You're Doing Great!

by Tom Papa

  Will you enjoy this breakfast because it’s delicious? No. You’ll enjoy it because it’s easy. Are there better breakfasts out there? Sure. But they’re more expensive and it’s a lot more work. You’ll have research to do, reviews to read, and reservations to make.

  The only decision you have to make today is cereal or a hard-boiled egg. You didn’t stop in this hotel for some grand experience, you stopped here because you started seeing double on the freeway and needed to lie down. And before you start driving again, you need a fresh brain that isn’t troubled by trying to be a better you.

  Sometimes we just need the quick and easy because we don’t have time for slow and difficult. An orchid needs proper sun and just the right amount of water or it will wilt and die. A weed eats and drinks whatever it can and it grows like crazy. Be a weed.

  Not every moment in life has to be special. Sometimes you just have to go and get things done. Go to Walmart, get yourself some pants, some spray paint, and a big-ass box of beef jerky. Go home, microwave some pizza rolls, and watch a repeat of Friends followed by Impractical Jokers and everything on the Food Network. It wasn’t a special day, but it was good enough.

  And what’s so special about being special anyway? Now that the generation of kids who were told they were special for no reason has become adults, I think we can all agree they turned out to be pretty entitled people. Maybe if they were a little less special, they would compromise, show empathy, and be kinder to each other.

  I think it’s Burger King’s fault. From the moment they told us “You can have it your way,” we haven’t been the same. People stopped thinking about we and replaced it with me. Things were much better when the popular phrase of the day was “It’s my way or the highway.”

  Looking for some fun? The herd loves fun. Let’s go to the movies together. Spider-Man 12? Sure. Another Pirates of the Caribbean? Yes, please. Sure we know everything that’s going to happen, but who cares. There will be a bad guy, he’ll threaten to destroy the world, our hero will save everyone, and we’ll walk out of the theater feeling like we just ate a pile of junk food. That’ll do the trick. What else are you going to do? Go to an art house and read the subtitles of a depressing French film by yourself?

  Not today you’re not.

  And make sure to stop at the counter and load up on snacks. Get the biggest popcorn they have, put butter on it, and grab a gigantic soda that takes two people to carry. Throw in some Sour Patch Kids and something really crunchy. When you’re part of the herd you don’t just eat, you graze and you make noise. A lot of noise. And it doesn’t matter because so does everybody else and no one cares.

  There’s no fighting when you’re part of the herd because you have to get along with everybody. You’re not trying to change everyone’s behavior. This is about acceptance. You want to make a phone call in the middle of the movie? Sure, why not? Everyone else is. If they don’t think it’s important to hear everything the Hulk has to say, why should you?

  You know what else the herd does? They stand in lines. Long-ass lines, and they don’t mind. So stand in that mile-long Starbucks line at the airport. Wait in another line for the barista to make your drink, wait in line for the bathroom, and then get in line at the gate with the rest of zone seven. Will they take your suitcase from you? Probably, but that’s okay. It’ll give you more lines to stand in when you land. There’s the line at baggage claim, the line for the shuttle, and the rental car line. Mindless, timeless waiting. What a relief that you’re not bothered by any of this.

  And that’s the key attitude to have: to not be annoyed. Understand that we are going to move a little slower in the herd. We are going to have to be a little less aggravated, a little more patient, and a little less irritated. And it will be worth it because the herd will bring us to good things. Airports, stadiums, beaches, and schools. Mardi Gras, K-pop concerts, and Times Square on New Year’s Eve.

  I was at a Dodgers game last night. There were 44,999 other people there, too. One giant herd. And I’ll tell you something, all kidding aside, it was beautiful. It really was. All these people, different shapes and sizes, being herded like cattle into this enormous stadium. We were all there for the same reason, to enjoy a baseball game. We were going to eat the same hot dogs, the same terrible nachos in a bag, and the same flat beer, and it was glorious.

  Don’t tell me that there isn’t beauty in that. Sure, there are some people who are a mess. There was an obnoxious woman who was yelling incoherent insults at both teams. There was a drunk guy falling all over everybody every time he got up to pee, which seemed to be five times an inning. But they were the minority. The majority of the people were having a great time.

  There were all types in that crowd. There were people with so much money that they probably fart gold coins. There were young people with no money at all. There were people with bad backs and six-pack abs. Someone had herpes. Some couldn’t see. Someone might have killed a guy earlier in the day. But in the stadium we were just a part of the herd watching a game.

  Together.

  You know what the herd does? It gets along. Don’t we need a little more of that? Don’t we need to all stand up and do the stupid wave simply because everyone else is doing it?

  It’s fun to play the dumb games together on the jumbotron. We sing along to the same songs. We cheer together and let out a collective groan and really care when someone gets hurt and applaud them when they rise up. And we cheer for the guy who catches the foul ball and we all boo the guy who dropped the easy one.

  We laugh at the couples kissing on the kiss cam, the children jumping and cheering, the fat guy dancing like everybody’s watching. We enjoy them because they are a reflection of us, fiercely independent and unique, while still a part of the herd.

  When the game is over and we all head to our cars and sit in traffic, it seems impossible that we’ll ever get home. How can all these people move at the same time and get anywhere? How can this possibly work? But it does. Because we’re getting along for a moment, a little less selfish, a little more united.

  Part of the herd.

  HAVE YOU EVER WALKED NAKED FROM THE SHOWER TO THE DRYER TO GET YOUR PANTS AND BEEN REMINDED BY YOUR SCREAMING FAMILY THAT YOU DON’T LIVE ALONE? I JUST DID …

  HOME ALONE

  Whenever my wife and children leave me home alone I immediately think, “Now’s my chance!”

  It’s rare to be in the house by myself with this kind of freedom. I have a wife and two daughters who are beautiful people but who stop me from doing a lot of the things I like to do. I didn’t realize when got I married and had children that I was creating three wardens who would patrol the grounds and tell me what to do. But not today. There’s no one here to tell me I can’t, I shouldn’t, or get that out of your pants. The possibilities are endless and I’m about to go party like it’s 1998, the last time I was alone.

  Maybe I’ll smoke a big, fat, disgusting cigar. That’s one of the things they hate the most. I can’t really do it at all when they’re home, not even outside. I mean, I could, but they hate them so much that it kind of takes the joy out of it. They dramatically close the windows and doors, and when I come back in they all scatter as if I’m carrying a bucket of manure covered in fish guts, which I’m not, it’s just me.

  Yeah, this could be fun. I’m going to smoke a cigar. Not inside, of course, I’ll go outside. But I do have to catch a flight to Nashville tomorrow and I don’t want to stink up the plane. Not that anyone would say anything to me. No one ever does. You could have horrible garbage breath and no pants on and no one would dare say a word. But still, it’s just bad manners.

  Oh well, I guess smoking’s out. Maybe I’ll arrange my shirts. I’ve been meaning to go through all of them. I have drawers full of shirts that I never wear. I think I wear only four shirts in total. I should get rid of the rest of them. Why am I keeping them if I never wear them? I guess I think I will one day. I have a blue denim shirt that I’m holding on to because it would be perfec
t for a bonfire on the beach. But who am I kidding? I don’t know the kind of people who know where to go on a beach at night and who bring along all the wood and stuff. But who knows, maybe I’ll meet someone like that one day and then I’ll be happy that I held on to that shirt. Yeah, I can’t throw that stuff away, and what am I thinking? I’m home alone, this isn’t time for tidying up. I should be making a mess.

  Maybe I’ll just have a drink. I could make a martini or open a bottle of wine like they do in Europe. It’s a little early for that, I guess. This isn’t France. In the United States, drinking alone is strange, drinking alone at noon is trouble. I don’t want to be hung over before my trip even begins.

  Maybe I’ll jump in the pool. It’s a nice day. Why not? I wouldn’t even have to put on a bathing suit. I could swim naked. That sounds fun. Maybe I’ll eat a little something first, take off all of my clothes and jump in the pool, come back inside and fall asleep on the bed for an hour, wake up, shower, eat some more, and pack for my trip.

  That actually sounds amazing. A summer nap on cool sheets is one of the really good things in life. I haven’t done it in a really long time because there’s always someone around. The kids don’t burst into my bedroom as much as they did when they were little, but they still do once in a while, and finding their father naked in bed wouldn’t be so great. Finding your father napping in bed fully clothed isn’t that great either. You expect to see your dad fall asleep sitting up in the living room. That’s understandable. But if he climbs under the covers in the middle of the day, that’s just weird.

  “Where’s Dad?”

  “He just went to bed.”

  “It’s noon.”

  “I know. We’re in real trouble. We really should open our own bank accounts and make sure we have a good supply of canned goods.”

  Under the covers doesn’t mean you’re tired, it means you’re hiding from something or you’re really depressed. No one wants a dad who hides, you want Dad to stand up, fight, and protect. It’s his job to make you feel safe. You don’t want there to be trouble at the door and look back and see your father’s face poking out from under the comforter.

  No one wants to see sad Dad either. Dad needs to suck it up. No one is saying Dad can’t cry, but he better make it quick. The faster he wipes off those tears and returns to normal Dad face the better.

  I don’t have to worry about any of this today, because I’m alone and no one will see me taking a naked swim or nap. But to be honest I’m a little worried about the sun. I’ve never been naked outside for any length of time. That may seem weird, but I grew up in New Jersey, and it’s not a place that encourages public nudity. It’s actually against the law to run around naked at any time. The point is, I’m very white. Especially down there. If I go outside naked for even a minute, I could burn some essential equipment. That wouldn’t make for a fun flight, night, or next couple of days.

  I guess I could just go straight to the nap, but now that I think of it, a nap seems like a waste of time. I don’t want to waste this kind of freedom with my eyes closed, not realizing how much fun I could have. When you’re living in a house full of family, the only time you have freedom is when you’re asleep, so let’s enjoy this sweet moment while I’m wide awake.

  Maybe I’ll just work out. I really should work out. I should definitely exercise. It’s too hot to go for a run, but maybe I could ride the indoor bike or lift weights. I feel like I don’t lift weights enough. I should, my arms are getting soft and wiggly. But I don’t feel like I have the energy. Maybe it’s because I haven’t eaten.

  I should really just eat something already. I am hungry. I’m always hungry. I have some elk sausages in the bottom of the refrigerator. I could throw those on the grill and split them with the dog. But it seems like a lot of work for one person. I like when the family is around and I have someone to cook for. When the kids eventually move out we’re going to have to invite people over just so I have someone to cook for. Cooking for two is okay, but it’s really just one more than one, and cooking for one is no fun at all. Cooking for the dog isn’t that great either. She eats so fast and never says thank you. Maybe I’ll just eat some nuts.

  But what about my work? I have so much writing to do and all those emails to go through. I really should be spending this time getting my work done, but what’s wrong with a little fun once in a while? If only I didn’t feel guilty about not using my time wisely. I’m so boring.

  Maybe I should just be more constructive and change some lightbulbs. I keep meaning to do that, which is another way of saying that I keep forgetting to do it but feel bad about it when I remember again. I should also put that ladder back in the garage and sweep off the top deck where it’s caught all those leaves over the months that I forgot or skipped taking it back down. It’s amazing how many things always have to be done around here. Lightbulbs and doorknobs and recycling. Trips to Goodwill, fences to be fixed, garages to be swept. A house is like a living thing that’s constantly in need of a haircut.

  This is pretty pathetic. I have the whole house to myself and I’m thinking about lightbulbs? What’s happened to me? I’m trying to think of what I did before I was married with children. I did stuff. I think I did stuff. Didn’t I do stuff?

  Maybe I should start playing video games or take a trip to a marijuana dispensary. Maybe that would be fun. But that sounds kind of lonely. Forget it. I’ll just sit here, in this empty house, and text my family once in a while.

  I wonder what they’re doing. And when are they coming home?

  HAVE YOU EVER FISHED THE PRIZE OUT OF A BOX OF CRACKER JACK AND REALIZED IT WAS ACTUALLY YOUR TOOTH? I HAVE …

  PLAY BALL!

  It’s a hot July day at Yankee Stadium and the seats are so scorching hot that the minute we sat down we turned into cartoon characters who had just sat their asses on a hot stove. If we were anywhere but a baseball game, we would have leapt up and planted our backsides in a bucket of ice water, but we wouldn’t dare break this tradition, so the four of us settled in with our hot dogs and beer.

  The bruised and battered Baltimore Orioles are in town, but still the game is sold out with more than forty-five thousand fans who are sensing that this might be the Yankees’ year. That’s what baseball fans always think at the beginning of the season, but this is midsummer and we’re still thinking it.

  I’ve known these three friends for most of my summers, enough that just the fact that we are still here together seems like a certain kind of accomplishment.

  Every season, regardless of how busy we are, where we are living, or what kind of year we’re having, we meet up, push through the turnstile, and spend the day watching baseball.

  But mainly I’m here for the food.

  Naturally I lose it when I’m at the ballpark and see it as my duty to eat from the first pitch to the last. Peanuts, hot dogs, sausages, ice cream in plastic batting helmets, soda, and beer. I like the ballpark nachos that aren’t nachos as much as a bag of chips with some melted orange plastic that they pass off as cheese. But when they’re mixed with a green outfield and the Yankee pinstripes, they’re the best nachos I’ve ever had.

  There’s a long list of foods that I eat only when I’m at a baseball game. I never buy Cracker Jack in a store, but as soon as the vendor comes by I’m tossing money at him. The same with cotton candy. You’ll never see me skipping down the sidewalk with a giant pink cotton candy, but if I’m at a baseball game, there’s a good chance I’ll have one in each hand and be chewing bubble gum at the same time.

  Brian is a redhead and is suffering under this harsh sun more than the rest of us. He found a bucket of ice with bottled waters in it and dove into it up to his waist. Security had to pull him out of it, but when they saw his pale white skin they let him dive in one more time.

  He has more sports knowledge than the rest of us, always has, and although he’s the same age he’s further along in life than us as well. He married his high school sweetheart and already has the last of his f
our children finishing up college. Brian is a Michigan alum and is beyond proud of his kids, especially because two went to Michigan, and the other two to Penn State and Wisconsin. Beyond education, this enabled Brian to go to many big-time football games. He’s never happier than when he’s in a giant stadium filled with equally rabid fans.

  The new Yankee Stadium that opened in 2009 still feels like a newish apartment that doesn’t quite feel like home. We’re still trying to find our spot on the couch. The vast building lacks the camaraderie of the old, smaller ballpark where every seat was tucked against the next. Fans sitting behind home plate heard everything they were screaming in the bleachers. I recently read that for the first time opposing players don’t mind coming to Yankee Stadium because, with the fans are far enough away, they no longer hear the insults. That’s a horrible thing for New Yorkers to hear. Sarcastic, verbal torment is what we’re good at. But still there’s no other place we’d rather be. We’ll just have to yell a little louder.

  The Yankees seem to be a little lazy today except for Brett Gardner, who seems like he’s never been lazy a day in his life. At thirty-six, he’s the oldest player on the team but never lets up. He’s lightning fast around the bases and drives pitchers crazy with tough at bats that can last over twenty pitches. He’s always been a bit of an underdog, which is the type of player I like to root for, especially since I’m more than ten years older than him.

  There’s a Baltimore fan next to us who is much more vocal than a fan of a team that is thirty-five games back should be. But at least he’s had a couple of funny lines, another thing New Yorkers respect. Truth be told, we’re so far ahead of this team in the standings that we’re not that invested in this game. We’d like a win, but that’s not really why we’re here.