Normalcy, Schmormalcy!

The countdown to normalcy has begun. By Wednesday, I should be driving short distances. By August 3rd, I'll be back to work. By Labor Day, back to full duty, including airplanes and hotels, although hopefully in more manageable doses. So, that's what "normal" has begun to look like through my particular set of filters.

All this has got me thinking about the whole concept of "normalcy," and I have decided there just "ain't no such a thing," as Dad would have said.

Maybe normal is what we get used to. The Three all say I "look different" without the cervical collar I've worn since breaking my neck three months ago. The Three say that it will "be different" when I can play catch with them or do more than walk stiffly along the street with them while they dart this way and that. My wife, God bless her, has likely begun to think that me being no help at all around the house is "normal," and I can't wait to disprove that theory, now that my lifting limit is a whopping 20 pounds, and now that I might be able to drive myself a bit by later this week, after 13 weeks of the "Smokin' Hot Wife Taxi Cab Service" being my only means of being any where other than right here in The 'Burg.

Maybe normal is what others expect. Actually, since this is me, let's not even consider that, since the thought has simply never, in my memory, crossed my mind. I really couldn't care less what someone else thinks, so we'll blow right past that one...

Maybe normal is what society imposes. I hope not, especially in light of where society is headed. Explaining to The Three that college is going to be really hard 'cause Daddy and all of Daddy's generation are in the process of being taxed to hell and back isn't, and shouldn't be, normal. Or should it be? No where is it written that life will be without trials, or that those trials might not be inflicted by those to whom power has been entrusted. (Hmmmmm, perhaps a post on "power" lies in the future...?)

Maybe normal isn't really normal at all. Remember Pleasantville or The Truman Show?

So, with our six-year-old defending his club championship this week, our 9-year-old auditioning for one of America's top children's theatre programs and our 3-year-old convinced that The Potty still deserves Jelly Beans and that every day calls for her prettiest dress -- maybe my job as a dad....as their dad, is to listen, and to let them know that all they can do is all they can do. Maybe "normal," as The Three will define it, should come to be defined as doing their best, every time, and being completely at peace with the outcome -- as long as they did their best. Maybe my job is to create a "normal" where Daddy's more tolerant than he usually is, and to make sure that they are comfortable in their own skins, doing their own things.

Maybe normal lies within the confines of each family's interaction with each other, and with their God. And maybe that's more than ok -- more than "normal."

Maybe that really is the best that we can do.