PLAZA LOMA

Plaza Loma - Chapter One

Every year, starting in week 10, the stank begins. So much so that I started receiving complaints from family members, colleagues, and the occasional bystander who had the unfortunate experience of being in my vicinity. "Sir, what is the stink?" is the most common question I receive, and it's currently being asked by an older gentleman wearing thick-rimmed, black-framed glasses, white New Balance shoes, a members-only jacket, and haggard slacks. "That is underfeat," I yell at the top of my lungs, scaring the people at the corner store cheese counter. "I, unlike you, sir, am a genius, a procrastinator of the future. People would pay me so much money to hear what I have to say and the advice I can give. They would fight each other for the shot to sit with me." The looks of confusion and bothersome faces project caution in hopes that the situation doesn’t deteriorate further than it has. The civility of the corner-store cheese-counter line has been rocked.

 

Rocked by this awful person. A person who fails to read all the signposts of humanity.  Moreover, someone who lacks the care or insight into other people's feelings and thoughts.

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Jeff is my name. I have 2 kids, a modest home, and a marriage that would be described as modest.  In the words of the Verve, “slave to the money and then you die.”  I own, after 28 years, a modest 3-bedroom, 1.5-bath home, which would be classified as a suburban home.  I strive as a parent and am overwhelmed volunteering for several orgs, from the PTA to my local theater group. My kids and the recent adoption of a lab are the focus and bane of my life. Bedtime and meal planning, and meals in general, cause my anxiety to immediately go through the roof.  My therapist mentions a zone of tolerance. I like this way of viewing various situations, but my kids fail to understand why I am yelling, “My zone of tolerance is getting narrow” every 2 mins, followed by, you better brush your teeth because they will be here in 2 minutes. My daily preoccupation is getting the kids to complete 4 simple tasks: eat breakfast, brush their teeth, dress so that CPS is not called on the family, and be ready when the other families arrive in our garage so we can all walk to school together. Most days, we fail to check all four boxes. If you were to rate my parent performance like a baseball batting average, I, as a parent, am hitting 245. In the end, I let stuff slide so my kids don't have core memories of me as their dad yelling all the time. I practice what I believe is patience. But the reality is I tend to be more patient in front of other parents, so that. I don't come across as my father to others. We leave for school, less than a 10-min walk on what I would describe as comfortable ground. Fellow parents and kids are all starting their collective days. The kids headed into another day of mental coddling, and parents who experience the brief pause, some say procrastination from the windfall of tasks and issues they have to deal with. The work-life balance...