind the bar on the corner of Morgan and 18th. I know, not cool. All I could think about was calling my parents to tell them about my stupidity as I asked for what the next logical steps were to reclaiming my life. I was facing identity theft, a trip to the DMV for a new license, new credit cards, and, of course, and maybe most painful of all, a long, long sermon from my father about the importance of situational awareness. This is what was on my mind at church.
But then - as you've probably already figured out by now - I made the call and found to my delight that I did not have to face any of that at all. "Yes, we are so happy to tell you that we have your purse for you!" said the voice on the other end of the phone. I stopped by Simone's on my way home from church, ran inside, thanked the lady profusely, and promised my undying loyalty and support of her local business (pretty sure she doesn't own the place and that she is just a bartender, but hey...I was excited) for as long as I live. Every last dollar, card, and check was still in my wallet. It was a great moment in humanity.
I guess stuff like this happens all the time. People really do help other people out. Just because it's a big city doesn't mean that Chicago is an evil place. I'm starting to realize the great thing about this city is that Chicago is just a very, very, large small town. If I can help someone else feel like they're on main street just a little bit like that bartender did for me, I think that would be a great thing.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
The Rents
So I like my parents.
I'm getting to be at that stage. I've always loved my parents. Do not get me wrong. I consider myself one of the luckiest people alive with parents like mine. There are a lot of humans in this world who have sub-par parents and mine are definitely better than par. Like way better. They are so intelligent, creative, funny, friendly, and wise. While I've always loved them, I didn't always like them. I had those stupid times where I felt like they were too strict, too uptight, and too controlling, especially in high school. But somehow in the past few years I got to the point where I not only love them, but I like them. I really do. I'll be writing more about them in the future I'm sure. Lately I just have been feeling like I have cool parents.
I was home for about 36 hours this weekend. I had the opportunity to get my oil changed at home with our trusted go-to mechanics, which is good, because I found out that my car had virtually no oil in it. That clicking sound that was going on in my car for the last two weeks? Yeah, that was the engine telling me that some bad stuff could seriously go down at any moment. Thankfully I made it home safely and got Remy all fixed up and ready for this winter. Other than that, I spent my time at home, making food, shopping with my mom, and going out to eat with my parents on Saturday night. Back in the day three years ago I'd burst through the door, drop my stuff on the ground, and head out with my friends. It's true that I just don't have as many friends at home anymore, but I think it's also that I really miss my mom and dad these days. I miss home and the safety, feeling of belonging, and simple Wisconsin goodness that they symbolize to me.
I often write in this nostalgic blurriness every time I return after a quick trip home, but that's just the great feeling I get from sleeping in and having a simple day back in Cedar Grove. Beautiful trees, open land, no neighbors, the smell of farm, fresh air, and perfect starry nights. I really love Chicago, but getting home for a bit is so so sweet. It's sweet because of all that good stuff about rural Wisconsin in the fall, but it's mainly because of the two people who live there.
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| The amazing sunset over my backyard on Saturday. |
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| Dad texting me from his tree stand while he was deer hunting. Notice how he signs his name at the end of every text message he sends me. |
I was home for about 36 hours this weekend. I had the opportunity to get my oil changed at home with our trusted go-to mechanics, which is good, because I found out that my car had virtually no oil in it. That clicking sound that was going on in my car for the last two weeks? Yeah, that was the engine telling me that some bad stuff could seriously go down at any moment. Thankfully I made it home safely and got Remy all fixed up and ready for this winter. Other than that, I spent my time at home, making food, shopping with my mom, and going out to eat with my parents on Saturday night. Back in the day three years ago I'd burst through the door, drop my stuff on the ground, and head out with my friends. It's true that I just don't have as many friends at home anymore, but I think it's also that I really miss my mom and dad these days. I miss home and the safety, feeling of belonging, and simple Wisconsin goodness that they symbolize to me.
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| My mom officially has more of a social life than I do. Good work Kathy. |
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Our Love Is Here To Stay
These are just my thoughts on one of the best people walking around on this earth. Since it's Valentine's, I think it's a good time to talk about someone I love. His name is Brian Gesch, also referred to as B-Money, and he is my dad.
Here are some things that I've learned from my dad. Along the way I'll try and give you a little picture of who we're dealing with here:
#1 Be yourself, and be confident in who you are. My dad can't help but be himself. He is such a strong presence that everything he does is SO HIM. I used to get embarrassed of some of his tendencies in public, but now I love them. You know exactly who the guy is. He will ALWAYS be the loudest one singing in church. When he is in charge of making me dinner he will ALWAYS make a delicious steak for each of us cooked medium rare. He will ALWAYS ask every non-English speaker to teach him to say hello in their native language. He will ALWAYS say my mom is the most amazing person he knows. He will ALWAYS ask "May I bus your table?" and clear off the dishes when we have a family gathering. And he will ALWAYS cry at touching moments in movies, particularly in Old Yeller. He is, unapologetically, himself.
#2 Crank up the volume. This is specifically applied to the radio, but also metaphorically applied to life in general. Anytime you drive a vehicle after my dad was the last one at the wheel, when you turn on the car, you can bet money that you will be assaulted with a decibel level high enough for permanent hearing damage. He does this with good songs, the BBC radio for world news updates, and talk radio sessions on the 1130 AM channel in Milwaukee. I often make him mixed CD's for his birthdays and holidays of music I think he will like. I'll get many a voicemail of him singing along to a blasting Kelly Clarkson number or Cee-Lo Green's "Forget You" throughout my random school days. But everything he does is cranked up a few more notches than the average person. Have to be somewhere at 10:00? NOPE! My dad will do you one better and our whole family will be showing up at 9:15. Just to get a feel for the circumstances and to be punctual, for goodness sakes. I had 8 AM soccer games as a kid when I was the only girl on my team of boys and would show up a whole hour and fifteen minutes early. He and I were the only ones on the field, sitting at 6:45 in the morning with nothing to do. He would take that opportunity to make me do little drills by myself and practice sliding in mud so I was filthy and wet before the game even started. He said I had to do this because, well, "Then it shows you're not one of those weak girls who are afraid of getting a little dirty!" Like I said, in the Gesch family we have to turn it up a few notches. On everything.
#3 Live in loyalty to your principles. My dad is the most loyal person I have ever met, and I am not kidding. To everything. To my mom, to our family, to his parents, and to his principles of what is right and wrong. The guy isn't happy unless he is following all of those things. If he's in opposition to one of those, he's thrown completely out of whack. If he figures out he has done something against his principles, he apologizes and tries to get back to correct alignment. He has to do the right thing, or he can't stand himself. He has a fierce loyalty to the concept of SITUATIONAL AWARENESS and feels a deep obligation to inform me that I must use it at ALL times. Whenever I feel like I'm living in a world of gray, talking to my dad clears the lines a little bit. Talking with him reminds me that there is always a right thing to do and that I must just figure out what that is.
#4 Always say hello. This could be a piece of wisdom passed down first from my dad's father, Wilfred. My grandpa told me, "Anna, it doesn't cost anything to be friendly." My dad is the same way. I have often had to practice my handshake with my dad. When my family was assigned to be the greeters in church, I was thoroughly instructed to not give "dead fish" handshakes. "Look 'em in the eye, give a firm handshake, and say hello!" If there is a room full of people he already knows and ONE that he's never met, guess who is now conversing with Brian Gesch. Yep, the one. And if they're from a different country you get big time bonus points because now he can ask all about their trip and their lifestyle and their language and their religion. He just loves people. One time he met a guy from Cameroon. After a conversation the African guy ended up giving my dad the shirt he was wearing as a gift because my dad complimented him on it. The shirt looks hilarious but my dad cherishes it because he loved meeting that guy. That would only happen to him.
Of course, all this says volumes about my mom. My mom is the one behind the scenes that helps make my dad this great person that he is. She saw a guy in the 1970's with a white man's a-fro and chose instead to see a potential leader, husband, father, and teacher, and gave him a shot to fulfill all that unrealized possibility. She hangs with him through everything he does and gives our family the legs on which to stand up.
As for the title, this is a fabulous song of Frank Sinatra's (and many other singers, originally written by George Gershwin) that my dad and I both love to sing. And just like the song, I know that if the Rockies are crumbling, and Gibraltar is tumbling over, my dad will still be my dad. Brian Gesch will always be Brian Gesch, the same guy. And I love him for that.
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| Myself, Special-K, and B-Money all together on vacation |
#1 Be yourself, and be confident in who you are. My dad can't help but be himself. He is such a strong presence that everything he does is SO HIM. I used to get embarrassed of some of his tendencies in public, but now I love them. You know exactly who the guy is. He will ALWAYS be the loudest one singing in church. When he is in charge of making me dinner he will ALWAYS make a delicious steak for each of us cooked medium rare. He will ALWAYS ask every non-English speaker to teach him to say hello in their native language. He will ALWAYS say my mom is the most amazing person he knows. He will ALWAYS ask "May I bus your table?" and clear off the dishes when we have a family gathering. And he will ALWAYS cry at touching moments in movies, particularly in Old Yeller. He is, unapologetically, himself.
#2 Crank up the volume. This is specifically applied to the radio, but also metaphorically applied to life in general. Anytime you drive a vehicle after my dad was the last one at the wheel, when you turn on the car, you can bet money that you will be assaulted with a decibel level high enough for permanent hearing damage. He does this with good songs, the BBC radio for world news updates, and talk radio sessions on the 1130 AM channel in Milwaukee. I often make him mixed CD's for his birthdays and holidays of music I think he will like. I'll get many a voicemail of him singing along to a blasting Kelly Clarkson number or Cee-Lo Green's "Forget You" throughout my random school days. But everything he does is cranked up a few more notches than the average person. Have to be somewhere at 10:00? NOPE! My dad will do you one better and our whole family will be showing up at 9:15. Just to get a feel for the circumstances and to be punctual, for goodness sakes. I had 8 AM soccer games as a kid when I was the only girl on my team of boys and would show up a whole hour and fifteen minutes early. He and I were the only ones on the field, sitting at 6:45 in the morning with nothing to do. He would take that opportunity to make me do little drills by myself and practice sliding in mud so I was filthy and wet before the game even started. He said I had to do this because, well, "Then it shows you're not one of those weak girls who are afraid of getting a little dirty!" Like I said, in the Gesch family we have to turn it up a few notches. On everything.
#3 Live in loyalty to your principles. My dad is the most loyal person I have ever met, and I am not kidding. To everything. To my mom, to our family, to his parents, and to his principles of what is right and wrong. The guy isn't happy unless he is following all of those things. If he's in opposition to one of those, he's thrown completely out of whack. If he figures out he has done something against his principles, he apologizes and tries to get back to correct alignment. He has to do the right thing, or he can't stand himself. He has a fierce loyalty to the concept of SITUATIONAL AWARENESS and feels a deep obligation to inform me that I must use it at ALL times. Whenever I feel like I'm living in a world of gray, talking to my dad clears the lines a little bit. Talking with him reminds me that there is always a right thing to do and that I must just figure out what that is.
#4 Always say hello. This could be a piece of wisdom passed down first from my dad's father, Wilfred. My grandpa told me, "Anna, it doesn't cost anything to be friendly." My dad is the same way. I have often had to practice my handshake with my dad. When my family was assigned to be the greeters in church, I was thoroughly instructed to not give "dead fish" handshakes. "Look 'em in the eye, give a firm handshake, and say hello!" If there is a room full of people he already knows and ONE that he's never met, guess who is now conversing with Brian Gesch. Yep, the one. And if they're from a different country you get big time bonus points because now he can ask all about their trip and their lifestyle and their language and their religion. He just loves people. One time he met a guy from Cameroon. After a conversation the African guy ended up giving my dad the shirt he was wearing as a gift because my dad complimented him on it. The shirt looks hilarious but my dad cherishes it because he loved meeting that guy. That would only happen to him.
Of course, all this says volumes about my mom. My mom is the one behind the scenes that helps make my dad this great person that he is. She saw a guy in the 1970's with a white man's a-fro and chose instead to see a potential leader, husband, father, and teacher, and gave him a shot to fulfill all that unrealized possibility. She hangs with him through everything he does and gives our family the legs on which to stand up.
As for the title, this is a fabulous song of Frank Sinatra's (and many other singers, originally written by George Gershwin) that my dad and I both love to sing. And just like the song, I know that if the Rockies are crumbling, and Gibraltar is tumbling over, my dad will still be my dad. Brian Gesch will always be Brian Gesch, the same guy. And I love him for that.
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