By Chris Mc Loone

Lessons Learned While Slaying Dragons With My Son

I’ve found that walks in the woods provide me with more knowledge of dragons than I ever thought possible. Today, as my son Owen and I made our way through his favorite woods, he discovered a rusted caulk gun. He asked me what it was, and I told him, and followed it up with my attempt at an explanation of what it was and how it works, and I failed at it. Turns out I’m not a very good explainer. It kind of bothers me at times, especially when he asks me what words mean. He stumps me every time, and they are simple words. I guess I’ll just live with not being a good explainer at the moment. Maybe I’ll lead by example or something.

So we’re walking through the woods and Owen’s got a hold of the caulk gun, and, to him, it’s treasure. And you never know when you might need something like a caulk gun to take care of some serious business—like finishing off a dragon.

We found the dragon, disguised as a fallen, rotten tree, in the middle of the woods. Owen saw through the disguise immediately and began gutting the dragon straight away. He made quick work of it all with his newfound caulk gun. It’s astounding how handy a caulk gun can be when you’re finishing off a dragon. Now, I’ve fought dragons in the woods with Owen before. The last one was already dead, and I did not know I was reslaying an already slain dragon. Today though, when I told him I thought the dragon was already dead, he exclaimed, “Dragons don’t die unless you take them apart.” And take this one apart he did. At one point he told me he found the dragon’s heart. He took it out and showed it to me. He also found its brain. “Hard as a rock,” he reported. Then he found another heart later. I told him he had already found one, but he informed me this particular dead dragon disguised as a fallen, rotten tree that really wasn’t dead yet since it was in one piece has two hearts. “You touched them with your bare hands,” I said. “That’s gross.” Owen looked up at me, a little winded from all the hard work of disemboweling a dragon with a rusted caulk gun and said, “I’m a man. I have to be gross.” I had no idea grossology was part of manhood. The things you’ll learn in the woods slaying dragons that are not dead yet since they are still in one piece, disguised as fallen, rotten trees.

Dragons from memories past.

I went to my high school recently, for an alumni day celebration. I went to a seminary for high school, and I lived away from home, and it was probably, short of getting married and becoming a father, the richest experience of my life. It has nothing to do with seminary studies or God or anything. I’ve often thought that when I finally sit down and write a story, it’s going to be about St. Joe’s. I don’t think anything has impacted my life the way it has. The memories I have of the place are clear and many. I saw people I have not seen in many, many years yesterday, and as cliché as it sounds, it was as if not a day had gone by. Sure, there was catching up to do, but there was no loss for words like you have so many times with people you’ve not seen in years. It’s the bond we all have from that place. We slept in dormitories of 40 beds and lockers. So, basically we slept together, we ate together, we took classes, and we got into mischief together. It’s an odd bond that I can’t quite explain, but even the men who traveled to Princeton who weren’t from my era shared that bond with me, though theirs was more from a bygone era.

I got to show my kids that place yesterday. But it wasn’t the same place. One wing (we referred to it as “the other side…” but really, “the other side” meant the opposite side of wherever you were) was completely closed off. They could have unlocked it for us, just so we could wander around. It’s not like we’re going to steal anything. The student lounge, once one large room has been made into two. The senior study hall, the size of the student lounge, also has been divided into two rooms. The dining room (or refectory) has the same smell. The same exact smell, and it’s 18 years later for me. The vestibules also, the same smells, and indeed, the gym (which we sneaked into) smelled exactly the same. I showed my wife the gouge in the floor in front of the foul line I used to use to set myself up for foul shots. I’m not quite sure what I did when we switched ends of the court or went to away games. I suppose my free throw percentage went into the toilet at those times.

When you return to a place that has a special place in your heart the way St. Joe’s does for me, it takes you back to a different time. It was a simpler time for me, and I long for it.

Believe me there’s a point to all this, and I do plan to get to it soon, but one more anecdote if you’ll indulge me.

Dragons from friendships past.

I am a volunteer fireman. I’m supposed to say firefighter, but I’m a fireman. In any event, for the past five years I’ve been a Lieutenant, holding two separate positions–2nd Lt., and 1st Lt. This year I’ve been nominated for captain (this is a volunteer fire company, and officers are nominated and elected) and I was nominated to run against my friend. Well, I suppose he’s a friend. He was a mentor to me very early in my career as a vollie. He was in my wedding. I would say that in recent years, as he moved up through the ranks, eventually to assistant chief, we have grown apart as firefighters, which has stressed our friendship. We rarely see eye to eye on policies, procedures, etc. Originally I told Wally I would not run against him for captain. I figured I wasn’t going to run against my friend, and while I disagreed with his moving down from assistant chief to captain, thus not allowing me to move up to captain from lieutenant, I thought was a nice gesture to let him ride out his time as he saw fit.

But then quite honestly, he did several things which made me reconsider that notion, and ultimately, my feeling is the crew would like a choice and so I told him I was going to run for captain, he got up and walked away without a word, save for “OK,” and proceeded to call me a hypocrite via his Facebook status and then defriended me—for real. Seriously, we’re adults.

I suppose I knew this was coming for quite some time, given his personality.

So what is the tie-in? Let me take a sip of my PBR and I promise to get to it.

We all have dragons, whether they are our pasts creeping up on us from time to time to remind us how easy things were or difficult decisions today that remind us just how hard things get as we all get older. I’m a Roman Catholic, which is not exactly a popular thing to be these days given the abuse scandals, and today I was at Church. I don’t pretend to be particularly religious or spiritual, even with my seminary background, but at Church today, the homilist said to the congregation to be grateful for today, because tomorrow, you can’t get today back.

“Be grateful for today, because tomorrow, you can’t get today back.”

Kill your dragons. We all have them. And make sure they are dead. Because a dragon’s not dead until you take it apart. It’s amazing how a dragon can creep up on you after you thought you slayed it. I know I sit there and think, “Damn, I’m sure I killed it. I know I did. It was dead.” Be a man and be gross—kill the dragon. Because when you don’t take the dragons apart, you end up losing days upon days when they creep up, making it impossible for you to be grateful for today.

So I’m going to wake up tomorrow, and, although a 16 year friendship appears to be in the toilet, I’m going to be grateful for it. Why? Well, because I’m a hypochondriac and any day I wake up is a bonus for me.

Chris Mc Loone shares all his knowledge and advice in his blog titled My Three Monsters

A Funny Pee Story

by Chris Mc Loone

It’s official. This day, I got the call. Jim and Matt have asked me to blog. I’ve got the Prolong Magazine writers guidelines in hand, and I’m ready.

And then I started.

And stopped.

And started.

Starting Points

And finally said the hell with it. Tonight is not my night. I will have to wait for my inspiration, which you’ll find, hopefully often, is my kids.

Jim and I have been talking for weeks about his new venture, and I’m lucky enough to be one of his chosen candidates to contribute to Prolong Magazine. I wasn’t sure at first, not sure about what I’d write about, since he said, “Think of some things to write about.” But when he mentioned that I should write about what brings me joy, it was easy—the three monsters.

Family

I call them monsters to their faces. They don’t care. They laugh and call me crazy. My joy isn’t in being a parent, it’s about being associated with three of the most wonderful creatures ever. But even though I could talk about them forever, I had nothing recent, nothing new to write about. What you’ll find here are anecdotes no different than I”m sure any other parent has. Earlier tonight, I tried to write my inaugural blog. You want to get something like this off with a bang, right? But I had a PBR, and I’m a lightweight, and well, I was about to turn in for the night at about 9:30 … on a Friday. That’s a problem in and of itself, but that’s another topic entirely.

I had nothing to write about … i was trying … thinking about events of the day. “Hey, Little Man. You got your haircut. Who cut it? “ “Grumpy Guy.” Funny, but that’s kind of where that story ended. “Mom, Dad come out and look. Me and Sean found a dead bird. We know it’s dead because there are flies.” Again, amusing, but not quite there.

I was going to post some old MySpace blogs. (I still will, by the way, but not just yet.) But then the situation presented itself.

Bedtime Stories

My oldest turns 6 next week. We’re coming up on the beginning of the school year—first grade. In the past few weeks, he’s had maybe, three accidents at night. This after an entire summer of dry days and nights. So I figure, well, school’s coming … he’s not going to be himself for a few weeks. So before he goes to bed, after reading him a chapter out of his skateboarding tricks book (more on that I’m sure later), I had him go to the bathroom, twice. But, he had nothing. So I said thanks for trying. He complained about me making him go. I said, “It’s because I don’t want to be awakened at 4:30 by you telling me you had an accident.” Some might consider it harsh, but I’m just telling it like it is. And Owen took it to heart.

Is That The Sound Of Peeing

So much so, that at about 9:30, I heard a noise. Sounded like a door closing. My wife and I both figured one of the boys got up to go to the bathroom. It was a door we heard. It was a door underneath the vanity. When I arrived upstairs, I could hear Owen going to the bathroom, but I heard no water. None. And what I found was our just about six year old, underpants around his ankles, aiming spectacularly for the inside of the vanity.

Half Asleep

I said, “Owen, that’s not the toilet.” And he said, “Yeah?” I replied, “What do you mean, yeah,” smiling all the way. He pulled his pants up, I asked if he got any on them, he said no, and he walked by me and back into his room. Inside his room, I did all I could do. I said, “Owen, thank you for doing this now instead of at 4:30.” He did not reply, just got into bed and pulled up his covers. He was, after all, pretty much asleep through all of this. I leaned over and said, “I love you Owen Thomas.” He replied to that and said, “I love you too.” Now, you and I know that he had no idea who he was talking to, but hearing that is what makes it all just wonderful. And definitely made cleaning out the inside of the vanity and most of the bathroom floor in front much easier.

Little Kids = Little Anecdotes

I enjoy my kids. They are great individuals and together they make quite a little clan. My goal is to share these little anecdotes as they happen. They won’t always be amusing. Some of them will have to do with my insecurities as a dad. Some of them will have to do with my other passion in life—the volunteer fire company to which I belong and for which I act as first lieutenant. I cannot forget my first love—my wife. There are not many in this world today who can say they married the first woman they ever dated. You hear about high school sweethearts, but you don’t hear of many who don’t date until they’re 21 and end up marrying the woman. Not that I think I’m special for it, I’m just saying I can’t forget her in all this.

Just A Taste

So there’s a taste. I’ll get around to posting a couple of my MySpace blogs. I’m going to send this to Jim now. And the pessimist in me, which will reveal itself I’m sure many times as I start to do this regularly, is already figuring he’s going to write back and say, “Eh … that’s not quite what I was looking for, but thanks for the funny pee story.” But if not, maybe this will take off, and if it doesn’t, I’ll at least enjoy writing it all out so I can share it with my three little monsters some day.

As Fr. Trzecieski (pronounced cher-chesky) used to say after every homily back in my seminary days (What? Seminary? Yeah, I’ll talk about that too probably.) “Thanks for listening.”

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