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D. None of the above

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METRO photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Parenthood is filled with excrement, poop, and waste products. Call it what you will. It’s true.

We start out with this adorable lump of human flesh. And, for many of us, an anxiety that grows at a rate that far outstrips the pace at which the little person grows.

Wait? What! The baby was born at eight pounds. It’s now seven pounds? We must be screwing up. What are we doing wrong? Can I get someone on the phone immediately to explain what’s happening and how to fix it? No, I can’t wait.

Of course, we don’t know how good we have it until we enter the next stage. If, for example, our baby is drinking breast milk, its poop smells like roses and cherry blossoms on a beautiful, windy day compared with the cesspool stink that pours out of them once they start eating solid food or, heaven forbid, they get the Coxsackie virus.

But, of course, once you realize the magnificence of that early mild smell, it’s gone and you’re left trying to figure out how to get the particles of poop out from creases and crevices without causing discomfort to the small person whose sole mode of expression seems to be to cry and complain without end.

“Oh, that’s such a healthy cry,” they’ll say. “He’s a strong lad.”

“Oh, shut up! And stop calling her a lad.”

So, why am I writing about parenthood? Did I suddenly have to change 200 diapers last weekend?

No, you see, we’re about to welcome the first new member of our extended family in decades. Yeah, of course, we’re all excited and yes, I’m going to have the chance to be a great uncle when, up to now, I’ve been something between a regular uncle and perhaps an indulgent and slightly playful version of a run-of-the-mill uncle.

But, wow, our nephew’s wife is due any second, which kind of pushes us up the generational ladder.

We have heard about all the people of our nephew’s generation who are putting off or perhaps even ruling out parenthood.

But we also know that people are still having children and that those children are the ultimate form of optimism.

Sure, new parents, even if they’ve read 100 books, might not be completely prepared for every scenario. 

We went to all those Lamaze classes years ago around now as we prepared for the birth of our first child. And, you know what? They didn’t help one iota. Those classes were like giving us a toy steering wheel on a roller coaster. We could turn it however we wanted, but it wouldn’t affect the crazy ride that made us feel like our stomachs were going to drop out of our bodies on the next hair-raising turn.

If anyone actually thought about all the things they had to do as parents — staying up with a sick kid, worrying where those children are, thinking about all the germs that might hurt them (okay, I’m OCD, I admit it) — it’d be hard to prepare for, imagine and deal with the potential challenges. Most parenting playbooks are like New Year’s resolutions. Yeah, you’d like to be patient and even tempered, maybe lose some weight, sleep better, and all that good stuff, but things get in the way, including ourselves.

When you have a child, you not only have to worry about your sons and daughters, but you also have to manage the two or more families that always know better and whose ideas of everything from the right clothing to wear with variable temperatures to the right way to hold them to any of a host of other choices are likely different.

You can’t please everyone, including your relatives and the little crying, pooping child that doesn’t have work to do tomorrow and wants company late at night until he or she is ready to fall asleep.

Ultimately, parenting is a leap of faith. We all have to deal with craziness, discomfort, sleep deprivation and an uneasiness that comes from not knowing what to do next. And yet, during the best moments, when they’re truly happy, when that giggle bubbles out of them, massaging your ears and bringing a smile to your face, you realize what a spectacular privilege, excrement and all, parenting truly is. 

We get to see and share life with people whose thoughts, ideas, and resilience inspire us and, somewhere along the way, encourage us to share the best versions of ourselves.

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Pixabay photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Six degrees of separation could help us all.

We are only six people away from anyone in the world.

We probably don’t have to go that far to find people who live throughout the United States.

That means we have friends, relatives, professional colleagues, former classmates and others who can make a difference.

New Yorkers likely have the support of Senators Chuck Schumer and Kirsten Gillibrand when it comes to critical funding for the National Institutes of Health and for the National Science Foundation, whose financial support is under severe threat from the current budget the senate is considering and that the house has already passed.

Cuts in these areas will have critical and irreversible consequences for us, our children, our families and our future.

The money that goes into science has paid enormous dividends over the decades. The United States is able to outcompete many other nations because it has attracted the world’s best researchers to cutting edge areas.

These people drive the future of innovation, provide medical expertise that saves lives, and start companies that provide numerous high paying jobs around the country.

Cutting back means retreating from the world stage, enabling other nations to develop treatments and cures for diseases that might cost us much more money or become less accessible to those who weren’t in on the ground floor.

It also will hurt our economy, as patents and processes lead to profits elsewhere.

Shutting off the valve of innovation will turn fertile fields of scientific exploration and innovation into barren deserts.

This is where those six degrees comes in. New Yorkers probably don’t need to urge our senators to commit to scientific budgets. But senators from other states, hoping to remain in favor with their party and to act in a unified way, might not be as comfortable supporting scientific research when they and their constituents might believe they don’t stand to gain as much from that investment in the short term. After all, not every state has leading research institutions such as Cold Spring Harbor Laboratory, Brookhaven National Laboratory and Stony Brook University, a top-rated research institution and a downstate flagship for the SUNY system.

You remember those relatives whose politics are different from your own and who often create a scene at Thanksgiving or the holidays? Well, it’s time to talk with them, not at them. Let them know how much you, they and, an argument that’s hard to ignore, their parents and their children stand to lose if they stop investing in science.

How about that annoying guy at the company retreat who is thrilled to talk about how sad the elites are these days?

Talk to him, too. Let him know that his parent with Alzheimer’s or his uncle with a debilitating condition could one day benefit from discoveries in labs that desperately need funding.

Indeed, his own hearing or vision might depend on continued investment into research about diseases that become more prevalent as he ages.

We all benefit from these discoveries and we all lose out when we stop investing or contributing.

As for his children, they might get jobs in companies that don’t yet exist but that will form as a result of the discovery of products or processes that arise out of research.

The United States is still the only nation to send people (and it’s only men so far) to the moon, allowing them to set foot on a place other than our incredible planet.

Those moments and achievements, even decades later, inspire people to want to become astronauts, to join NASA, to provide the kind of information and research that make future missions possible.

While we don’t need funding for everything, we benefit from ongoing efforts and discoveries in direct and indirect ways. Shutting down labs, reducing internships and graduate school offerings, and stopping the process of asking questions creates headwinds for innovation, the economy and medical discoveries.

Urge those outside of New York to write to their senators, to make the kind of choices that will support and enrich the country and to prevent a one-way road to a dead end. We don’t have to agree on everything, but it’s worth the effort to encourage people to let our elected officials know that their constituents understand what’s at stake.

A senator from Mississippi might not care what you, a New Yorker, thinks, but he’s more likely to pay attention to a resident in his district. We need science whisperers in every state. We can not and will not let the NIH budget decline without a fight. Take a jog, practice yoga, meditate. Then, go talk to those relatives and encourage them to support science and the future.

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Scene from Huntington High School's 2022 graduation. Photo from Huntington school district

By Daniel Dunaief

Graduates preparing to emerge into what passes for the real world these days need to keep in mind something they studied in introductory economics: supply and demand.

You see, any imbalance creates opportunities and the world outside the academic cocoon has plenty of those.

Let’s start with supply. We have plenty of anger, frustration, irritation, and hostility. Yes, I know those are emotions, but, really, aren’t those in full display regularly and aren’t they at the heart of decisions and actions?

Anger and bitterness float around like a dense fog, settling in at the comment section for stories, expressing themselves out the open windows of cars stuck in traffic, and appearing in abundance in long, slow lines at the grocery store, the deli counter, or the dreaded Department of Motor Vehicles.

We also have plenty of absolute certainty, particularly among our fearless leaders at every level. This certainty manifests itself in many ways, as people are convinced they are right, no alternatives exist, and they can and will prevail over time.

For many of them, the world has returned to a state of black and white, where good and right are on one side and evil and darkness reside on the other. The reality, as many movies, books, and forms of entertainment suggests, is somewhere in between, with a wide spectrum of grey and, if you look for it, magnificent colors.

These same leaders are neither particularly good winners or particularly good losers, not that some of them would admit to losing anything anyway.

We also have innumerable entertainers, who collect followers like Pied Pipers with their flutes, sharing videos, ideas, and whatever else brings in viewers. They need followers and, with people eager to stay plugged in to the latest compelling popular culture, the people seem to need these attractions.

With such a high supply of followers, you don’t need to be just another one in a long list.

We have no shortage of people willing to offer advice and second guess anyone and everyone else. From their couch, sports commentators always somehow know better.

We also have plenty of electronic, artificial and technological systems that aren’t working as well as we, and the companies that use them, would like. That’s a supply of inefficiencies with a demand for improvements.

I can’t tell you how many times a voice activated system asks me for information, I provide it, the system repeats it and then the whole process starts over again, without getting closer to a real person or a resolution. These systems have bad days far too often.

Okay, now, on the demand side, we need more people who listen carefully and closely and who can learn in and on their jobs.

These days, people who find solutions, take responsibility and represent any business well are in shorter supply. Plenty of people seem indifferent to disgruntled customers, waiting for a better job to come along while they allow themselves to do work they don’t find particularly rewarding or compelling.

We also have a demand for listeners. With all the frustrations and disappointments out there, sometimes people don’t need anything more than someone who can listen to and acknowledge them.

On the demand side, the need for questions is extraordinarily high. When recent graduates don’t know or understand something, they can and should ask.

An answer along the lines of, “well, we do that because that’s the way it’s always been done,” offers an opportunity to improve on a process, an idea, an approach or an interaction.

The demand for people who can disagree effectively, can show respect, and can bring people together is extraordinarily high.

We don’t all need to agree on everything and to nod our heads like artificial intelligence automatons. We need people who can bring us together and keep us focused on shorter and longer term goals.

The need for positivity, solutions and great ideas is high. We live in an incredible country with a fascinating mix of opportunities, people, narratives, and potential.

Be prepared to use some of the ways of thinking you learned in college. When the majority of people are going right, consider what going left might mean and vice versa.

Other people might have their habits, patterns and routines, but you don’t have to adapt them as your own immediately. Be prepared to offer something new.

Your fresh perspective through eyes that haven’t seen a process occur repeatedly can and should be an advantage.

Yes, you might be a rookie in a new job or a new program, but that can mean that the demand for your insights can make you a valuable and welcome addition to any team.

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Esther Takeuchi. Photo by Roger Stoutenburgh/Brookhaven National Laboratory

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Esther Takeuchi has won numerous awards and received plenty of honors for her work. 

In 2009, President Barack Obama presented her with a National Medal of Technology and Innovation, the highest honor possible for technological achievement in the country.

She has also been elected as a member of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences,  received the 2013 E.V. Murphree Award in Industrial and Engineering Chemistry from the American Chemical Society and was selected as a Fellow of the American Institute for Medical and Biological Engineering and the American Association for the Advancement of Science, among others.

Takeuchi, who has over 150 patents to her name and is Distinguished Professor in Materials Science and Chemical Engineering at Stony Brook University and Chair of the Interdisciplinary Science Department at Brookhaven National Laboratory, spoke with Times Beacon Record News Media about a range of topics.

“In the long run, I think energy storage can significantly improve energy availability and affordability,” said Takeuchi. “We end up throwing a lot of [energy] away.”

Indeed, in a widely cited statistic based on a 2021 study, 65 percent of energy produced is thrown away. Energy from any source, whether it’s fossil fuels, sunlight, wind or nuclear, is inefficient, with losses from heat, limitations on technology, friction with machinery and incomplete combustion, among a host of factors.

“Let’s use it more effectively, where we can follow the load,” urged Takeuchi.

At the same time, Takeuchi recognizes the importance of ensuring the safety of energy storage, including for the proposed storage facilities in Setauket.

“The Fire Department and police need to be brought into the discussion,” she said. “A lot of these folks are extremely knowledgeable.”

Community education, involvement and awareness is necessary for any such project, ensuring that the appropriate people are informed and know how to respond to any crisis.

Energy needs

Future energy needs are considerably higher than they are today, thanks to the demands of artificial intelligence.

Large data centers that house the kinds of information necessary for AI are “incredibly power hungry,” Takeuchi said. If AI continues to expand at the current pace, it alone will use more energy than the world makes today.

“We need to have broader sources of energy” so it is available, she added. “Where is going to come from?”

Indeed, Takeuchi and her collaborators are working on energy storage that doesn’t use the kind of lithium-ion batteries that power much of consumer electronics. Lithium ion batteries are compact and are highly reactive, packing energy into a small volume. If something goes wrong, these batteries are flammable.

“We are working on a project at Stony Brook and Brookhaven National Laboratory where we’ve demonstrated electrolytes that don’t burn at all,” she said. “You can put a butane lighter on them and they won’t burn.”

To be sure, these batteries, which would be larger than the current systems, are a “long way” from commercialization, but it’s possible.

Still, Takeuchi is excited about rechargeable water-based batteries. She’s focused on making sure the materials are elements that are used broadly, instead of exotic materials mined in only one place on Earth. She’s also looking to create a cycle life that’s as high as possible.

Aqueous materials have a lower cycle life. She and her team are trying to understand why and overcome those challenges, which would enable these batteries to be recharged more times before degrading.

Funding environment

The current funding environment for science and technology has reached an uncertain time, Takeuchi said.

“One of the ways the United States has been so effective at competing economically on a global level is through science and technology,” she said. During many decades, the country has been an innovation leader as measured by the number of patents issued.

Driven by the Manhattan Project that built the atomic bomb, by frenzied competition with the Soviet Union after the launch of Sputnik in October of 1957 amid the Cold War, and by the drive to send people to the moon in the 1960’s, the country has attracted top talent from around the world while making important discoveries and creating new technology. Realizing that science and technology is a driver of future commercial and economic growth, other countries have been actively recruiting scientists concerned about the future funding landscape to their countries. This creates the potential for a brain drain.

If the United States gives up its leadership position when other nations are charging ahead, it could take a long time to recover the current standing, not to mention to mirror the successes and personal and professional opportunities from previous generations, said Takeuchi.

“Science is critical to lead us to the future we all want to live in,” she added. 

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Cookie the Pom. Photo from Unsplash

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Dear Paw Landers,

I’ve never written a letter like this before. Truth be told, I’ve never written a letter of any kind.

But I understand you live far away and that you dispense valuable advice that I could use in my everyday life with the guy and his family.

The guy spends most of his days sitting at this thing typing, so I guess I can do it for an hour or so, which, you know, is more like seven hours for him.

I was thinking of asking you about that rumbling noise that scares me so much when it gets incredibly dark out and when the ground gets wet. Those sounds make me want to find cover somewhere, but no matter where I go, I can still hear it and feel the terrible vibrations. It’s like if a pack of, you know, us were running around the neighborhood, growling so loudly outside the door that we caused the floor to vibrate a second or two after a flash of light.

No, no, I’ll save the questions about those noises for some other letter. This one is about the delicate social business of interacting in the neighborhood.

You see, my guy varies in his social energy and interests. Some days, he speaks with everyone we run into and bends down to pet other dogs.

That doesn’t bother me, the way it did with Fifi last week, when she complained that her owner pets other dogs more readily and happily than she pets Fifi. I’m fine if my guy wants to scratch other dogs behind their ears or rubs their back. Frankly, there are times when I think he needs a hobby to get out all of his scratching, squeezing and high-pitched voice energy that he reserves for me and, once in a while, for small people when they come to the house.

Other times, he barely waves or acknowledges people and their pets. He’s either staring into his phone and talking to himself or he’s making lists out loud and telling himself what he needs to do that day.

When he does stop to chat with neighbors and their companions, he often talks about me while the other human talks about their dog. I’m kind of tired of hearing about how I don’t like to swim, how I’m not that high energy and I don’t fetch.

Everyone doesn’t have to fetch or swim, right? But, then, he also talks about how sensitive I am and how supportive I am whenever anyone is feeling sad in the house. Hey, we all have our strengths, right?

When he’s chatting, sometimes about me and sometimes about the weather, I’m not always sure how long the pause in our walk will go.

I sometimes sit or lay down near him, while other dogs jump or sniff around me. Other times, I’m so happy to see one of my neighbors that she and I try to tie the two leashes into a knot in the shape of a heart. My guy and the neighbor never see it, but it’s so obvious to us.

Every so often, I meet someone intriguing and, you know how it is, right? I have to sniff them, the way they have to sniff me. The question is, how long can I sniff their butts before it becomes socially awkward, either for them or for the humans?

I mean, I can tell when my guy is in an intense conversation about something, when his voice drops or shakes and I want to help him. At the same time, I have this need to sniff.

Clearly, sniffing butts at the wrong time or for too long can become a problem for the guy and the other person.

If we do it too long, their conversation ends and he walks away, muttering and puling on me until we get inside.

So, what’s the ideal, allowable butt sniffing time? And remember that none of us is getting any younger, so, you know, if you could write back soon, it’d help. You can’t see me, but I’m looking up at you with my big brown eyes and wagging my tail. That usually works with the guy.

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Pixabay photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

In the best of times, we have the prvilege of living with a lightness of being.

We can anticipate events, opportunities and interactions that we find satisfying or that give us pleasure, like an enjoyable meal, great company, or entertaining or rewarding activities.

In the worst of times, sunlight can seem unbearably harsh to our eyes, the smiles and laughter of other people can feel like they are mocking our misfortune, leaving us isolated, alone and untethered.

Recently, tragedy struck a family we know well, as a member of the family in his 20’s died unexpectedly.

The ripples of that loss spread quickly, affecting everyone who had the privlege of knowing that person far too briefly and who had shared blissful moments without realizing how transient they were. That included siblings who learned of his death while away at college.

The loss had echoes with my own life, as I received a call from my family in my sophomore year. When I returned to my room after studying for a physics midterm, my roommate told me to call home regardless of the time.

My fingers twitched as I dialed the phone. My father had died.

While the memory of the oxygen-sucking reality of that moment has stayed with me decades later, I recognize that my father, who died earlier than the parents of almost all of my friends, lived much longer than this young person who was preparing to graduate from college.

So many moments after that loss and the discomfort it created have stayed with me over the years, even as time has allowed me to focus more on the memories and experiences I had rather than on the agony of what I’d lost.

I remember looking at the happy, worried, excited and normal faces of people in dining halls as I grappled with the reality of a present and future without the possibility of interacting with my father.

Soon after his death, people who knew me or were in the broader circle of friends, gave me “the look.” Some of them said they were so sorry and told me how unfair it all was. Not knowing what to say or how to act, others walked in the other direction or turned around when they saw me. Of course, some of that likely had nothing to do with me, as they might have forgotten a paper they printed out on their desk or realized that it was too cold to walk outside without a heavier jacket.

Even mundane activities seemed to raise questions. Should I shave, should I take a walk or a run, how much did I really care about succeeding on a test, or taking any of the next steps in what felt like an unfamiliar life?

Even the few times I managed to smile in the days after his death, I felt guilty. Was I allowed to be happy so soon after his death?

In those awful first few weeks of pain and numbness, friends who took me to lunch, listened or stayed by my side while I stared out a window provided some measure of comfort and connection.

The shocking relief I felt at meeting someone new, who didn’t know my story and wasn’t still giving me “the look,” was extraordinary.

New people weren’t sorry and didn’t know or see the cloud that rained grief and dumped freezing rain over my head regularly.

Time helped, but so did unexpected moments of escape from the loss, a sense of purpose that came from knowing how my father would have wanted me to live, and an awareness that everyone isn’t living their happily ever after all the time.

Other people are persevering through their challenges, losses, and difficulties. My loss and grief weren’t any less real, but they also weren’t so exclusive or blatanlty unfair.

While I still feel the loss of all the things that would have given my father joy, like meeting my wife or making his grandchildren laugh or  the way he made me smile even when I was marinating in my moody teenager phase, I know that I and so many others, including our family friends, are not alone in living our fractured fairy tales.

The days ahead for the family will undoubtedly include difficulties. People who know them can help by checking in and offering ongoing support. At some point hopefully before too long, they may find themselves smiling. They may realize that they are not forgetting or being disrespectful, but they are allowing themselves to breathe in a moment of sunshine, which they can share, in their own way, with the memory of their loved ones.

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Pixabay photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Words pour out of our mouths like different kinds of liquids.

Sometimes, those words can offer necessary relief from white hot anger, agony or discomfort, serving as a cooling salve, bringing a smile to our miserable faces and turning, as the cliche would suggest, a frown upside down.

Other times, the words people choose to share can exacerbate an already inflamed state, serving as lighter fluid, threatening to turn us from a mild shade of pink into a deep red.

Words can also become an avalanche, forcing us to look elsewhere as a nonstop collection of words, phrase or ideas threatens to bury us beneath their verbal weight. Desperate to get away, we might hope the speaker gets distracted by a flying turtle.

A diatribe, lesson or self-aggrandizing soliloquy can be exhausting and irritating.

But, it’s not just the words and their effect that are so familiar in conversations.

No, you see, it’s the facial expressions. Many people have a remarkable ability to run the gamut of human emotions and thoughts without saying a word. A tightening of the skin around their eyes, a slight narrowing of the lids, a crooked smile, or a baring of teeth, which is probably the least subtle of the facial reactions, can reveal something about our inner state or disclose how we’re feeling about the world around us or, more precisely, the person in front of us.

To varying degrees, actors and actresses have mastered the art of using their often photogenic, compelling, or sympathetic faces to tell stories and, perhaps, to reveal the inner conflict we know they are feeling when, say, their sister asks them to be a bridesmaid when she’s planning to marry a person the actress has loved for years. Yes, that was a mildly amusing movie and yes, you probably know it.

The rest of us mere facial mortals, however, may not be as capable of altering our features to reflect the wide range of emotions we might reveal in response to the way we feel behind the masks we try to wear.

When I lived in Manhattan, I thoroughly enjoyed people watching. It’s a form of endless entertainment. Leaning on the railing at Rockefeller Center in mid December years ago, I watched an elderly couple gliding around the rink together, holding hands and glancing contentedly at each other, clearly enjoying the moment. With gloved fingers interlaced, they synchronized their legs as well as any pairs figure skaters might.

While I imagined that they had been together for decades and that they might have gone to an ice skating rink on an early date, they also could have been together for a couple of months or, perhaps, gotten married a year earlier.

Either way, their faces, which I can still picture decades later, revealed a keen and profound satisfaction.

Some people undoubtedly have mastered the art of the poker face, appearing interested or attentive when they are thinking about where to eat dinner later that night, what laundry they need to take to the dry cleaner, or when to sell a stock that’s been teetering with all the others amidst concerns about corporate profits and a potential slowdown in the economy.

Others, however, can reveal the equivalent of an SOS call, with a slight turn of their neck, widening eyes, and a faint but noticeable grimace around their pained mouths.

When we get to know family or friends well, we can read their expressions or hear the flat tone in their voices, knowing that the word “interesting,” or “you don’t say,” really means, “please stop talking. I’ll pay you to stop talking. In fact, here is a set of fake plastic ears that look like mine. Chew on them and, when you’re done, please recycle what’s left over.”

Sometimes, when I know someone well enough, I’ll watch their faces as they listen to a perspective that irritates them, a joke they don’t find remotely amusing, or a comment they don’t appreciate and I’ll recognize the unspoken but deeply held thoughts etched in their faces.

With all the finely tuned muscles in our faces and our ability to raise or lower our eyebrows, we can send signals that the attentive listener or others can read like a subtle or, perhaps more obvious, signal.

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METRO photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Their names fly by after the final scene amid music that often recapitulates what we’ve just heard in a movie theater or at home during a streaming film. 

In fact, oftentimes, the streaming services will suggest the next film before the credits role, giving us the option to move effortlessly from one movie to the next without pausing to allow the movie to resonate or to squint at the names during the credits.

Every industry is filled with the invisibles. These are the people who make stuff happen, but who are not at the center of an effort.

Take dining out. We see the maitre d’, the waiter or waitress and we might even acknowledge the cook or the sushi chef. But, really, numerous invisibles are a part of the food process, from the fishermen who woke up before sunlight to catch the fresh fish we’re considering eating to the farmer who planted and harvested the vegetables to the truck drivers who ship these products all over the state and the country.

We are often a part of a bigger industry that relies on the services of others, many of whom we don’t know or see but who contribute to our lives.

Products like pharmaceuticals rely on numerous contributions. Patients take a drug during its clinical trials, tended to by doctors and nurses, while scientists may have discovered a potential target for an illness or a disease and then searched for a small molecule that might change our fates or improve our condition.

The invisibles also glide by the way homes and the tops of trees pass as a part of a blurry landscape when we’re riding the Long Island Railroad.

We walk by people as we navigate a crowded sidewalk towards a Broadway show or on our way to an important appointment in the city.

We sit at a traffic light to turn left, waiting for the cars we can see, but not necessarily the people in them, to pass us so we can get to our destination.

When children are young, they see and observe everyone. As my wife and I used to say, “the recorder is always on,” whether someone is lecturing about what children should know or do or is setting an example or, as the case may be, a counter example.

I was on a plane recently when a mother holding a baby in front of her stopped to wait for others to put away their luggage. Unconcerned about social convention, the young child stared at my wife and me, then shifted his eyes and looked directly at the people in the row across the aisle.

The mother continued to look straight, anticipating the moment when she could continue past us on her way to her seat.

Social convention keeps us from looking directly at people for too long. We don’t want to make them uncomfortable and, sometimes, we also don’t want to encourage everyone to engage in conversation with us.

As we pass through various grades, we become selective about our friends, no longer feeling the need to invite everyone in class to birthday parties.

When we’re older, we attend larger gatherings and we greet everyone. Well, no, not exactly everyone. We may not spend much time chatting with the busy waitress, getting to know members of the other family at a wedding, or connecting with the Uber driver who took us to the catering hall.

We don’t need to acknowledge everyone all the time. That would be impossible. Some people also enjoy the freedom a cloak of invisibility provides. Some of my favorite parties, in fact, were those where so few people knew me that I had no social responsibilities or obligations, allowing me to dance with arms flailing and shoulders shimmying with a relaxed grin pasted across my sweaty face.

And yet, there are those times, when someone is sitting alone or is taking another long drive, when a few words might provide the kind of connection that helps them feel seen.

To return to the movie example, we sometimes watch characters who are otherwise ignored or written off who become central to other people’s lives. Those people may be waiting for an opening or an acknowledgement or for the opportunity to feel our recognition and appreciation. We can be moved by people who lived hundreds or thousands of years ago, but we can also move with those who share time and space with us today.

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METRO photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Even for a family that often lives in fifth gear, this weekend is especially frenetic.

First, on Saturday, we’re going to the wedding for a member of my wife’s extended family. We’ve been looking forward to this for more than a year.

Over 25 years ago, the bride attended our wedding in a white dress that, thanks to my mother in law, matched the one my wife wore. It’s so easy to recall her doe-eyed face when she and her younger brother set a speed record as they raced down the aisle.

We had asked the children on both sides to participate, which they did to the delight of our friends and family.

I’m sure memories of the bride and groom will play through many people’s minds during the wedding. As I sit with my wife, son and daughter, I will likely picture the four-year-old version of the bride, whom I used to throw as high and far as I could from the shallow end into the deep end in my father-in-law’s warm pool.

I’ll hold hands with my wife as we share in the excitement of this ceremony, which marks the beginning of their married life and is an extension of a high school friendship that has turned into something much deeper.

After the ceremony, we will reconnect with extended family, finding out recent details of their lives. We will hug and kiss the amazing grandmother, who has provided unconditional family support since the moment I met her close to 30 years ago.

Our niece will also be a major attraction, as she is the seven-months pregnant matron of honor and is the first member of the next generation on either side of our family who is expecting a child.

And then, ahhh, the dancing! My family will be on the dance floor as long as possible, throwing ourselves around as if we were in some kind of Zumba, aerobics, bodies-in-motion session. 

My shirt will become a much darker color as I sweat through it, and our daughter will somehow know the words to just about every song the band plays.

As the party winds towards its conclusion, we will continue moving and cheering, looking to squeeze every last drop out of this wedding.

The next day, we’ll amble out to a Sunday breakfast and recount some of the excitement from the night before.

But, wait, then there’s part two. We’ll head over to CitiField, where we’ll see my side of the family for a Mets game and, more importantly, celebrate a momentous birthday for our nephew.

We’ll share the excitement of this big birthday as we all become die hard Mets fans for the day, even as we also may share a few memories.

Indeed, when the birthday boy’s brother was born, my girlfriend (now my wife) and I drove to Baltimore. She left earlier than I. My then three-year-old nephew joined us as I walked her to her car.

“Bye, love you,” I said to my wife, kissing her through the rolled down window.

“Bye, love you,” our nephew echoed, standing on his tip toes as he offered an irresistible grin.

We’ll likely compare baseball stories and anecdotes about my nephew who has been married for over a year.

I may even tell the story about a memorable phone call.

His father, who wasn’t a morning person, called me early one Sunday. He asked me about my weekend and my plans for the week. Stupidly, I answered all his questions without thinking of the context for his life.

“Great,” he said, sounding both tired and excited. “Well, guess what?”

I shrugged while he paused either for effect or to take a quick rest.

“You’re an uncle,” he declared.

I jumped out of bed and couldn’t possibly get dressed quickly enough to meet someone I’m as eager to see today and any other day as the day he was born.

While we might wistfully recount such stories, we will also have the incredible gift of family time.Amid all the other times that come and go, we will have a full weekend where we won’t focus on whatever worries us about the world. We will share the joy of staying present, reveling in these magical moments that matter.

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A debate. Pixabay photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Do you want to know the honest truth?

No, do me a favor. Lie to me. In fact, come up with something so outrageous that I might crack a broad smile and even allow a chuckle to bubble out of my mouth. 

Whenever anyone asks if you’d like them to share the honest truth, it’s often not particularly positive or flattering and is a way of giving them the opportunity to say that you asked for it, whatever the “it” happens to be.

Here’s the honest truth: you didn’t do all that well in the debate. You said your name correctly and your political party, but after that, you kind of lost the thread of what you were saying, particularly when you forgot where you were and starting picking your nose. Not a good look.

Or, perhaps, the honest truth? I don’t like Chinese food and you always ask if we can go to a Chinese restaurant. I know you like the Peking duck and the moo shu pork, which makes you think of the small funny character from Disney’s “Mulan” voiced by Eddie Murphy, but I’m not a fan and I’d prefer to go somewhere else.

People often use phrases that are a big set up or, despite being unnecessary, have become a part of the way we speak.

Take the phrase “going forward,” as in, we are going to institute a policy in which everyone has to come to the office four days a week going forward. Can we go backwards? Does the going forward part suggest now, as opposed to something that might start in two weeks, two months or two years?

Or, how about “at the end of the day?” People will ask if some change brings any value at the end of the day. How about at the end of a meal or at the end of a sentence?

Then there’s the word “literally,” as in I literally laughed my head off. No, actually, you didn’t, because you’re speaking to me and your head still seems to be attached.

I “literally” dropped my fork on the floor. Can you figuratively drop a fork on the floor? I suppose in the “Matrix” world of Keanu Reeves, where there is no fork, you might figuratively drop it on the floor as a part of some epistemological challenge, but most of us live in a world where the utensil we hold in our hands is made of matter and makes a sound when we drop it, even if we’re in a forest and no one is there to hear it.

Then there are all the extra words that delay the punchline. People regularly say, “do you want to know my all time favorite food?”

No, actually, I’d rather know the food you preferred when you were a toddler. Do you remember that one? Was it peas, carrots, or sweet potato? We gave our daughter so much sweet potato when she was young — she seemed to like it and made happy noises when she ate it — that it turned her face orange. And that was the color without any make up.

I might want to know your all time favorite movie, as opposed to your favorite movie for this year or from the 1980’s. I will reluctantly admit that the phrase in such a discussion has merit.

While we’re delving into the language of today, I would like to share a few cliches that, if you’ll pardon the cliche, sound like nails on a chalkboard to me. 

By the way, we should probably retire that because, if you want to know the honest truth, not many people are using chalkboards anymore.

Cliches, yes, cliches, like beating a dead horse, are non specific and overused.

The phrase, “it is what it is,” which is fun to say when people are complaining about the food, the service, the poor play of your favorite baseball team, or the weather, is a logical shrug.

We might as well write, or say, A is A, eh? It’s a tautology. Of course, it is what it is. Maybe we should change it to, “it isn’t what it isn’t,” or, perhaps, “it can’t be what it couldn’t be.”

So, if you want to know the honest truth at the end of the day, I prefer to avoid words going forward that act like fog in front of my all time favorite painting, which, after all, is what it is.

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