Rebellion Through the Ages

Dusk falls. I drift to sleep. I dream about whatever 14 year old boys dream about until I am shaken awake.

“Clark, wake up. Come on. Just one game.”

My brother Joel is home from late shift at the Subway in the Midvalley strip mall. He has brought home sandwiches, and wants to play Mario Kart.

Even though it is late, and even though I have already eaten, I agree. The times are good. One game turns into two. Mushroom Cup turns into Star Cup. We play and laugh and eat, feeling the sort of reckless pleasure you felt when you were six and stayed up to watch MASH with your mom past your bedtime. What the heck. We were young. We had energy. We didn’t care.

Fast forward to the present. It’s late and I’m in bed. Lindsay sleeps peacefully next to me.

I’m tired, but fighting sleep, my face bathed in the pale light emanating from my iPod.

My stomach digests a recently-enjoyed granola bar as I smile at the well-executed jokes on Mystery Science Theater 3000. I’m no longer so young, I no longer have so much energy, and my body handles extracurricular snacks far less effectively. But I still stay up and be rebellious.

Who I think I’m rebelling against, I don’t know. But I sure am showing them.

The Three Stages of Lost

When my wife Lindsay can’t find something, it is immediately “lost.” She may have had her keys moments ago, but if she kind find them right now, they’re lost. It interesting to me that she uses the word so liberally, because to me, the term “lost” means something much more severe. “Lost” items are gone. Your hopes for finding them are shattered. Feelings of grief and mourning must immediately ensue. I don’t like things to be “lost,” (which is unfortunate because my keys, wallet, gadgets and important documents have a tendency to scurry away and hide from me,) so my subconscious mind has come up with a way of dealing with these slippery treasures. I’ve come up with different stages a missing item goes through before it becomes officially “lost.”

STAGE ONE: “I just don’t know where it is.”
Before my iPod or phone is ever lost, I “just don’t know where it is.” I haven’t really looked for it or given it too much thought. Sometimes I will purposely not look for a misplaced gift card or notebook, because I don’t want it to actually become “lost.” I “just won’t know where it is” for a week or two.

STAGE TWO: “Missing”
If I have casually looked for a prodigal pair of headphones or phone charger, it is “missing.” All the regular places have been checked – couch cushions, pants pockets, coats, etc. “Missing” items still have potential to be found, but the status is more serious than “just not knowing where it is.”

STAGE THREE: “Lost”
If I have made a concentrated effort to find my absent novel, jacket, or box of digital video tapes and come up empty, it is officially “lost.” Hopes of ever seeing it again are crushed to powder. Bereavement and sorrow set in. I may root through the same box or take apart the same shelf in a fit of denial, but I know it is “lost.” Then comes anger, bargaining, and finally, sweet acceptance.

I’m just going to check under my bed one last time.