The nighttime get-ready, get-ready

Is my will to get the kid to bed greater than the kid’s will to stay out of bed? That’s the age-old question, isn’t it? Question? Ha! Wrestling match. I was wrestling with it the other night. My wife was out, and I was on bedtime duty. Failing! “Please go start getting ready for bed so when your mother comes home she doesn’t think I’m an incompetent swallowtail buffoon.” I said this after I told my daughter to turn off the TV. At least twice. Maybe 15 times. “Fine,” she said. Not angry. Just resigned. She clicked it off. I was impressed. I’m a dad with superpowers. Kid just listened to me! I’m a commanding presence. Should have been a general with tanks and troops. Then she followed me upstairs … Huh? “Child, what are you doing!?!” I asked. “Following you upstairs,” was the answer. Ask a stupid question … “No, no. See, WHY are you following me upstairs? I asked you to go get ready for bed … downstairs … where YOUR stuff is.” But I made a tactical error: I asked it as we kept walking … up the stairs. When we reached the top she answered: “I don’t know.” I’m a swallow-tail buffoon! “Go downstairs and get ready before your mother comes home and decides to auction us off on eBay!” “Fine,” she said. Matter-of-fact. She marched off. Down the stairs. I’m not incompetent. It just takes a little time to get my message across. Get this […]

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Trying to create a new ‘Star Wars’ generation

Dads often expect children to follow their favorite sports team. Or their college. Or even their favorite beer. It can be fanatical. Extreme. “You will get that Gator tattoo or you’re grounded!” “But dad, I’m only 7!” I’ve never been like that. Except … I do have one demand of my 8-year-old daughter. And it’s non-negotiable. She must be a “Star Wars” fan. Unfortunately, I have no idea how to make it happen. I was thinking about this while reading a story about the next installment of “Star Wars.” It told me nothing — only that it will be released in 2015 and is set 30 years after the original series. I read the story over and over again, hoping it held more information. Maybe a secret message. Maybe if I read it upside down. Maybe if I had a “Star Wars” decoder ring! In an instant I was blasted back to a galaxy far, far away. I was 4 years old in 1977 when the first “Star Wars” came out. I consider it my TRUE birth day. For the next decade I dreamed of light sabers. Millennium Falcons. Princess Leia sweeping me off my feet and feeding me grapes (imported from the Dagobah System, of course.) But my daughter couldn’t care less. So whenever I get the chance, I try to reel her in. Like when we’re buying something for a friend’s birthday. “We should get him a ‘Star Wars’ toy!” I suggest. “Oh yeah,” she says. “He’ll love […]

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Goodbye to the Mustang

It was my first car. A white 1965 Ford Mustang. I was 15, and couldn’t even drive it alone. It had a puny 6-cylinder engine. It would have struggled to beat a sewing machine in a head-to-head race. And if it was uphill, forget it! My mother intended it that way. She didn’t want her boys to have speed. My brother had a nearly identical Mustang — just as glorious to look at. Just as slow. But, man, you felt good driving down the road in that thing. Like you were the coolest thing in the world. Windows down. Elbow propped on the door. Other arm stretched across the passenger seat. Maybe there was a lady over there. (Usually there wasn’t.) Cool wind through your hair. Good tunes on the radio. People watching as you rolled by. Man! Then a hubcap would break loose, sprinting into traffic and causing automotive chaos. Like all old cars, my Mustang had its quirks. It could lose a hubcap while standing still. There were other “eccentricities.” The carburetor was prone to asthma attacks. The car would leak even when it wasn’t raining. And when it did rain, the brakes flipped a coin to decide whether to show up for work. Tails you lose … goodbye red light! What a car. I’ve kept it all these years. For the longest time it had been parked at my brother’s house, unused and forgotten. Needing work. Needing love. Needing someone to drive with an elbow out the […]

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Overcoming pre-spring yard depression

I really tried. I ventured out into my winter-burned, long-forsaken yard last weekend with every intention of sprucing it up. Trimming back the dead butterfly bushes. Raking up the Himalayan-sized mountains of leaves. But it’s sad, isn’t it? Even depressing? Spending a beautiful weekend trying to improve a brown, sickly-looking yard that resembles a Siberian waste dump. So if you’re like me — suffering from pre-spring yard depression — you need some tips to overcome those landscaping blues: • Don’t take the comments of neighbors personally when they say things like, “Boy … um … you really nailed the Colorado wildfire look!” Just shake it off. Maybe they mean it in a nice way. Like how a forgotten Gateway to Hell might actually appeal to some people. Besides, positive thinking will help you with great comeback lines. For instance, “Boy, your hair stylist really nailed my dead bougainvillea look!” • Recognize it’s not your fault. That’s half the battle. The other half the battle is recognizing it IS your fault. That your precious plants wouldn’t have burned in the freeze if you had covered them like your neighbors. Or if you had raked, say, once the entire winter. Or if you didn’t have a dog who runs through wood chips like a demon-possessed bull. Instead, put the blame where it’s due: global warming or Southern pine beetles or Yankees. The more irrational and absurd, the better you’ll feel. • Do some yoga or mediation (maybe acupuncture) before you try to […]

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Traffic hell and the joys of small town living

Maybe it was the box spring that took flight. That might have been the moment. It had been strapped to the roof of a car driving down one of Tampa’s endless roads. They used dental floss and shoe knots to tie it down. Must have because it leaped to its feet and took to the air like a kite. Yippeee! Fly away little box spring! Straight up, and then straight into traffic. Life will teach you a lot of things, but it won’t prepare you for flying box springs. Surprisingly, that’s never been a question on the DMV’s driving test: What do you do when bedding races toward you? For those wondering, the answer is: Gasp. Swerve. Curse. Change underpants. Cross another off the list of “things I never thought I would have to survive.” And just another day on the roads of Tampa. I was there with my family last weekend, running the Gasparilla 15K and visiting my dad and aunt. Tampa used to be home — the city where I grew up. Going back always made me nostalgic. Driving down bayshore. Passing my old high school. The soccer fields where I used to collect sandspurs in my rear end. The train tracks I walked with my brother. How the 150 percent humidity can drown you while standing up. There’s plenty of time to think about it as you drive. And drive. And drive. Or should I say, sit. And sit. And sit. Roads are crowded parking lots. Cars […]

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