Tag: Dad

Ten Years Past The Day He Left This Place

I am very thankful for today. It has been a decade since my dad passed on. His grandchildren have grown quite a bit, though he never met them on this level. We still talk to my sons about Papa Gerry. He would have loooved being a grandpa. LOVED IT. I am thankful I was born to him. He was 65.

It was awful and unfair to watch him go. My mom’s strength and faith and grace carried the little boy in me that sobbed when I’d get back in the car after visiting him at the care facility he was moved to. It was better for all of us. He had been wandering away from home, usually to church, and usually during the middle of the week. It was unsafe and harrowing. My mom had the right and hard decisions.

I am thankful today because of how he Parented. Those years I had with him, not knowing they were so gravely important to who I was trying to become. The lessons I have from his examples of parenting are numerous and pop up like pre-programmed cues when my kids start acting up. He was being Dad, and probably a Teacher. Sometimes he was far too easy on me. Other times he played it so straight for discipline, and I was so disappointed in myself for disappointing him, that the lesson seared itself into my DNA. I am grateful he did it his way.

In the 10 years since he died, I have seen some of the most amazing achievements that I think he would have been proud of. I have worked on major projects that millions of mobile phone users take part in. I met and married the perfect-for-me Woman, a fiercely strong and beautiful spirit in a gorgeous human. I performed for thousands of people at the Moore Theatre in Seattle, and the Chateau Ste. Michelle Winery ahead of Earth, Wind and Fire. I have coached 3 different sports for dozens of kids. I have two healthy, happy, hilarious boys that he would have loved to sit back and laugh with and about. It’s been a great 10 years. I wish he had been here for it.

I am thankful today, for my days. It was a beautiful Fall day in Kirkland. My boys and I walked from our house to their school about a half-mile away, picking up garbage along the way. We found a lot of cigarette butts, mini bottles of vodka (empty, sadly), and a lot of Halloween candy wrappers. We played soccer for the 2nd day in a row, and snacked up in between the game and walking home. I hopped in for a couple rounds of Xbox-ing. It was a great day. I wish their Papa Gerry were here to be part of any of it. But I carry him with me, so in a way, he is. I am grateful that I was his son. I was very lucky.

 

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Are You Too Good of a Parent?

I have a term in my vocabulary for people who do little else than bupple-up negative stuff from around the world, things that perhaps aren’t in the brightest of lights, and they feel you really need to understand how this is hurting you them.  The term is “ShamePolice.”  These are people who were likely the kid in grade school raising their hand on a Friday afternoon to remind the teacher of that homework assignment she mentioned before recess.  This is the person who drives 61 in the passing lane, because that ought to be “fast enough.”

Don’t let them pull you over, because if you do, it validates the life-time they shit into the gaping abyss of their self-importance spent discussing ideas and articles about it.  And if nothing else, Misery loves Company.  That being said, “philosophers” Adam Swift and Harry Brighouse are two of the biggest fucktard ShamePolice officers I’ve ever come across, and I have unlimited internet access.  They call themselves philosophers because “part-time thinker, part-time Sandwich Artist” wouldn’t fit on their pocket protectors (unconfirmed).

In their “study” of familial structure, parental involvement, and nurturing a child’s life, they theorize that parents who are involved in their kid’s lives in thoughtful, loving, nurturing ways that are aimed at creating an environment in which to Parent a well-rounded, empathic, intelligent, world-friendly citizen are creating an “unfair disadvantage” in society. To whom is this an “unfair disadvantage?”

“‘What we realised we needed was a way of thinking about what it was we wanted to allow parents to do for their children, and what it was that we didn’t need to allow parents to do for their children, if allowing those activities would create unfairnesses for other people’s children’.”

To kids and families and parents who are NOT taking steps to create similar environments and/or children. The “advantaged” families are creating an “unlevel playing field” against kids who are NOT being nurtured.

I just pooped the OUTSIDE of my pants.
The article states, and I’m paraphrasing, that reading to your kids before bed is a stronger foundation builder than the ability to send the child to an elite private school. Bonding with the kids in any way possible, therefore, is more valuable than an education that may get a “ooh wooow!” from external people.  If you’re kid loves to read about dinosaurs, and you’re building that interest with reading and movies and play, you’re way better off than the parent who ships the kid off to study geology and biology and natural selection.

I have the softest, tear-filled place in my soul for kids who are neglected in any way whatsoever. I can barely look at the words of a link about babies being left alone for 9 hours while “dad” played FarmSubsidy on facebook.  I have met, coached, and played with kids who aren’t from the best family situations, and they have all been the first-in for a big hug or high-five when it’s time to go. Kids need attention from people who care.

This also assumes that children who aren’t read-to or aren’t in elite schools are being victimized by those who are.  It starts at home, period. If a parent says their loud, rude, whiny 6 year-old is “just being 6”, I’m going to assume they are a shitty parent who doesn’t understand the term “Product of Environment.”

But this is what philosophers do, after all.  They THINK about stuff, and imagine what it would be like if… Hypothesize Me! And this study brought forth just the most ridiculous aspect of how to raise, nurture, discipline, and foster the growth of a child into, at the least, a decent member of society.

And then there’s me, making my Citizen’s Citations against the ShamePolice.  I should be above it, but I care too much about raising kids to see this horse-S and keep my fingers still.
“Do not train a child to learn by force or harshness; but direct them to it by what amuses their minds, so that you may be better able to discover with accuracy the peculiar bent of the genius of each.” – Plato

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A 4 Year-Old Asks of Love

There was a recent uproar in the world of ignorance when ESPN, the world-wide leader in Deification & OverDramatizing the Lives of Athletes, briefly broadcast 2 adult men kissing… ON THE MOUTH.  In the post-Janet Jackson’s-boob-world!!!

It was a moment in the lives of Michael Sam and his boyfriend, Vito Cammisano.  Sam is the first openly-gay collegiate football player, from the University of Missouri, and was the Defensive Player of the Year in the SouthEastern Conference.  When Sam was drafted by the St. Louis Rams in the 7th round of the NFL Draft, cameras captured the moment/announcement/phone call from the Rams on TV.  In their excitement and happiness, Sam and Cammisano kissed… ON THE MOUTH.

773959792193016495Source: Deadspin.com

And my oldest son, who is 4.75 years old, happened to see it.  As did I.  It raised my eyebrow, because I immediately wondered how much of an issue this non-issue would become in social media, and then later, the starved-for-content Media.  And knowing my son’s inquisitive nature – he once woke up with the question “Where do we go before we’re born?” – I expected him to ask me something about the ON THE MOUTH kiss he just witnessed between two men.  My family is very affectionate; we are huggers, squeezers, cuddlers, snugglers, pinchers, and kissers with those whom are comfortable with it. But among the men, we don’t kiss.  So I expected a tough question…

So he turns to me and asks, “Dadda, why did those two boys kiss each other?”

And here’s what I said, after my years of living with relationships, learning from loving, and understanding what there is to understand about People and Love…

“Well buddy, those boys love each other.”

And he asks, “Do boys love each other like you and mommy?”

And I can’t extrapolate genetic predisposition or evolutionary precursors of attraction based on brain chemistry and/or the shape of a woman’s hips as a signal of fertility and loin-revving physicality, so in a moment if divine inspiration and minor panic, I told my son this…
“Love is who you like the most.
Most boys like girls. And most girls like boys.
Some boys like boys.  And some girls like girls.
But, just be nice to everybody no matter who they like, and be extra nice to who you like.
And if somebody’s not nice to you, then stay away from them.”

He turns to me and says, “Oh! OK,” and then he paused to work this out in his head.  Then he gets a big smile on his face and he says... “Well I really like that girl Maggie in my class, she is good at coloring and smells like pancakes.”

And I said “Well that’s great, she tries hard at art, and pancakes are always good. So be nice to everybody, ok?”

“Okay,” he said.  “Sometimes it’s hard, but I try to be nice to everybody.”

And I was happy and proud to hear that.
But then he asked me a question I couldn’t answer.  He was loading up with a question that even the deepest of thinkers, the most romantic of romancers, those with far more hues than 50 Shades of Grey and people with remixes of Song of Songs could find an answer for in the 271+ years of human history.  A question so heavy that sinkhole opened in my brain.  My son, not yet 5, asked me…

“So… when do girls start being nice?”

I’d like to address the pre-birth location question now.

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I feel like there’s an innate ability to parent a child under the age of 1, basic care and feeding. Most people who have a baby can do that, unless they are warped in some way. Most of it is a game of getting the kid on a schedule of sleeping, eating, and playing so they develop eyesight, body control, and communication skills. Also, you can’t leave them alone with a gun or a violent-breed dog, which are about the same thing in cultures that see either a gun or a pit bull as a status symbol above having a child. Anybody can have a baby, but it takes about a week and a couple hundred dollars to get a gun or a pit bull. I’m not saying I’m doing all of this perfectly, but I’m sure as shit not letting people I know, and people you know, get away with being or raising narcissists.

Anyway… After the kid’s 1 they need boundaries. Not just a boundary of a baby-gate to keep them from barrel-rolling down the basement staircase. Nor a leash to keep them in peripheral view while Parent does some on-line gaming. No, I mean intellectual & behavioral boundaries. In other words, working to help the child understand why NO is not a bad thing. I have seen up-close the effect of no “No,” in people my age (sociopaths) and children (theirs and others), and it is about as unnerving as watching a pit bull gnaw at a loaded Glock .40cal.

 The first thing I noticed was a person’s whining. For the adults it was usually an issue in a restaurant where they equated a missing item on the menu with a personal attack. A guy I grew up with pulled this a few times, and the second time he did, I saw what he was doing… because he’s a cheap asshole who plays this game, and doesn’t realize he’s the flat tire on the fun bus. Here’s the ploy:

1)      Ask to modify a menu item by complicating the order (The cheeseburger, but with swiss instead of cheddar and an onion roll instead of regular and no pickles and medium-well).

2)      Keep talking while the server tries to read it back, to confuse the server or muddle the communication.

3)      Fries on the side, not on the plate.

4)      Act like it’s no big deal and be just oh-so-sweet about it.

So, by telling this server to greatly change a simple thing, they set the entire chain up for failure. And usually it’s a break at how the meat was cooked. The average person doesn’t know Medium-well from Medium, but this fuckpuddle would always eat half the burger then send it back for being under- or over-done, and ta-daaa!

We all have to wait while they make a new burger for this dick, and he gets his for free as an apology for upsetting a grown man over the hue of the center of his meat patty. The heavens nearly crumbled…

 As a child he got what he wanted by whining, because his parents had 4 other kids, and his whining was quickly shut-down/rewarded with the cookie, the toy, the shoes, the extra hour of TV, the 17”-rims on the new truck, and eventually the family landscaping business which he plowed into the ground after 4 months and zero work. Whining isn’t in his DNA (his brothers and sisters are talented, fun, hard-working people) but it is hardwired in at this point. He’s now divorced and bankrupt and it’s his parent’s fault for not helping him out of these jams, of course.

The last time I saw him he started to pull the prank, I told our server, “He’s fine, don’t listen to him, he’s just joking.” He got pissed at me and sat quietly staring at SportsCenter while the other 4 of us laughed and drank. That’s right…

HE POUTED LIKE A LITTLE KID. Later he told another friend I was a dick. Behind my back. Good.

Now, a friend’s kid is a spoiled little brat if ever I’ve seen one. As an only child, he is treated like THE only child. His deal is that if he’s told “No” he reverts to pouting (he’s almost 6) and whiiiines and starts to fake-cry. His parents let it roll for about 3min while the kid stews in his own stink and then eventually, while the kid is still in pout mode, his parents say “Ok, you can have this now.”

So the kid hasn’t detached Pouting from Reward. Maybe his mom & dad think they have instilled a clean break between the whining and the lesson, but all they’ve shown the kid is, “Hey, hang on to being rude and withdrawn and eventually you’ll get what you want. You don’t have to apologize or ask nicely. Just be stubborn.”

I know this because I’ve seen it happen a few times. One time he tried to take a toy from another kid, and I said “No, you have to ask nicely if you can play with the Ninja Monster PitBull Cannon.”

Then he cries and says he hates me, which I find a way to overcome. Then he sits right there and turns away and cries loudly, as if his fingernails were being chewed off by a bullet-powered Rottweiler.  Because of a “no,” and a reminder to mind our manners.

His dad swoops in, lest his child be scarred for life with such harsh discipline! After explaining to his dad what happened, his dad does the fatherly thing…

And asks the kid with the Ninja Cannon if his kid could play with it. Well of course the kid’s gonna give it up because a grown-up just asked him to. So not only did his dad miss the teachable moment, he killed the kid’s chance to build manners and a bridge to another kid. Double Middle Fingers, folks. But hey, at least his son quit crying, pouting, whining, or moving on towards growth. Yay.

It’s not easy to have your own boundaries, but it’s a basic need for most of us to keep our sanity. And it starts early. If we’re always told “No,” then we don’t think we’re worth anything and deserve nothing. If we’re never told “No” we don’t understand that some things must be earned, asked-for, or are just off-limits until further notice and some sweet talking and probably a bottle of wine.

But if somebody brings a loaded gun or chain-jerking pit bull into a Farmer’s Market, and nobody says “Hey, come on… This could get ugly, and it’s better safe than sorry,” and something terrible happens then either we have no market for these dipshits to come to, or we have boundaries that say “You have to stop here.  There are very sensitive people within.” 

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A New Set Of Tireds

Just before she lay down her beautiful head to sleep the other night, my wife took the water glass from next to my laptop (I was working on a presentation for the next day around 9:15 that night), sipped from it, and said…

“I’m f***ing tired.  The house is always dirty, I’m being disrespected, I hate this house, if I’m not here cleaning I’m off doing a bunch of other stuff just to keep the boys busy or in school, and I’m sick of it.” 

So, what did I do to respond?  What COULD I do?
She was done for the day. She had gotten up pretty early to go workout, raced home to get our kids in the car for preschool and general out-of-house tasks (what non-stay-at-home parents call Life or Work), and they were going a bit nuts the rest of the day.  I got an earful when I got home from the kids, after a long day and meeting with a local entertainment comedy talent mastermind.  Kids will wear you out.  They will grind on you and they will break you down and they are unreasonable under the age of 5 or 19 and will just beat on your brain walls and sometimes you want to tell them to shut their damn mouths and go the fuck to sleep because you are a grown up, sex has been had, you’ve thrown an angry punch, and paid taxes but not enough to really help this flailing society you want to build a wall around to protect them, so go to sleep.

But you cannot do that.  I cannot.  I’m an adult. I’m nearly 40. I have embraced and accepted all facets of Parenting, which is a much more advanced form of caregiving, and shouldn’t ever be equated to having a pet. [ed. note; Equating child-rearing to pet care is on the same shelf as equating an compound femoral fracture to a sprained finger.  It’s minimizing to do so, and you should really not do it, or I will punt your dog right down the frozen aisle of this Trader Joe’s it’s not even supposed to be in.]  Because I’m an adult.

And no, you cannot flip out on your kids at the ages of 4 and nearly 2. You look like a complete asshole, first, because the kids don’t fully fathom the rage and the cause.  You only scare them, you don’t teach them.  And it’s much much much more frustrating than you’d think it may be to tell a kid for the 5th time who knows what you’re saying to put.
on.
the.
monkey.
underwear.  Then they cry, and it’s like…

“Why are YOU crying? You did this to yourself! 5 times I’ve asked you to put your monkey underbips on and you keep trying to put your bobo on the gorilla pillow!  Put your monkey underpants on, don’t put your business on the monkey!”

As adults, we’re supposed to be in control of things.  I’m not. I control very little.  I control myself, usually (except I’m a bit of a choc-o-holic, GUILTY!), but sometimes I just have to ask somebody at a grocery store “What’s going on here?” I know what’s going on. They are blind to anything else around them, dead-stopped in the aisle, looking at their phone. I promise you, ma’am, you are NOT about to get a prescient message that has the PowerBall numbers.  I can’t always control what happens to me, but I can control whether or not I tell somebody their head is in their ass.

So here’s what I did the other night.
I wrote a note to my wife and left it up on the monitor for her to see in the morning.
This is what it read:

  1. I have a great marriage to a man who loves me and works hard to provide for our family.  He doesn’t gamble or drink or tattoo or buy cars and shit we don’t need.
  2. I have 2 great sons who are young and sometimes they are just little kids who don’t know any better while trying to be funny.
  3. I get tired and that’s OK
  4. My house is a house, not a hut, not on fire, and not a pit in a shitty jungle.
  5. I woke up today healthy.  This is a good start.
  6. My sons woke up today healthy and with food in their house.  This is a good start.
  7. My sons have two parents who love them even if my sons don’t know it yet.
  8. We will be in a new, better-sized house soon and we’ll do it the right way so that we don’t destroy our family financially.
  9. I am a great mom and wife who does what she can to make every day matter to my family.  
  10. For all of these things, I am grateful.

Here’s what I did NOT do, after she made her statement of frustration and walked away with my glass of water while I worked on my presentation…

“Hey hon?  Hon?
Could I get that water back?”

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No. Comment. Please.

I am a comedian, along with a dad, husband, project manager, Condo Owner’s Board member, and dumbass.  Comedians minds don’t work like everybody else’s.  We struggle with the mundane, and we often have a hyper-observant nature, seeing sheer lunacy in something quite small, blowing it into zeppelin-like proportions, when really it’s no more than a child’s floating soap-bubble.  All the same, leaving a shopping cart in an empty parking spot should be grounds for having one’s photo posted on a website.  Oh hey… maybe I’ll start doing that…

Comedians also generalize.  Broadly-sweeping statements leave us open for retort, and stating anything on the internet increases the inroads of replies by a million-fold.  What humors me is the fact that many people have yet to grasp two key elements of web-published statements:

  1. Now that we have a chance to say something, very few people actually have something to say, but very rarely will that stop them from saying something anyway.
  2. When posting something in a medium that allows comments, one should expect at least SOME comments, but shouldn’t hinge one’s worth on the tone of the comment.

We’ve seen the Facebook posts of people saying they are going to lunch, YUMM!, or pictures of food-piles on plates, or statements that make us think “So you logged in to this site and out of your life to make THAT statement about some guy in a truck not knowing how to drive, yet didn’t post a picture of your abs?  What’s the point?”  So yeah, what’s the point? 

The best comedians use an economy of language that not only describes exactly what they want to convey about their subject matter, but they also don’t generalize.  To go so broadly as to say “Nobody does THIS” or “Everybody loves THAT” and NOT have an absurdity to make the statement a joke is to invite disagreement.  Example:

BAD:  Don’t you hate when you are taking a picture with your phone, and you drop your phone in the toilet land then you gotta let it dry?  [OK, I see where it’s going, but then there’s nothing after the “phone in the toilet.”  What’s the point

GOOD:  Don’t you hate when you are taking a picture with your phone, and you drop your phone in the toilet, and then you gotta ask the guy in that stall to hand it back over and he’s a jerk about it?  Broad, narrow, specific.

So, folks, if you’re gonna say something, say Something.  Two of my favorite comedians, Marc Maron and Jake Johannsen, have two phenomenal lines that sum up our online lives.

Marc Maron (about MySpace, and it still rings true):  Someday the aliens will come down here after we’re gone, and they’ll pull our old hard drives out of swamps and hook ’em up and say “Wow, they really thought they were important, didn’t they?”

Jake Johannsen (about people posting pics of their meals): Why are you showing that to people? If you think that’s normal, just hold your plate up to the table next to you and tell them “HEY! Hi! This is my food!  I’m gonna eat this!”  See how fast you’re asked to leave.

Oh, and Teens, please keep posting every video and picture of every debaucherous thing you do.  YOLO, but you will get fired many, many times. 

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Leading By Bad Example

Years ago now, when I lived in Culver City which is not Los Angeles and shouldn’t be considered as such, I worked at a Casting Services studio for a short stint.  Very cool slice of entertainment, it was a multi-room casting studio that ran auditions for commercials both small and Majorly McMajor Light.  Every now and then there’d be a call for a photo shoot, models… I mean, like… MAAHDULLLZ… would be in there and holy crap, there’s a different level of genetic co-mingling than what most of the world has ever seen and it’s all within a 1-hour drive of Santa Monica, CA.

I wasn’t particularly well-trained for the technical side of the studio.  There were a few things I could do, but for the most part what I found was that I didn’t have the time on the system-in-use to really jockey it into position when needed.  And I wanted to know that stuff because it makes ya look like a rock star when your boss needs a salad and you deliver a rolling buffet.  On this particular day I may have pulled together a fruit leather-like effort.  Mostly because, like I said, I was poorly prepared.

That day I was asked to consolidate 3 auditions from 3 actors from 3 sessions of 3 products.  Which means they were in different files on the computers, IF the sessions had all been sent to the common server.  That shouldn’t be difficult, because I know how to file and name and organize documents and resources in a technical format for logical recall and search purposes.  But sweet chocolate Moses, these were spread out ever’where.

And of COURSE there’s a deadline in an hour.  And of COURSE the person who wants it gave very little direction as to where it was to be delivered.  And naturally, this is for 2 of the biggest accounts the casting director (who heavily influences the client/advertiser) handles.  So yeah, there’s some sweat, but as I sat down I was like HELLS YEAH LET’S FIND THESE PEOPLE AND THESE BACKFLIPS AND ACTING LIKE DRINKING A BEER ON A SNOWMOBILE IS SECOND NATURE… and hand this to them at The Ivy in 72min.

No. Fucking. Chance.  Impossible.  The program I was using was capable of doing that.  I wasn’t able to wrangle it to do so, however.   I called everybody I could.  The guys who created the system (who later I worked for and they are the coolest guys and I hope they stay on their up-trend, because those guys are on the casting frontier), not available as they were probably supporting another client.  The guy who normally ran tech, unavailable, possibly stoned or in urgent care at that time, not very healthy for a 22 year-old.  The other in-studio experts, all unavailable and off-site doing other stuff.  So I’m on a deflating raft and bailing water with one hand and rowing towards shore with the other.

And here’s what didn’t help that day.  One person in particular who had absolutely nothing better to do than run in and out of the studio I was in, asking “IS IT DONE?  IS IT DONE?  COME ON MAN, THIS IS IMPORTANT!”  No.  No.  I know.  If you’re not adding, you’re a subtraction.

I remember thinking how little I respected that guy that day.  He was the Manager, and he did not have to save my ass, but what he missed was this crucial point to performing under pressure:  Had he made the urgent call to get the issue handled by somebody who really knew what was going on, not only would the job get done… HE’D BE DOING HIS JOB AS WELL AS MAKING HIS BOSS LOOK LIKE A PROFESSIONAL.

Instead he took almost a bit of joy in watching me sweat through my shirt while coming in every 7minutes to complain and moan for the completion of the task.  Eventually one of the real experts came by for a free beer in the comp’ny fridge and popped in to take over.  Turns out one of the files wasn’t loaded to the server so I couldn’t find it anyway.  And another session I needed was misnamed so it took him another 15min to find it.

It ain’t like I was SEAL-ing a mission and saving lives, I was just trying to make sure 3 actors got another look for a break in a commercial for processed cheese.  But I learned that if you’re gonna lead, there are some things that are so important you just have to do them yourself.  You can teach while you do it, but if you can’t teach while you do it, you can’t scold the student for not knowing more than the teacher.

Plus, that guy was an asshole.

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Judge Not, Lest… Okay, Ye Judge Me

I judge parents based on the behavior of their child/ren THERE I SAID IT.  Feels good to finally log that one in a place nobody ever sees… 

Oh… 400 readers last week… Okay…

Judging other parents based on their child’s behavior, I am sorry I even invented it.  I feel like such a cornlog for bringing it up.  I do, I judge parents.  I judge them rarely on what their kid is wearing unless the kid’s naked in the mall or it’s a girl dressed like a girl dressed like a 21 year-old pageant contestant.  Behavior says a lot about the kid’s environment.  Heck, my youngest son isn’t walking yet at 1 year-plus-2-days, and I feel like a failure as a sprint coach.  I judge myself most harshly.

I’m sure nobody has judged me, however.  Other parents usually are so very focused on their kid(s) to ever stop and discuss why my son yells “YOU ARE NOT NICE” to kids who take things he was playing with.  It’s taken forever to get him to tone it down to that, once we stopped the eye-gouging and F-bombs.  And to think that if somebody were to take something of yours in adult life you are moderately within your rights to push them to the ground and reclaim your Nook, pushing your glasses up on your nose with a “GOOD DAY, MADAM.”  So knowing I am not being judged makes this even harder to admit to you 5 (over the course of a month) readers.

It’s hard enough raising one kid.  Two adults here, and we were finally into a rhythm after 2 years with ONE.  Then the little guy came along and holy crap, life is 1.6-times more involved.  Not twice as hard, because sniffles and diarrhea aren’t as panic-inducing as with kiddo #1.  But when I see parents with one kid who have decided “Yeah, that’s enough,” I’m somewhat envious of the ease of schedule.  While things are 1.67-times more complex with 2 kids, it’s also upwards of 50 times more awesome to see little kid-brothers play together and laugh together.  It makes my wife’s 49 consolidated hours of labor and extra monthly medical premiums entirely worth it.  So when other people say we have good kids or happy boys, I take that with pride, but also wondering HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN JUDGING MY CHILDREN, you horrific monster?

Parenting brings out the Real You.  It demands something of you that LIFE may have tried to extract, and now that LIFE is in diapers and hungry and Mom’s tuned into the TV and dad’s beer buzz just kicked in.

Or Mom’s scrambling to get that bottle going because dad had to pick up another shift to make some extra cash and mom’s just worn out but another hour and this kid will be sound asleep.  All that kid knows is connection and attention and affection.  All mom and dad know is Take Care Of This Baby!  Love This Baby!

Sorry parents, I don’t mean to judge you.  Most of the time it’s just kids being kids and those kids are pretty awesome.  But the 12 year old in the toddler play area, well, you’re a shitty, inattentive parent whose iPhone5 should be crammed up your ass the wide-and-flat way.  Instagram that. 

Case closed.

1

Asleep At The Real

Sleep is a fickle lover, idn’t it?

If I were to be embraced by sleep nightly, welcomed into her arms and pulled deep into her embrace, for her to put forth all the effort to make me feel safe and refreshed, eventually I would need less.  And when she decides what I feel about her she makes up her mind without consulting me on my feelings.

She whispers into the ears of my wife “he’s with me…” and my wife may get jealous.  Because her Sleep isn’t infusing her with rejuvenation.  He eludes her.  He brushes past her with a wink.

He teases her.  He approaches her and tells her to relax, only to step away, returning well after a normal sleeping hour has passed.  He exhausts her.  While she waits, I slumber lightly.

So little sleep is causing so many other issues.  Advice comes and goes.  Insomnia, well, that’s a hard one to shake off.

And if nobody’s feeling rested, everything else blooooows ass.

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A Sandwich Too Small

George Carlin once said a lot of dirty stuff you want to scream at people writing checks at a grocery store.  He also said “Women are crazy and men are stupid.  But women are crazy because men are stupid.”  Something like that.  I often see little bits & pieces, graphics here and there taking digs at how dumb or helpless men are.

I won’t defend all men.  I can’t.  A lot of men are dickheads.  A lot of men are also great people.  Some are incredibly normal and unnervingly personable with no explicit personality issues.  Some guys are complete sociopaths and should have died in a Jeep rollover a long time ago and had their organs go to save worthy lives.  Some guys, however, are good Men.

They have to get up and go to work every day to keep the lights on and bills paid for their family.  They do it with a song in their heart, even if somedays that song is “Necrophobic” by Slayer.  And they do it because they love their family.  On the way to work they burn an hour in the car.  On the way home they burn 75minutes and have to go to the store to get something for dinner because the loves of his life are at home, tired, sick and haven’t had the energy to get dinner together.  When he gets home he realizes he’s on patrol to get the kids bathed and in bed while his wife zones out on exhaustion and a chest cold she got from their daughter’s last play date. 

Oh wait, shit… he has to iron some shirts for work, too.  And fold the laundry and get another load going so the kids have stuff to wear for the rest of the week.  It’s only Tuesday.  The days run together.  Gotta get a sitter for Saturday night, too, so he can take his wife out for anything, even for just two hours of face time.  Did the bills get paid?  Better check the online bill payer.  Get that handled.  Kid’s lunches for tomorrow, check.  Kids bathed and in bed, check.  Shirts ironed, check.

Oh look… it’s 11:40pm.  Everybody is asleep except him, who was also up before everybody else today.  And everybody is asleep.  At home, in their beds, safe, and resting.  A good day.  Done.

And that’s part of the gig for the moment.  Handling a lot of shit.  And keeping schedules together.  And working and making money and trying to keep Life from digging her heels in and being a bitch, instead of a dance partner. 

He made the mortgage payment, car payment, insurance premium, kid’s lunches, doctor’s appointments, and read a couple stories to the kids.  He didn’t put together some wet-panty plaque to post on Pinterest about how hard life is.  He didn’t make a snarky Facebook update about how he’s running the show.  And no, he didn’t make a sandwich. 

Maybe tomorrow he’ll treat himself to a meal combo under $5 somewhere. 

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