It appears that’s what it takes to make me happy.

To loved ones and role models who didn’t make it this far: I wish you could know how much you’re missed. I’ll do my best to deserve the life and inspiration you gave me.

Leaving the grid til tomorrow/next year. Hope to see the rest of you there.

Happy New Year.

Anyway, I’m aware that Facebook and (to a much smaller degree) Twitter have have cut deeply into my content provision to this blog. It’s less work for me to just post links on the other sites along with my pithy observations than it is to properly blog here, so, being a lazy bastard, that’s what I’ve tended to do.

If you’re one of my handful of liberal Laura Brannigan/Necrophilia-loving readers and would like more regular bon mots from me I suppose you could try friending me on FB or following me on Twitter.

Just be advised that I restrict my “friendships” on Facebook to people I know, friends of friends and/or people I’ve actually heard of.  Also, you need to be legally an adult. No exceptions, even if I know and like you.  If that doesn’t sound like you then I’ll require a note of introduction before I’ll let you look at my stuff.

Or you could just follow me on Twitter. I can’t stop you, at least not initially.  I can block you as I have done with anyone attempting to market me stuff or tell me how the Jews control the media and Ayn Rand is awesome. But, yeah, lurkers or stalkers on Twitter just don’t attract my notice so long as they’re quiet and their profile pics don’t contain swastikas or crying eagles.

And just for the record I’m not the John Judy who owns the fly-fishing company in Washington or the one with the cool blog he actually writes on or the tattoo artist or the Marine or the graphic designer or the nutjob who thinks Ayn Rand is awesome.  Those are all different guys.  I think there’s also a gay teenager in Pennsylvania named “Jon” Judy who may or may not be a fellow comics fan. In fact that could be two separate guys as well.

I’m just the liberal, atheist, happily married, occasionally-employed actor and full-time Dad currently living in Northern Virginia who thinks Ayn Rand is the saddest thing this side of Scientology.

http://www.facebook.com/John.Judy1

http://twitter.com/#!/PapaJohnJudy

Or watch this space.

My current resume

Oh crap, I still have a MySpace page too. I should have that looked at…

My Grandmother was born in 1913, six years before American women got the right to vote.  She died three years after a black man had to fight like hell to beat a woman for the chance to be President of the United States.  I don’t know how much that registered with her since her dementia was kicking in stronger about that time, but I know she would have been delighted if she understood.

She was the daughter of Otto, a German immigrant who left Berlin after a falling out with his family.  Otto spent a month in his apartment learning English and thereafter never spoke German again. He changed his last name to “Franklin” even though he couldn’t have been fooling anyone with his accent that never went away.  Otto married Jessie, my great-grandmother, who was married a bunch of times and they raised their daughters in Wyoming, where Otto worked as a cook for oil roughnecks and railroaders. One doesn’t usually associate Germans with great cooking but I guess in that line of work they took what they could get.

Grandma was born Gertrude Franklin, but in my entire life I never heard anyone call her Gertrude or any variation thereof.  She was Grandma, Mom or “Billie.”  When she was little someone mistook her for a boy and the name Billie just stuck. Otto would call her “William” when he was cross and it just occurred to me that’s the real reason my brother was given that name.  (They said he was named after William Blake, but now I think that’s crap.)

Somewhere in Wyoming she met up with a boy named John McKendry and they became high school sweethearts and when Grampa went off to college without marrying her she got pissed and married someone else.  That lasted a month after which a judge granted her a divorce after taking one look at her in his courtroom.  She evidently looked bad enough that even in 1930 divorce seemed less a sin and more a life-saving requirement.

I guess this got Grampa’s attention because he eventually came back and married her and by 1938 my Mom was born. They had moved to New York by then and Grampa was working for some lab that had something to do with the development of radar. (*My Mom corrects me that this was actually Cambridge, Massachusetts and Grampa was working for the MIT Radiation Laboratory.  New York came after we bombed Japan which I believe Grampa felt bad about. Not sure if his work fed into the Manhattan Project or not. I think he was just a gentle guy.)  This figures prominently in family lore since it was told to me that Grampa couldn’t believe the Japanese had been able to bomb Pearl Harbor since the Army had this great new radar thing he’d developed.  Maybe this is when he started to drink.

Grandma had two more kids, my Uncle John and Aunt Margaret. All three of the McKendry kids were smart, good-looking and morally upright within reason.  Grandma stayed home and raised them in Pleasantville (seriously), New York and Grampa worked at the lab, smoked and stopped by a bar called The Rail for a few drinks on the way home.

Somewhere in there my Mom went off to Cornell, graduated, got a job in New York and met my Dad. They got married quick since Dad was being shipped off to West Germany to keep the commies in line and what sensible girl didn’t want a piece of that action?

In 1963 I came along and Gertrude “Billie” McKendry became Grandma McKendry for the first time.  She was 50, three years older than I am right now with my own kids all 7 and under. Shortly thereafter Grampa McKendry had his heart attack which I think got him to either cut back on or increase his booze intake.  The cigarettes never stopped but his heart finally did when I was three. I don’t remember him at all but I’m told at the time I was  aware enough of him to ask where he was when we went up for the funeral.

Being widowed at 53 with two kids in their teens would make some people curl up and grow bitter, but that description would be about as far from my Grandma as anything I could imagine. I don’t think Grampa’s employers took very good care of her with whatever pension he may have had and I know she had to go to work at a shoe store at one point. Maybe social security kicked in to help, but either way no one starved or had to live on the street.  This was all before Ronald Reagan came along to stop widows with kids from picking the pockets of millionaires for their stupid “food” and “shelter.”

Sometime after this Grandma moved from Pleasantville to be with Great-Grandma Franklin in Oregon.  I guess her sisters lived out in the Pacific Northwest and being near your blood family was a good plan.  I just remember I didn’t see Grandma McKendry as much after that.  She’d visit DC but I wouldn’t get out to Oregon until I was in my early 20s.  I got to meet Great-Grandma Franklin once for Thanksgiving in 1985 and we really hit it off.  Later in my 30s when my wife and I were living in LA we’d get up to Oregon on a regular basis. My mom was up there by then and we had a place to stay long enough to really fall for Portland.  It’s a beautiful place and I’m glad Grandma got to live the rest of her life there.

I guess what I’d like anyone who’s still reading to know is that my Grandma was probably the single nicest person I have ever known.  It was like her superpower.  If you met her you would almost immediately feel as if you were with an old friend, a female Mister Rogers who liked you just the way you are. She had a soft, kind voice, a smile as easy as it was genuine and an unerring sense of what was a decent way to be in the world.

I only heard her swear once. My brother and I were playing in the front yard and we wouldn’t come in when she called the first dozen times. One “God dammit” from her was enough to get us in line for the remainder of our time together.

She had some form of narcolepsy and she would “nap” often during the day, especially as she got older. My mom learned later that one of her doctors prescribed speed for her and she’d been taking it most of her life. I never would have known.

She was Lutheran and went to church but she had none of the “church lady” about her. I think she was one of those rare things, a Christian who actually walked the walk without bothering to talk the talk.

She was one of the only people to tell me flat out that she was proud of me when I quit drinking. At the time I didn’t know why.

She treated all people as equals before it was expected of her. When my mom was a little girl she and Grandma were riding a New York City bus and a dark-skinned black man sat near them.  My mother stared even though Grandma told her not to and then she asked why the man was so dirty.  My Grandma was mortified and tried to explain that it was just the color of his skin. Mom followed up by asking if it washed off.  The man being discussed found this amusing coming from a little blonde white girl in 1940-something and my Grandma apologized profusely to him as she tried to get Mom to hush.  The man assured my Grandma it was alright and the story assumed its place in the family collection of stories to remind everyone you’re not always so smart, are you?

For me the main point is that my Grandma treated a stranger on a bus with an acknowledgment of his dignity he wouldn’t get from his country for another 25 years.

It’s how she was with everyone. The only people I ever knew her to regard with anything but fondness were TV preachers, conservative politicians and anyone who divorced one of her children.

She was only human after all.

She spent her last years at a retirement community near the banks of one of Portland’s rivers.  She had her own little apartment for a while and as she started to need more help they moved her into the main building and ultimately into a wing of that building where you couldn’t leave without a helper.  Like everyone else who met her they liked her very much and it was clear by the way each employee spoke to her and of her.

She eventually started losing her memory and her ability to distinguish family members from one and other. As far as I know she never lost her essential nature though.  The last time I visited her was in January of 2009. She didn’t know my name anymore but she was glad to see me.  I brought my five year-old son and seven month-old daughter and let her hold them.  I kept mentioning who they were, her great grandchildren, and that was enough.  Pretty much all she could say was “It’s good to see you” and “I’m so glad you came.”  She said it a lot and I don’t doubt the emotion was real, even if it and we were forgotten almost as soon as we left.

My last memory of her was her standing in the lobby with one of her nursing aids next to one of the Christmas trees they’d left up into the first week of 2009. She looked as good as ever and I’m glad that’s how I get to remember her.  I think she’d be glad too.

She died last night in her bed after a few weeks in hospice care. My mom was with her and she felt no pain.  Her ashes will be placed in a family plot next to Great-Grandma Franklin. I’d like to be there to say goodbye because I believe in the utility of ritual even if the religious trappings are a crock. I don’t believe her mortal remains will be raptured into heaven on some perpetually receding day of judgement.  I just know with certainty that all that mattered about her is with me and always will be til it’s my turn to go.

“Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened.” – Dr. Seuss

Our first full year as Landed Gentry of the Great Commonwealth seemed at times like an epic movie that kept switching genres.  From Action to Tragedy to Slapstick to Love Story, we covered them all.

The action began with the great DC Snowpocalypse that shut down the region for over a week and turned shoveling the driveway into a daily bonding ritual between parents, children and modern suburban neighbors.  It ended up being great fun for us and a chance to spend time with family since John’s dad almost got snowed in with us.  The kids got to sled with their cousins and we resolved to deepen our garage with a 4-wheel drive vehicle for future catastrophes.  The local Honda dealership was happy to oblige us and we became a two-car family.

Since the new car needed breaking in we decided to visit the afore-mentioned Grampa in Asheville, North Carolina.  It was a fun visit with lots of good food and local attractions including the famous Biltmore mansion and estate.

Back home our eldest boy continued the activities he does best: Tae Kwon Do, swimming and growing.  More baby teeth were lost, but (as if to compensate) several swimming ribbons were won. Second grade seems to agree with him even if the homework is getting more demanding. He let off steam by getting his first Mohawk haircut for school picture day. It looked great and got him to smile!

Our daughter has also begun testing the waters of academia, enrolling in a really good pre-K program near our neighborhood.  She’s in a group of about ten kids her age.  She loves it and has made friends she looks forward to seeing each day.  She also comes home more often than not with extremely cute braids and ponytails, courtesy of her teachers.

The year very much peaked for us when Jessica delivered the best Fathers Day present ever: “Little Hulk”, so named for his size, strength and ferocity. If he ever gets one of your knuckles near his mouth you’ll understand.  He’s grown into a beautiful baby with a grin that’s inspired a second nickname: “Mister Smiley.”  And someone in our lineage has gifted him with the most amazing blue eyes.

Jessica continues to be the best bargain the American taxpayers could ask, working hard providing Congress with the most accurate possible information to misinterpret or ignore.

John continues his service providing groceries, kid transportation, plus some light cleaning and yardwork.  He also managed to pick up a few commercial jobs during the last campaign season. Happily he worked only on behalf of the Good Guys.  His lucky streak continued into October when he got to play a wedding emcee in a horror film by his old friend Eduardo Sanchez. It’s called “The Possession.” Watch for it!

Other notable events of the year included a real-live wedding for Jessica’s sister at which Jessica was a bridesmaid, Eldest Boy was ringbearer, and John and Our Girl ended up being co-flower girls. Most awesome!  John and Eldest also got a special treat when they were able to visit Los Angeles for a week to stay with old friends and go to Disneyland and the Aquarium of the Pacific. Roller coasters, shark-petting and spending a week at his best friend’s house. Not a bad summer vacation for anyone.

On a sad note we lost one of our cats after a brief illness just shy of his 11^th birthday. He now rests peacefully in Ashland and many a human could do worse. There were other losses too but rather than relate them here let it suffice to say they continue to instruct us in our priorities and the importance of keeping close with those we love.

Thanks to all for being part of our lives in 2010 and the years to come.

With much love,

John, Jessica and their nameless kids

So today at my son’s after-school Tae Kwon Do class he was told by the Christian kids that he shouldn’t celebrate Christmas because he doesn’t believe in god.

He was told this a lot, to the point that he told me he didn’t want to go back tomorrow, the last day before the holiday break. It took me a while to get this all out of him but once I got it straight I decided his instructor and I needed to come to an understanding about what was acceptable back-and-forth among kids and what was not. Dinner could wait.

I explained what happened and what the belief demographics were like in my household and I think we got it all squared away.  His instructor is a very nice Korean man, my age, Catholic, with solid English as a second language even if I had to run the word “atheist” by him a few times.

What he understands is that a talk with the class about respecting the beliefs of others  is in order, even if he’s nervous about religion being involved.  As an occasional teacher I’ve dealt with parents of faith myself and understand the thin veneer of Not Crazy some of them have to apply each morning before facing the Earth People.

What my son understands is that, for some of these kids, he might literally be the first person they’ve ever met who says he doesn’t believe in god. He understands that even though some of these kids are older than him they aren’t necessarily any smarter and they damn sure aren’t always right. He understands that you should stand up for what you believe in, as well as for what you don’t.

He understands, I hope, that his dad has got his back.  (His real dad, not the one in the sky.)

Maybe the best part of this awkwardness was that he got to hear from his dad the atheist and his teacher the Catholic that “religion can lead people to do wrong things.”

And that’s why we need to learn Tae Kwon Do.

In the course of his talk he explained that we celebrate Christmas because it’s fun and because both his parents had been raised as Christians. His mom is a Methodist Christian and his dad (the creepy old guy over there, smiling, holding his baby brother) was a Lutheran Christian but is now an atheist. He explained what that meant for the non-college bound kids.

The speech, cookies and music went over well but the proudest moment for me was when his teacher asked him during the Q&A portion: “So_____, you said your dad is an atheist.  Are you an atheist?”

“Yes.”

“Cool!”

To give this moment some context, we’re living in a state that forces public school kids to observe a “moment of silence” every morning. The school principle wears a cross and the library contains books of bible stories. I haven’t noticed any prominent displays of books about skepticism, free-thought or evolution but then I haven’t looked too hard. I devote my energies to keeping my own kids’ minds sharp, rather than trying to save the rest. I plead selfish pragmatism mixed with “tolerance.”

Still… today maybe my bright, handsome, charming son planted an idea in his class of Catholics, Muslims and at least one Jehovah’s Witness we know of.

And maybe tomorrow he gets his ass kicked at recess that he may know God’s love.

But today was a great day to be his dad.

Four months later Hinkley shot Reagan and two months after that some nut shot the Pope.

This was my senior year of high school.

I believe this period of time cemented my status as a worrier.

Common courtesy goes a long way.

Repairing the fence?  I put in a good afternoon a few months ago.  Clearing the rocks from that patch where the pool pump used to be?  Yeah, a couple of hours were spent with a pick and shovel. I sifted some dirt and several hundred pounds got moved over weekends here and there. I weed-whack it often and rocks continue to fly past my head.  College degree? Not gonna happen.  Finishing my memorial for a friend who died in February? The first part brought tears to eyes, but the rest has to be Just Right and that takes time.

I have a stack of screenplays in my head and a book on marathon training somewhere around here.

I fire deadly short bursts: The late night blog, the HuffPo retort, the killer sketch or two-liner.  An afternoon mowing, cleaning or vacuuming is good exercise and a chance to clear the head. I make a fine pot of mac and cheese.

I could claim the Great HusbanDad Project consumes all my long-term energy but really I don’t recall painting any chapel ceilings prior to my engagement.

I have a deficiency to be addressed.

Soon.