An Out-of-this-World Connection

Recently, I decided to join the career-networking site, LinkedIn. I realize that I am probably the last person on Earth to do so, but hey – better late than never, right?

Because I am so new to the site, I am frequently emailed with suggestions of people with whom I may wish to connect. The faces are almost always familiar ones and follow a typical style: a professional-looking-yet-approachable photo, full name, and current impressive-sounding job title.

As I was reviewing the latest suggestions of people, I was shocked to find one that was different from all of the rest. There was no photo, no job title, and no current position. Just an odd gray head-shaped placeholder where a photo should go and a very familiar but unexpected name: William Kern.

The only William Kern I know, my father-in-law, died in May.

At first I thought that it must be some weird coincidence, that someone else must share his name. Then I saw the unusual email address and knew without a doubt that it was my father-in-law. It was Pop.

Several years ago, Pop wanted to be able to get online. Always an avid fisherman, he wanted Internet access so that he could research fishing, but he didn’t want to buy – or have to learn - a computer. At the time, there was this gadget called WebTV that could be hooked up to a television and a phone line so that you could send and receive email as well as surf the Internet right on your TV.

The dial-up connection was lousy and unpredictable, and you could only view text-based websites. Still, Pop loved his WebTV. He would spend hours reading fishing statistics, looking for information on where to fish, and hunting down gear that he wanted to buy. In fact, he used it so often that we could rarely reach him by telephone because his phone line was always connected to the WebTV.

WebTV also provided an escape from the loneliness he felt after his wife died. When he moved in with the woman who would become his second wife, he tried to bring the unit with him, but she wouldn’t allow it in her house. Her refusal abruptly halted Pop’s time on the Internet. The unit was discarded, the monthly fee for his Internet service was cancelled, and his email address was abandoned.

The last time Pop used WebTV was seven years ago, so how did he show up on LinkedIn? LinkedIn was probably not in existence back when Pop used WebTV, but even if it was, I am 100% positive that he was NOT a member. He was a self-employed carpenter for his entire life and not at all technology-savvy. No way would he have joined a professional networking site even if he could have.

After staring at the computer in disbelief for several minutes, I did the only thing that felt right in that moment.

I clicked the “Connect” button under his name.

Still Baking

(source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Facepalm)

I remember reading something several years ago that said that a child’s brain isn’t fully developed until they are twenty-three years old.  The article even referred to the child’s brain as being “half baked,” which made me imagine a cake that still had quite a while to go in the oven. 

At the time, my oldest son was well into his teen years.  He seemed to make one peculiar decision after another to the point where I wondered if I’d done something wrong.  What crucial parenting step did I miss?  Learning about half-baked brains made me feel so much better.  There wasn’t anything wrong with my son or my parenting.  His poor judgment was simply a normal part of adolescent brain development.  It gave me great comfort to know that he wouldn’t be flaky forever.

The other night, my middle son, fully in the midst of teenage half-bakedness, did a really stupid thing.  He thought it was a dandy idea to go off-road driving in a friend’s field at nighttime.  Who does this?  NO ONE does this because it’s a really stupid thing to do.  You can’t see any obstacles that may be in the field.  You can’t see any places where the field might drop off. 

He didn’t let me in on his plans or I’d have told him it was a really stupid thing to do… in the nicest possible way, of course.

So my kid with his half-baked brain went off-roading at night.  He didn’t see a huge drop-off in the field and as a result, significantly damaged his truck.  He was not hurt, fortunately, but his truck needs repairs that will likely be in the thousands-of-dollars range.  Since his father and I make him pay for his own vehicle repairs, this is going to be one painful and costly lesson.

When bad decisions like this happen, decisions that would’ve been obviously bad to any rational person, I tend to launch into hyper-parenting mode.  I feel compelled to think of every single stupid thing that he might want to attempt so that I can warn him about it: do not drive off cliffs; do not leap from tall buildings; do not lick the sharp edge of a steak knife.  You know – just like those ridiculous warnings that you often see on power tools.  In fact, whoever came up with the warning “do not use lawnmower to trim hedges” surely must have spent some time with a teenager.

Some of the best parenting advice I’ve ever received came from a friend of mine.  She said that when she gets crazy worrying about her kids, she remembers all of the stupid things that she did when she was a teenager.  Somehow she survived just fine in spite of it all.  She said she chooses to trust that whatever benevolent force in the universe kept her safe, that same loving force will also be there to protect and guide her own children.

I hope she’s right.  These offspring of mine are evidently going to need a LOT of protecting.