Kris Fisher Believes He May Be a Bit of a Focker

My radio station, HD 98.3, is throwing a singles event on February 28^th at Savannah River Brewing Company. It’s a pretty neat concept. We’re inviting people to make a presentation about a friend and why they’re an awesome person to date. A sample presentation was made about me to promote the event and posted on social media.

Most of the ‘facts’ about me were made up. One, for example, was a favorite thing to do. It reads “catch sunsets like the real romantic he is.” A coworker saw it and told me that they knew that one wasn’t true. It was, in fact, the sentiment among several of my coworkers.

That struck me as odd. I mean, what kind of heartless animal do they think I am? The fact is, I do enjoy a good sunset and I do consider myself a bit of a romantic at heart. Maybe not super romantic, but I try. On a romanticmovie character scale of Jack Dawson to Ford Fairlane, I’m somewhere around Greg Focker. But, what about me tells people that I wouldn’t be into those things? My coworker didn’t have an answer for that and, well, now I must know.

I’m incredibly curious about those weird little human intricacies that make us tick. If I were to ever change my career, it would most definitely be in the world of studying people, why we do the things we do, and why we think the things we think. What is it about me that presents non-romantic? If I don’t read “romantic,” then what vibe do I give?

This is, for me, a significant character trait. I care what people think - a lot. I try to pretend that I don’t, but I just can’t get around it. It molds and shapes everything that I do. So much so, in fact, that I often fall flat on my face trying to make sure I don’t rub someone the wrong way.

It’s the Greg Focker in me.

When I say or do something that might make someone think negatively of me, I dwell on it forever. Twelve years from now this column will pop up in my head  while I’m driving down the road and I’ll grimace and squirm, thinking I probably shouldn’t have been that confessional or perhaps could have worded something better.  I’ll certainly fret over whether or not people know who Ford Fairlane is.

I did, for a brief moment in my twenties, convince myself that I didn’t care about those things. It was very liberating. Then I had kids, and it came back with a vengeance. Now, I care about everything. It’s the worst.

Now, I find myself holding back and self-editing, curtailing things I do or say to ensure people have a pleasant opinion of me. Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe I’m trying so hard to please everyone that my identity is getting watered down in the process.

Maybe it is morbid, but I often wonder what people will say about me at my funeral. Will I be remembered as a warm-hearted and generally likeable friend? I hope so. I certainly would prefer not to go down in history as a romance-free stick in the mud with no real passion for anything – the guy nobody got to know because I was trying to be everything to everyone.

I just noticed that this week’s column is getting a little too personal. Maybe I should delete it and rewrite it to be a little less revealing. Maybe this is where I start rewriting my eulogy.

Sincerely, Greg Focker