Payback for the picky eater

They say payback is a bitch in terms of being a parent and I really never thought I would have that happen to me. I've seen and heard about parents who are surprised when their kids turn out just like them, lying to them, doing drugs and alcohol, staying out past curfew, and dating the wrong types of people. I remind them about the stories they told me about their youth and then it dawns on them, this is payback.

My daughter is a lot like me and I was a very good kid, I never gave my parents any difficulty so I figure that I've got it made. So far she is doing well in school, enjoying extracurriculars, and making friends in her own passive way. Much like I did. She tends to sleep too much and at odd hours which I am still dealing with but we are working together on getting that under control. What she does do that I forgot that I did is be a picky eater in such a way as to not eat mixed foods.

She will eat each food group separately and not mix food on her fork or in her mouth. I vividly remember doing this as a child as well as a teenager. The reason I remember is because when I met my daughter's mother, she pointed this out and encouraged me to try putting different portions of two or more food items from my plate into each mouthful. Eventually I became one of those people who has to have equal portions of everything on my fork for each bite so it kinda backfired a tad.

So now that I can say that my daughter has an annoying habit that I myself have practiced in the past, I'm getting my just desserts. What I do is pick the right nights to make food that she has to eat altogether like shepperd's pie, stir fry or lasagna. These dishes are saved for times I feel particularly set on curing her of this slightly OCD habit. Unfortunately there are other symptoms of this disorder popping up in other areas. I'm just disappointed it's not about keeping her room tidy because I always did. There we go, payback.

Learning to juggle

What a clown learns in clown school? Category: Single Life 101 for $1000, Alex.

I knew this day would come sooner or later. I expected I would reach a point when I would start dating again, throwing my glove down to the challenge of extending myself to one-on-one scrutiny in the attempts to get to know one another. What I didn't really foresee was that it might get difficult to do this with several men at one time, trying to remember names and/or individual histories and keeping them separate.

A long time ago I learned about using mnemonic devices for remembering people's names and it's really helping me with attaching histories to those names too. Of course I'm not going to share any of those here because I don't kiss and tell. But rest assured that if there is something that stands out about a guy's mannerisms or personality then they get tagged as 'the guy who does this'. It's quite amusing when referring to these tags in conversation with my daughter or very close confident and they burst out laughing because they can actually now picture 'the guy who does this'.

Once or twice I have had to back peddle (wondering if it was obvious) when I was talking to a guy on a date and I mentioned something that was actually part of another guy's date conversation. I have always been known to tell stories over and over again to my friends but this is dangerously straddling the line of gauche. It's not like I can keep notes, which would be much more helpful than relying on my memory. So far it has been innocent points of interest where I can just play the 'blond card' and explain it away. Heaven forbid I actually get caught mixing up stuff they told me that I was supposed to be paying attention to and retaining.

The final component in learning to juggle is actually juggling my time. Thank you Google calendar for making life so much easier to track the men in my life. But it's not just about keeping track of when and where I'm meeting up but also how much time I'm spending with any given guy in relation to their  potential boyfriend status. Their status will determine how often they get a spot in my calendar. Basically the guys that I feel have more potential to add more to my life than just an orgasm usually get me more often. That being said, there are exceptions to the rule who will get that orgasm more frequently without the promise of anything more. Still figuring it out. When I do I'll let you know how the balance works.

Right now I'm just excited to have so many balls in the air. ;)

The division of friends

It doesn't matter if you were a couple for almost a decade or for less than 24 months, you have brought your own friends into the relationship and made new ones as a couple. So who gets which friends when you breakup?

Obviously the friends you had before will still be your friends after, right? In most cases that will be the case. :P But sometimes you accidentally 'steal' friends from your ex without consciously doing it. It all depends on how close you've become with their friends over the course of your relationship and that you may have more in common with them than the now ex. These friends may not 'take sides' but tend to spend more time with you than the person they knew first. Which is all good if you are not bad-mouthing your ex to them constantly. Even if they don't see them much, it's just really bad form and won't help you move on.

This brings us to the shared friends who have not 'chosen sides' in the breakup, these are the best friends that you could both have. These friends will be true to both you and your ex and tend to have an objective POV, which keeps your bitter and broken-hearted attitude in check. I suggest you foster these friendships after any relationship ending because it will help you heal faster and make it easier to stay friendly with the ex since you will be seeing them around these common friends. It's really awkward if you cut these friends off and then run into them later. You get labeled the 'bad guy' when all you really wanted was space to heal. If they are good friends to both of you, they'll give you both the space to heal.

Then there are the friends that obviously 'pick a side'. They will either just stop talking to you, removing you from all social media or go so far as saying out loud "I'm team 'NOT YOU'." This is when their true colours show. They are not objective and understanding about why the relationship ended. They want to show loyalty to the friend they knew first or are closer to and write you off as unworthy. Obviously we have some redeeming qualities that would make your friend choose to be in a relationship with us. Perhaps you are applying old fashioned principles to modern day situations? Why can't we all just get along?

In the end, people are people and they will react to a breakup based on their own experiences. They key is for us all to be mature about it and not let our emotions get in the way of healthy friendships. There doesn't have to be a division of friends, do I have to draw a venn diagram to prove it?

The perfect man, I had him once

I know what you are thinking, the perfect man doesn't exist and if he did, how did I end up with him and not you? Well, you could have had him too but didn't even know it. Were you paying attention? I sure was and let me tell you, I wish he were here today.

I met him a long time ago, what seems like an eternity. He was unexpected. It was almost as if he was handed to me right when I thought life wasn't going to get any better. It was perfect timing. He seemed very stoic at first, not really much for a lot of chit chat but soon enough he opened up to me. I was like he was only talking to me and everyone else didn't matter, just me. I felt so special with him, he would go with me everywhere I wanted. And he did anything I wanted.

He was a very sturdy man, strong arms, confident stance and perfect hair with not a strand out of place. I was so proud to call him my own and would show him off to all my friends. Everyone else was jealous because theirs paled in comparison. Their men were older and didn't have as good of posture and the hair was somehow duller. They had lost their best attributes along the way but my man came fully equipped to deal with any mountain that crossed his path.

But alas even the perfect man will lose their appeal after a while. Because he was too perfect. He become complacent in regular daily routine and just sat there with a silly grin on his face like that would make things all better. He tried to hide the fact that he was coming unraveled from all the abuse I somehow caused him. But he agreed to the terms of this relationship, why is he complaining now? A few bumps and scrapes are nothing compared to how happy he made me, right? He stopped talking to me. He wouldn't even hug me anymore.

I don't know exactly when he left and how but I know it was swiftly and completely. I never saw him again except in pictures where we looked so happy together. He was gone as easily as he had arrived and I will never forget him. That sparkle in his eye. Those perfect teeth that seemed to shine like they were painted onto his face. The symmetric six pack of plastic muscles. I didn't even care about his arms that stuck straight in any direction they turned without bending at the elbow. And so what if he only had one little clip-on ski left, he could snowboard on the one remaining. He was my perfect man, gone forever, my Ski Fun Ken.

A delicate balance

As any parent will tell you, someone forgot to give me the manual for this job. Every day and situation is just as new to my daughter as it is for me, having to deal with it from a completely different perspective. This is compounded now that she lives with me and that I'm her only source of family in Toronto. The first few months have been a journey of discovery for the both of us, learning about each others' quirks and habits on a daily basis. Adapting to having each other around on a regular basis and for the most part it's just the two of us. But how do we balance our time together and apart?

It's a delicate balance and getting the balance right has been my biggest challenge. Since I became single at the same time as having my daughter move in, it's been a concern of mine that I'm spending enough time with her at the same time as doing what single guys do, date. I'm constantly asking her if it's okay that I go out this night or that night and if I'm spending enough time at home with her. She assures me that she is fine and that I worry too much about how other people view my actions. Which is true. I just want to make sure she is happy and that I'm not doing anything to detract from her happiness like not spending enough time with her.

In saying this, my happiness also concerns her and I know she only wants me to enjoy my life without feeling like she is a burden. Of course I could never feel that way about her, unconditional love. But what I'm worried about is that she may feel the only way I'm happy is when I have a partner. She has only ever seen me with a partner so me being single is strange to her. I spoke openly about this with her and assured her that I'm happy 'as is' without any 'add ons'. That would only make it more of a juggling act in terms of who gets my attention.

One chapter in the 'would be' manual of parenting would focus on subtle and not so subtle cues you get from your child that you are needed. That's one thing I realized recently, when she does want me around she sends out signals that can be as small as coming over and putting her arm around me or as blatant as asking me to play video games. Watching for these signs is a skill that most fathers take for granted during the teen years and forget to keep finely honed. It's a delicate balance between having time for myself, being readily available to her and suffocating her. Sadly there is no formula for it, we just have to keep communicating our needs and find the balance day by day.

Working hard or hardly working?

I have always modeled my work ethic after my father's with a sprinkling of my mother's for good measure. Mainly I have taken note of how hard my father would work at whatever job he had at the time. He always did his best and did what needed to be done even if the employer was obviously taking advantage of him. Self taught carpenter, electrician and plumber. He also learned the murky waters of office politics by trial and error, succeeding in making everyone happy even when they weren't. He has always been an asset to every company he's worked for by possessing skills beyond that of his job description.

My mother showed me that I should reach for the things that make me happy and fulfilled, herself quitting a high paying job to pursue something more creative and interactive. However, with the advancement of technology, both of my parents have held onto more traditional vocations in order to maintain a pay check in today's competitive job climate. Mom recently acquired a laptop to source recipes and stay in touch with family. I'm always a little surprised when my friend's parents are fully computer literate at a more advanced age than my own parents since I'm accustomed to my family possessing manual labour jobs.

I have always worked hard and done my best to meet deadlines while staying creative. A balance of two work ethics. Work hard at something you enjoy. What happens when there is a glitch in that plan such as losing your job and not having another one to take it's place? That is what has happened to me and for the first time in my life I'm relying on other sources of income and support while I am working hard at finding work. I wonder if I hit the glass ceiling like my parents did. Am I a dinosaur who should be content in selling computers instead of using them?

Adaptation. This is the only option. It was and always will be since society doesn't stand still. Thanks to the Information Revolution, we are slaves to whatever technology is being thrown at us. So this may be my opportunity to update my skill set to embrace the future. As much as I feel like a dinosaur, I know that I am still young enough to learn new tricks.

Tis the season of lonliness

Christmas is coming and I have always had a partner at this time of year. Someone to share decorating the tree, someone to endure the shopping malls and someone to hold hands with while walking by the elaborately decorated store window displays. That's what really spawned this post, seeing the Holt's window displays all decorated for the holidays and it made me realize that I won't have someone special to share these things with this year. Even though this time of year is geared toward families, it stands to reason that it's also special for the two people who make it a family.

Of course there are friends of mine who don't even have family nearby to be with and if they cannot travel to them then they have basically no one to spend Christmas time with. In that respect I am lucky to have most of my family only a short drive away and yes, my own child living with me. I won't be alone but I will still feel lonely.

I heard that this time of year has the highest suicide rates and I can see why.

Even when it was just me and my partner, we would spend time doing things together. We'd buy a giant box of hors d'oeuvres from M&M meat shop and eat the whole box while watching movies like White Christmas and Christmas Vacation or we'd play video games for hours all the while never having changed out of our pajamas. We'd drive all over the city on Boxing Day looking for deals and finishing our Christmas wishlist which our families hadn't. We'd hold hands while ice-skating at city hall, mainly because otherwise I would fall down.

All I can do is make new memories with my daughter, family and friends. And ask Santa for the perfect man. I had him once, but we outgrew each other, another post.

The sound of music

Ever since I bought my first cassette (Eddie Grant's Killer on the Rampage) at age 12 I have been an avid music consumer. When I say avid I mean that it consumes my life. I cannot be doing anything without listening to music. Any kind of music. Try me.

I worked in a record store as a teen for 4 years which was the most amazing job for a phonofile like me. I was able to listen to music at work, to and from work on my walkman and at home on my ghetto blaster. Any play copies that were not acceptable, which meant mainstream, went home with me. I have collected over 500 cassettes, which I still have in a box in my parent's garage. Not sure what to do with them, haven't searched for a viable solution for digitizing them. I also have over 500 compact disks that are in ten boxes in my bedroom which I keep saying I will digitize. Now I basically download anything and everything. I'm a music hoarder. Even now I listen to music all day, in bed, in the living room, walking around the city, on the TTC and even at work (when I have a job).

Music is an escape and helps me focus on the tasks at hand. I totally get how teenagers today can have music, TV and social media all going while they are working on school work. Technology has made it essential and unavoidable to multitask and music just makes things more tolerable. I get so excited when I find a song with lyrics that sum up my exact feelings about a life situation I have or am currently going through. And if the song makes me tap my feet or bob my head, all the better. The sound of music is sweeter to me than silence, silence kills my soul.

What happened to Grimace

I recently had an old trick over for some fun while I had my place to myself. It was great to catch up on life and reconnect since we really know how to get each other going. Ahem. But the funny thing was how casual and informal we are when in the throes of passion. We actually chit chat while in very compromising positions and some of the topics of conversation are really not appropriate for lusty situations. Take for example Grimace. Yes, the big purple lump from the McDonald's commercials. We pondered his disappearance in full detail while pleasuring each other sexually. It was both hilarious and not really a big deal. But it made me realize that people take themselves too seriously and if I can get down with a dude who is that comfortable with me then I'm lucky. It's not about having the best sex or best orgasm (but it was good) or even conquering a specific sexual position, it's about the connection you have with that other person. Fortunately for him he is taken and happily so. Fortunately for me, he gets to share with me.

A leap of trust

Being new to having my daughter around all the time is becoming a daily exercise in trust. She grew up in a small town with her mother who was very controlling, probably due to only having one child and wanting to protect her from anything and everything. But you cannot do that her whole life, let alone during the teen years. As a parent you have to take that leap of faith and trust that you have shown them good examples of how to be responsible and accountable for one's own actions. I'm not sure where I am getting the resolve to do this when I know if anything bad happened that I would most likely end up underground. I've been told this in so many words.

When I was asked to allow a boy/girl party with a 'girls only' sleep over component where alcohol was going to be present/consumed I was a little stunned even though I knew this was coming considering she is in high school and has friends that are of varying ages. I think I was more stunned by the honesty and disclosure than anything. What followed was a short discussion (you don't want to drone on and on with teens or it seems like you are preaching to them) about consumption limits, comfort levels and assurances that she had no interest in actually getting drunk, just being part of the group. I get it.

Enter the leap, she attended, she partook in less alcohol than was allowed (according to her report but I tend to believe her since she showed no signs of a hangover) and even responded to random texts from me throughout the evening. Upon later reports, other kids got drunk and she had fun watching them try to convince each other that they weren't drunk at all, things got knocked over, people fell down and spin the bottle was in play without my daughter participating. All in all it sounds like everything worked out and my trust was not misplaced.

Bargaining with biology

When my ex-wife was pregnant with our daughter, she was very concerned about the health and welfare of our unborn child. She read every book and did everything by the book during her pregnancy to ensure our child would be born with every advantage that biology could muster. She even asked for prenatal testing for Down Syndrome even though she was not a high risk pregnancy or even over 30 years old for that matter.

She revealed to me that she wouldn't have anything to do with our child if it was born with a mental defect because she has no patience for stupid people. This was shocking to me and I let her know that I did not share her opinion, disabled or not I would love our child unconditionally. Lucky for her we ended up having a perfectly healthy child with no developmental disabilities. I did catch her checking our daughter for exact number of fingers and toes which I guess is somewhat normal behaviour.

I'm pretty sure her paranoia can be attributed to her own diagnosed mental illnesses but it was eye-opening for me. I was surprised that someone would have a problem with it, especially if it was your own child. She may have even held me responsible should something have been 'wrong' with our daughter considering I have family members possessing developmental disabilities. You cannot bargain with biology, you get what you get no matter how properly you live.

Looking for work is a job

Every morning I wake up, harass my daughter to get up for school, make her breakfast, make her lunch, take her dog out for his morning walk after she has left for school and then I sit down and search for jobs online using up to 20 different websites. On average I send out about 5-10 resumes a week with customized cover letters and personalized emails. Some of these are cold calls and some are for actual positions that fall somewhere within the realm of my training and experience. I also keep track of each job ad in separate text files with notes on what I wrote in my email/cover letters. Whew.

Then I tool around in professional social media networking; adding new contacts, doing company research on positions I'm applying for, posting design related links, looking for other companies to send resumes to and messaging contacts about potential job positions at their workplaces. By now it's noon and I'm ready for some food and a break. It's basically a part time job looking for a full time job. It can be disappointing when there are no new job postings for two or more days in a row so I take this opportunity to give myself a day off and spend the time reading, writing or doing something crafty.

Being saddled with the horse

Think long and hard, kids, about getting a pet as a couple because one of you will be saddled with the responsibility of keeping and caring for that pet, should your coupledom end. If it's one thing I've learned about relationships ending, it's that I end up with the family pets.

Up until last year I was the proud owner [sic] of three guinea pigs who mysteriously died one by one even with the best of care. Rodents, meh. I thought it was a good trade off from getting a dog. Little did I know that the ex was allergic and that I would end up taking care of them from day one and beyond, when things ended. I learned a lot from that experience, since I never had pet rodents before, including that they turn into freakin' cannibals when one dies in the same cage as the others. Ew. In this case the ex got the better end of the deal by leaving them behind since he's a bit squeamish.

Now I have a male cat (Bazinga) who is just as much trouble as his mother (Poppy) was when I had her as a kitten (then Gryner). Again the ex begged for an animal and again I caved and again I ended up being the primary caregiver. Which is fine because I don't really think he would have been a fit father anyway. He's responsibility-phobic. But I have to admit that caring for Baz is less of a chore than that of the guinea pigs or even a dog. Which brings me to the next addition to the animal kingdom I have going on, my daughter's dog, Max.

When my daughter moved in I was all ready to deal with teen issues and even started reading up on healthy father/daughter relationships. Ironic since I think we have one that these books should be based on. But, nowhere in there did they mention taking in a family pet with the deal. So amidst looking for a job and keeping the household presentable, I'm sifting kitty litter and picking up doggie poop in pretty little baggies.

These saddle bags are getting heavy and I know what you are going to say, make my daughter take on some responsibility. We're working on it. Apparently high school is tougher than when I went and the adjustment period is taking some time. It's been a bigger adjustment period for me considering all that has happened. As I type, Baz jumps up on my lap as if he knows he's being talked about and his warm, gentle purring against my belly make it all okay. Loyal Max at my feet looking up every now and then to make sure I'm okay as well. You'll never leave me, will you guys?

Sleepyhead

Another life change this year is becoming a single father. For reasons I will not disclose at this time, my daughter decided to move in with me this summer. Big responsibility for me but I am up for the challenge. And every day is a challenge with a teenage girl, let me tell you. But the biggest challenge thus far has been getting her up in the morning for school.

She basically warned me that mornings are not easy for her. I don't remember having to be told every five minutes for an hour to wake up, get up, get ready for school. Maybe my almost 40 year old mind is starting to fall into that 'parents just don't understand' amnesia mode. When school started this September, we agreed on a set time for bedtime where she would read quietly in order for her to fall asleep. She then told me at what time to wake her up with enough time to 'wake up' before preparing for the day. Even with my mom's trick of only telling her twice to get up and therefore letting her be late for school, things have not improved in the mornings. Until I get a note attached to one of her tests I must sign and send back to her teacher.

The note attached to her test indicated that this teacher felt my daughter was not getting enough sleep. When I asked my daughter she explained that she had fallen asleep once or twice in this class. Okay, time to change things up, one hour earlier bedtime. This is what I like to call parenting by 'trial and error'. Obviously we both underestimated a few things here. I underestimated the onset of slumber once she is in bed, apparently it takes about an hour. She underestimated the teacher informing me of her first period naps AND my ability to be totally annoying in the mornings. Wake up sleepyhead!

Baby on the move

The first five years of my life are not much of a memory for me and I haven't gone through therapy to find out why, nor do I really care to. All I know is what has been told to me with small things that peak through like memories but even that might just be photographically induced. What I do know for sure is that my parents were the forerunners of flipping houses. They bought a new house each year from when I was born to age 5. The first three were fixer uppers in what is now considered the lower middle class area of my hometown. I'm sure the war-time bungalows were picturesque back then and with my father's self-taught handyman skills, they must have contributed to the betterment of the neighbourhood, if not their own bank statements.

This led to renting an apartment to save up money for their next big adventure. They would move out to the country and live in a two bedroom open-concept cottage that my father had subcontracted and consequently ended up doing a lot of the work himself. I also believe it was an incentive to move on after my mother's miscarriage of a baby girl who would have been only a couple years younger than me. For some reason nature decided it was not the right time for my mother to have another baby. Nature continued playing around when shortly after construction of the cottage my mother became pregnant again with my sister, having to resort to fertility drugs. Nature's a bitch!

Much like the difficulty of getting and staying pregnant for my mother, so would giving birth this time around. Remember how easy I was, this was not a walk in the park and grandma had to move into the tiny cottage to take care of my mother right after my sister was born. I was moved to the couch facing the floor to ceiling windows exposing me to all manor of wildlife, so I took precautions. My Flintsone's tool box had everything I needed to keep me safe, even if my friends (the mice) were no longer able to come to my aid. Mother had murdered them all with her broom since making nests in my hand-knit sweaters was not acceptable behavior for house guests. But I was young, adaptable, I made due. However, my sister changed everything. We moved one last time, back to the city and into the house which my parents still call home.

A baby no longer on the move would stay put for almost half his life to this point. It's still the only house I really remember and have the privilege of continuing to visit to this day, unlike some friends who sadly watch their childhood homes being sold out from under them. Memories are more than mere brick and mortar. Now they're digital, baby!

The unBreakup

So as a recently single gay man, I have decided to approach things a little differently than I have in the past 20 years of relationships...not having a relationship. As I say this and remember the book I'm currently reading about being a single gay man, I realize that is not possible because even when you have casual relationships, they are still relationships. And what happens when these relationships break up? The unbreakup.

"Of course I'm happy for you," is all I can muster when a 'friend with benefits' talks about the new guy in his life. They've spent more time together than we have and even though my 'friend' and I have a lot in common, I'm not going to kid myself. There's nothing more than friendship in the cards for us. So why do I feel like I've been dumped? I don't even want a relationship at this point, yet for some reason not having that option feels like a loss.

Then I chuckle to myself and truly do feel happiness for him because he deserves to be happy after all that he's been through. I also deserve to be happy and right now that means not developing serious, committed relationships. It could also mean developing a thicker skin.

(mis)conception of my bad ass

I figured we might as well start at the beginning if we are to fully understand what it means to me to be hitting the midlife point...

In the beginning, there was a country boy who was a bad ass and a city girl who enjoyed the wild side. My parents came from different backgrounds and worlds. The country boy had a large family who all worked from an early age (12) to forge a living out of blood, sweat and tears. The city girl had only two siblings, the first colour TV on her block and spent hours carefully coiffing her foot tall beehive. An unlikely coupling considering the first time my mother saw my tattooed, blond pompadoured, James Dean incarnation of a father driving around with three women in his convertible she said to herself, "What a pig!" A month later her friend asked her to double date and she accepted only if she could be set up with 'the pig'. Now I know why I change my mind so much.

Skipping forward slightly, they eventually married and wanted to start a family. At some point my father solidified his bad ass ness by riding a motorcycle. Within the first year of marriage my father was hit by a drunk driver while riding his motorcycle late one night. His leg was almost completely severed. He lost a lot of blood. He woke up with a screw in his leg covered by a full length leg cast, in the the psych ward and with a newlywed bride wondering what was next.

What was next was the funny part, my conception. It occurred while my father had that full length leg cast on, only months after the accident. I don't want to know details but I'm sure the week long Octoberfest bender they went on certainly helped things along. I always knew I had beer for blood. The pregnancy went normally and I didn't really waste any time coming into the world, dubbing me the easy one (an overall recurring theme). At the time my father had graduated to a shorter leg cast from the knee down. The nurses joked about putting a cast on my tiny leg as a rouse, citing that since that was how I was conceived, that's how I came out. Just as bad ass as my father.

To date I do not have any tattoos, have never owned a convertible, have not driven a motorcycle or have broken a limb requiring a cast. Not so bad ass.

Year of firsts, starting with the last

Today was just a small illustration of how this year has been the year of firsts that were not my idea to begin with, but I digress. I have been a licensed driver for going on 23 years and I've had my own license plates for about 17 of those years. Yesterday I was informed by a police officer that it's my responsibility to ensure that my plates are visibly legible. After 17 years and two accidents my plates had faded to almost complete invisibility. White letters on white background. I was let go without a ticket but I was advised to get new plates.

I've never had to do that before so I walk into the Service Ontario office thinking they have some crazy stamping machine under the desk, or perhaps a couple of convicts in the back pounding out the plates on demand. I was unaware that once I surrendered my old plates that they would be completely retired and I would get a whole new plate number. [Insert long sigh here.] I'd become so attached to that series of letters and numbers that it was almost part of my identity. It was like losing a part of who I am. Not to mention it was still part of the 6-digit series. It's like having a 416 area code phone number in Toronto, the original, denoting status of some kind. Most people thought I was missing a letter. And I was all, nope, that's how they did it in the old days.

It may sound like a small thing but it's an ending to another part of my life. Wishing I had a theme song to insert [here] because as much as this year has been about endings, it's also about beginnings. Today I began driving with legible license plates which was the last thing I thought I'd be doing.