FAIR QUESTION

Definition of nerd
: an unstylish, unattractive, or socially inept person especially : one slavishly devoted to intellectual or academic pursuits —Merriam-Webster.

“Pops, are you a nerd?” queried Nora, Pops’ six-year old grandgirl.

I laughed and thought about it—wondering what her idea of “nerd” is. Surely there is some confirmation bias at work here. Then I realized that even having a thought like that confirmed it: if not a nerd, surely I have some tendencies. Although, as the kids say these days, I don’t identify as a nerd. Even here at 70, I still like to think I have a certain cool.

Nora herself is one cool kitten, one of those kinds of people whom you don’t want thinking you’re a nerd.

I’ve already admitted to being curious about her confirmation bias (The tendency to interpret new evidence as confirmation of one's existing beliefs or theories. —Oxford Languages), so I dug in:

“What do you mean by ‘nerd’ Nora?” I asked.

Her intellectual sister Harper stepped in, “Oh, she saw a picture of Daddy (my offspring) when he was young. He had big glasses and buck teeth and she thinks he was a nerd.”

So, she’s wondering if I carry a nerd gene? Maybe she’s concerned that she too might someday manifest nerdiness?

I’m no soothsayer, but I don’t see that on her horizon.

Making my case for non-nerdness, I explained to her that I did play in the band (but at least I was a drummer). I am an introvert, but I like people; on a case-by-case basis. I do love to read and given the choice of going to Chuck-E-Cheese or a bookstore, I’ll choose the bookstore every time. (Of course, given a choice I would choose most any place over Chuck’s.) (I realize that Chuck’s might be a source of employment for the young that might tend to score high on the nerd scale. So, good for you Chuck E.) I do wear glasses. I do love the Big Bang Theory, but I haven’t been in a comic book store in years and I have no clue or curiosity about quantum chromodynamics.

By this time her inquisitive interests moved on, but I was left wandering why I didn’t want my grandgirl to think I was a nerd. Probably has something to do with my own confirmation biases which are much more ingrained in me that her’s are in her.

And after all, doesn’t it take a bit of grandfatherly nerdiness to help a grandgirl tether her iPad to another connected device so she can secure enough coins to restore life to some imaginary app dweller?

Hey, maybe that’s what she was asking all along! She wasn’t so much worried about an embarrassing potential flaw in her old Pops— just wondering if I had the tech skills to solve her 21st century quandary.

The Interrobang

There is no terror in the bang, only in the anticipation of it. —Alfred Hitchcock

Harper, our middle grand-girl

Interrogatio is Latin for "a rhetorical question" or "cross-examination";
Bang is printers' slang for the exclamation mark. 

Symbols—those little marks that represent something, that tell a bit of a story, that create identity.

For example, if you see a little stylized fish on the back of someone’s car, you assume that they (or the car’s previous owner) professed to be christian. You don’t assume though that the person’s religious convictions extend to more courteous driving or less road rage than their non fish bearing counterparts. And to be fair, we can’t really ask “WWJD” when it comes to driving, because we don’t have any record that Jesus ever drove anything (except the occasional evil spirit—from a person to a pig).

I like symbols. I think they’re interesting. I’ve yet to find a symbol however, that I was so affiliated with that I would have it tattooed on my person, but I have held allegiance to a few symbols over the years, enough at least to wear them as jewelry.

The Peace Sign was one. (Or, as it was called by “rednecks” back in the day: “the footprint of the American chicken.”)

For me, the symbol probably had something to do with my adolescent need to “belong.” It was like the brand of the 60s counter-culture movement and a tribe that was very accepting. Maybe I wore it out of wishful thinking—hoping that somehow if we rallied around the dream of peace I might not get drafted and end up in a jungle in Southeast Asia fighting in a war I didn’t understand.

When that war finally ended, I put the peace sign in a box with my “McGovern for President” button, and my idealism. I still have that box and occasionally drag it out and remember the old days “better than they were.”

Today, if I were to wear a symbol or give serious consideration to symbol-style tattoo, it would be an interrobang. The interrobang has an interesting history. You should Google (v.) it. The interrobang is a punctuation mark that actually appeared on Remington typewriters briefly. It really never made it’s mark though. (Although it is still included in many fonts on your computer.) It was a combination of a question mark and an exclamation point.

As I hinted at the beginning of the post the interrobang would be used at the end of a hypothetical question, being asked with a sort of gusto, like: “Wow, did you see that?!” or “What the what?!” You get the idea, right?!

Just as the peace sign was a good symbol for me in my first coming-of-age, the interrobang serves me well now, in my second.

There was once a day of youthful confidence; swagger, if you will. Today it seems like everything I used to feel certain of, in an exclamatory kind of way, also has a certain question to it. For example, say we’re trekking across country, my Amazing-Missus might ask, “Do you have any idea where we are?” And I reply, “Of course I do! I think?” Or the doctor asks, “How are you doing?” “Great!” I exclaim. “Aren’t I?”

That picture at the beginning of this post, of our middle grand-girl, Harper; her dad took that and commented about her “eye of the tiger” look. She will be 3-years old Saturday. I hope she always keeps her eye-of-the-tiger, strength-of-her-convictions swagger. Some will see it and call it "strong-willed". Her Pops will see it and will remember a day when he had it. A day when he thought Peace was attainable. A day when he was less squishy about his certainties.

Being POPS to Nora

Sometimes this blog/journal is literally "about Pops"--in other words, the role of a grandfather. Now, Nora Grace is here and I have a third opportunity to be Pops. So what does this look like?

What children need most are the essentials that grandparents provide in abundance: unconditional love, kindness, patience, humor, comfort, lessons in life. And, most importantly, cookies. --Rudy Giuliani

I really like the prayer for her daughter that Tina Fey wrote in her book, "Bossypants." I would like to include it here, but I don't have permission, and About POPS is a little on the conservative side of "PG" to include it. But you should check it out HERE. 

I will always pray for our grand-girls. And I will want the best for them; even if that spoils them a bit.

For you Nora, as for your big sisters, Karlee and Harper, I hope you will always know that your are loved, that you will know you are free to be curious and creative, so don't be afraid to color outside the lines; or better yet, draw your own. And while on the subject of the Arts, whether music, dance, drawing, painting, poetry, story-telling, or wood-carving, we will be there to encourage you always, because while school will take care of the math, science and sports; the Arts are pretty much up to you, but worth every minute.

Oh, and there will be boys. The three of you are blessed with your mother's beauty, so it's inevitable. So far, I've not seen a boy that deserves you, but we've got a lot of time for them to develop. Sometimes you have to find a good one and take him on as a project. Your mom and grandmother would probably say be cautious of drummers and preacher's kids. They do take extra patience and love, but they are worth it--some of the time. And, they mean well.

Karlee, 5-years old climbing at 30 feet.

Nora, I have no doubt you will have the bold, daring of your big sisters, so I will buy you your first helmet. Speaking of safety, I promise to always buckle you in to your car seat when traveling. Forgive me for the bad words I'll murmur under my breath when I can't get the dang thing buckled and unbuckled.

Be patient with your biggest sister. Those of us who are the first-born children tend to be wiser and could make your life better if you would only listen to us. So, at times, you'll think you have two mothers, but remember, Karlee just wants the best for you and she knows what that is.

Be patient with your next biggest sister. Harper is abdicating her seat as the baby of the family for you. She has served admirably and it's not an easy role to give up. But she is so much fun, and so full of energy and wide-eyed wonder, she will be a tireless friend for you.

You have two amazing parents. Give them a good 6 hours of sleep a night as soon as you can, and they will give you all of themselves.

Welcome to the Family, Nora!

Old people are distinguished by grandchildren; children take pride in their parents. --Proverbs 17:6 (The Message)

Can You See From Where You Are?

I HOPE YOU SAW the segment on 60 Minutes last Sunday night, reported by Wynton Marsalis. The segment was called The Virtuoso: Marcus Roberts. Here's a link to the video in case you missed it.

Marcus Roberts (CBS News)

The story begins:

Marcus Roberts lost his sight as a child, but gained incredible insight into American music -- inspiring a generation of jazz musicians. Marcus went blind when he was 5 years old. And soon began trying to make sense of life in the darkness. He was unusually curious, and even tore his toys apart just to find out how they worked. Roberts developed a powerful, analytical intelligence, capable of producing music that will move your mind as well as your body. The story of his genius begins with a precious gift from his parents: a piano. His mother Coretta is sightless too, blinded by glaucoma. She remembers the pain of having to leave school in the seventh grade because she couldn't see the blackboard.

Don't you marvel? Think of these people who are sightless, but have such keen insight. One of those people, Helen Keller, reminds us that there is something worse than being sightless:

It is a terrible thing to see and have no vision. -- Helen Keller

I couldn't resist adding this photo of our grand-girl Harper. I don't know what she is imagining seeing through her "binoculars" (upside-down, no less), but clearly, whatever it is, is magnificent.

As we age, we seem to lose our vision. I'm not talking about our eyesight, although that happens too. But let's face it; we do NOT see the things a young child or a blind jazz musician does.

My dad will be 90 soon. He has lost most of his eyesight, but it seems to me like he "sees" more than he ever has, and he has always been an insightful man. So maybe there's hope for me. Maybe I won't become visionless. I want to look through the binoculars, or the camera, or the lament of the Blues, or a quiet Saturday morning enjoying a good, strong cup of coffee and the company of my Amazing-Missus, and SEE something I've never seen before.

And ultimately, there is that promise. Remember the verse? “Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man the things which God hath prepared for them that love Him.” 

Several years ago now, death came way too soon for my cousin, "Bobby." He always had a toughness and swagger than I admired as a little kid looking up to him. He seemed to see things I couldn't. At his memorial service, he wanted a certain song played. I've never heard it played at a funeral since. Maybe it was just apropos for Bobby. It goes like this:

I can see clearly now, the rain is gone, 
I can see all obstacles in my way 
Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind 
It’s gonna be a bright, bright 
Sun-Shiny day. 

I think I can make it now, the pain is gone 
All of the bad feelings have disappeared 
Here is the rainbow I’ve been praying for 
It’s gonna be a bright, bright 
Sun-Shiny day.