I have a dream

A wise man once told me, “what goes around comes back around.” Okay, that wise man was Justin Timberlake and he didn’t actually tell me, he sang it on his last album. But, that raises the question of whether, you know, what goes around really does come back around. We may as well have this question answered shortly, during the NFL playoffs.

There hasn’t been a shortage of ESPN or Fox Sports, not to mention local coverage (if you live in the state of Wisconsin) of the Brett Favre saga. The lovable, vintage 40-year-old has perfectly planned out his revenge against his former employer, the Green Bay Packers, or has he? The new Viking sailed his way through both meetings, passing for a combined 515 yards, seven TDs and no turnovers. The Packers and Vikings first Monday night meeting this season, was said to be the most anticipated game in the history of the NFL. But, I don’t need to tell you that, you already know. Favre has also led his team to a current 11-2 record, NFC North division title and playoff berth. But, after a 4-4 start and a loss to then winless Tampa Bay, the Pack have won five in a row and are on their way to the playoffs; on their way to a epic playoff showdown with their ally turned enemy, Favre.

I have a dream, a dream that… may or may not come truth, but damn it, we all need to dream. The playoff-bound Vikings and Packers could meet in round 2 of the playoffs with a Packers win and a Philadelphia loss, with the current NFC seeding of Saints no. 1, Viking no. 2, Eagles no. 3, Cardinals no. 4, Packers no. 5 and Dallas no. 6.

I am literally sweating just thinking about a Vikings loss to the Packers. Redemption, sweet redemption. But, before I get ahead of myself too much, the Packers need to finish this season on a good note and make it eight wins in a row and on to 12. Nonetheless, one win is more important than the rest because it makes 515 and seven insignificant; it makes 11-2 laughable; and it makes Brett Favre our BITCH.

So, let's hope December confirms what Justin was saying, and let's get our sexy back.

Faith of the heart

I’ve always struggled with the seemingly simple concept of faith.

To me, it has always stood for the belief in something that you can’t see, or as dictionary.com puts it, “belief that does not rest on logical proof or material evidence.”

Most often, I find myself questioning faith when it comes to religion. It just seems like there are too many unanswered questions that just don’t make sense to me.

An example of this would be the concept of the soul and it’s ascendance to heaven or descent to hell. As far as I know, I’ve never heard of a person tell me their soul is broken and they have to go have surgery to fix it. If the soul truly exists, where is it? Does it sit somewhere near your stomach and flare up every time you have gas?

Despite my attempt at humor, the soul is merely a concept. It is not a physical part of my body and no one can truly prove that it exists. Sticking to my original point, it takes faith to believe in the soul.

Another example of something I question, as broad as it may be, is God himself. Other than the select few who have seen him burned in their toast, how can someone truly prove that God exists? The common belief is that he lives in heaven somewhere in the clouds above us, but people have gone far, far into space, yet haven’t run into this place. Once again, it takes a great deal of faith to believe in God, and religion in general for that matter.

I guess the whole point I’m trying to get to is that no matter how much I’ve questioned faith in the past, it seems there is finally something I can honestly apply the concept to.

While most of you reading this know my situation, others might not know that my girlfriend is heading back home to Alabama, for good, leaving us in a long distance relationship. I will see her during spring break in March and when I move there in May. Other than that, we will only be able to talk on the phone, text each other and see each other on video chats. No hugs. No hand holding. No kisses.

As much as I earlier showed I don’t really believe in faith, I find myself on the opposite side of the spectrum when it comes to this relationship. There is no real material evidence I can point to in order to prove it will work out, but I just have a feeling about it. I know that I love her, and in turn, she loves me just as much. It is in this intense understanding of our love that I have faith this long distance adventure will end up being something that will only strengthen our already rock-steady relationship.

As someone who is easily set in his ways, it is weird to think that something can sway my ideology concerning faith. Who knew it would be love?

Pondering the finality of death

When thinking about death, the finality of the whole ordeal is an extremely depressing thought.

One second, your loved one is with you. The next, they die and are never accessible again. You'll never be able to call them at the end of the day and tell them how your day went. You'll never be able to hear their voice again. You'll never get the chance to hold their hand or give them one last hug.

Seeing as my dad has small cell lung cancer, an aggressive and quick-spreading form of the disease, I've begun to think about this finality more and more each day. I won't even try to be the tough guy because in all honesty, these thoughts absolutely break my heart.

While I know I have to stay strong in front of my dad and keep all the positive thoughts and vibes going his way, it's not so easy for me to stay emotionally balanced away from him. Every time I'm around him, I think of all the "last times" that might be occurring. When the Angels lost in the playoffs, was that the last Angels game I'd be able to watch with him? Was this our last Thanksgiving together? Was this my last birthday with him? What should I get him for Christmas if I don't even know how long he'll be able to enjoy it?

If you know my dad at all, you know he's a pretty funny guy. For example, when we recently had our family reunion in Estes Park, he was an absolute riot when we played Apples to Apples. He hilariously tried to convince the judge to pick his card each and every turn. Knowing that the end could be near, those are moments that I will never forget.

In the same sense though, those moments make me extremely sad. It makes me think that soon, when my dad passes, I'll NEVER have the chance to see that humorous side of him because I'll NEVER get to see him again. Once he's gone, he's gone. All I will have left are memories. Eventually, they will be good enough, but for now, I just can't fathom the thought.

Worst of all, I hate thinking about the future without my dad being in it. There are a list of things I know I'll experience that my dad will never have the chance to witness:

• My first house
• My wedding
• My sister's wedding
• His grandchildren

More than those big experiences, it's the little things he'll miss that bothers me the most. I'll never have the chance to watch an Angels game or talk with him about the Angels ever again. I'll never get to play another game of Five Crowns with him, whether he's at home or in the hospital. He'll never pull two all nighters in a row to go watch me play in every single softball game at the 36-hour softball tournament.

Even as I write this, I can't stop the tears from coming. If I feel this way now and my dad is still alive, I'm afraid of how I'll handle his death once the time actually comes.

The mother of all upsets

What is every pregnant women's dream? Delivering a healthy baby? Yes. Seeing their baby boy/girl for the first time? Well, of course. Becoming the first mother to win a Grand Slam title since 1980? Huh?

Well, that was Tennis champion, Kim Clijsters, dream come true on Sunday when she became the first mother since 1980 to win a major. The unseeded Clijster beat No. 9 Caroline Wozniacki in two sets, after two years away from the game of tennis. On her historic journey to the U.S Open championship, she routed all-star Serena Williams in a conservational match ending with a Williams' tirade and fine.

The 7-5, 6-3 victory ended with Clijsters dropping to her knees and crying tears of joy. She was later accompanied by her 18-month-old daughter and while they celebrated with mom's shiny new toy.

Clijsters’ journey from mom to Grand Slam champion is an inspiring one. How does one get in shape to play at a championship level after creating and delivering a human being only 18 months ago? As a father, I remember how it took my wife, a good year to get back to her previous weight. I also know the demands parenthood include and I am really awestruck by the moxy of Clijsters.

Deficit spending

Because, it is rough out there.

Dog eat dog

The NFL shop has now made available the customizable pet jersey. So, now your dog can sport the newest Philadelphia Eagles' jersey. Just think of the possibilities.

The art of regression

I have been using the timeout or the, "please go to your room and think about what you have done while you play with your toys," technique for the better part of my daughter's life, as a form of punishment. While I could estimate that my success rate is better than 50 percent, there are some weird results that emerge. The weird results include some that look like me spending time in my bedroom scratching my head after a yelling match with my daughter. "Go sit in your bedroom, you're on timeout," she said. "Wait a minute, what the hell just happened," I said. Time and time again, roles interchange, child waves finger at parent. To be fair, it is a game we play, but the game turns from real-world discipline to play-world head scratching. But still, I have unknowingly mastered the art of regression. Sigmund Freud defined regression as a defense mechanism leading to the temporary reversion to an earlier stage of development. Rather than handling impulses in a adult way I revert to attacking them in a childish way. It may be my own immaturity and the realization that I am still working at becoming a better father.

Really, the art of regression makes me realize how much I learn from my daughter day in and day out. She is so much smarter then I give her credit for and she is more than anything helping to make me a more mature person, in a way.

So, considering my experiences, I have derived a theory that I have coined the art of regression theory, hence the blog title. Now, this theory is NOT a conclusion of any kind of scientific evidence, moral or ethical theory or any significant findings but rather my suspicions and rather odd mindset. The art of regression theory gives all the credit to the child and states that children knowingly push their parents toward a state of to obtain what they want. Now, don't ask me how they do this (no evidence remember) but regression is now a defense mechanism as well as an art mastered by children to conquer the world... of parents. Now that I have proven my theory, test it out, and see what happens the next time you attempt to discipline your child.

Mr. Mom

(This article was originally published in Laramie County Community College's student newspaper, Wingspan, and was edited and contributed to by the Wingspan staff.)

By Adam McCoy

She carries guns. I carry baby bags.

You see, I am a full-time student and work part time, really quarter time, at a minimum wage job. In the U.S. Air Force, my wife, Jenny, works as a security forces member —or a cop.

I’d like to think I wear the dungarees in my family. But, sadly, that probably isn’t true.

Instead, my family is a little different from the traditional “Leave It to Beaver” household.

So just what is the traditional American family? A married couple with a child with the husband as the breadwinner and the wire as the caregiver? That’s sure not us.

I know many can say their family isn’t television picture-perfect, but how many include a “Mr. Mom”?

I care for our 20-month-old daughter, Olivia, the majority of the time because my wife dressed in combat boots and carrying a M-4 leaves town for three to five days at a time. That essentially leaves me as a single dad.

During those days, embarrassingly I admit I Swiffer the linoleum, Hoover up Legos and Dreft the OshKosh B’Gosh overalls. Because we haven’t had much money except enough for Huggies and Enfamil formula, I have spent hours at home watching “Little Einsteins” on the Disney Channel and changing my “spit-up”-covered shirt.

Trips to the supermarket with my daughter have resembled trips to the circus freak show. But this time, we’re on display. Imagine the odd looks when I stroll up to the cashier and swipe my Women, Infants and Children (WIC) card.

However, it wasn’t always like this. I am a military veteran and met my wife when I was enlisted. We always split the bills and usually spent our own individual money. But, when I separated from the military in October 2005, life changed: I was stuck at home without any money and waited for my wife to return home in the evening. What I thought was freedom turned out to be the worst time of my life. The shock of the resulting four months, prior to starting college, were full of unemployment checks, video games, day-time cable television, depression and nicotine cravings. I was clueless to the magnitude of the situation. Frequently, I asked my wife for money, and the one time she told me no, it damaged my pride. Then the situation worsened. Because my wife was pregnant, we were both struggling to quit smoking. Those who haven’t been yelled at by a woman four months pregnant, irritable from nicotine cravings and channeling Satan, are fortunate.

On top of all this, my vehicle was about to “blow a gasket,” so unless I woke up at 5:30 a.m. to drop my wife at work, I was trapped in the house all day or was resigned to walking to my destination.

My time home alone made me realize all I wanted in life was to support my family and have a career in writing.

So I started my first semester at Laramie County Community College and enrolled in my fine arts elective, an “Introduction to Theater” class, in which the major project was to produce a play. I portrayed the part of a man gone crazy because he had recently lost his job. The character struggled with the fact that he could no longer provide for his family. I found that part easy to play because I was essentially playing myself.

Afterward, I realized the hurt I sometimes feel because I am no fulfilling my “manly” duties at home is offset by spending so much time with my daughter, which has definitely put what I value most into perspective.

I’ve decided being “Mr. Mom” is worth it because of the great time I’ve had playing with my daughter and the laughter, the smiles and the times when she gives me a hug and says, “I love you, mommy.”