A birthday party for the brave

“You’re very brave,” one of the parents said while surveying the scene — 10 kids at a birthday party. In a bowling alley/arcade/seizure-inducing crazy fun land. Ringed by big screen TVs, retina-scarring lights, howling video games and enough screaming kids to scare away bears. I shook my head and smiled. No problem-o. I wasn’t sure if I was telling the truth, delusional or just didn’t want to show fear. That she was leaving her priceless child with a man who was on the cusp of losing complete control. That we were a good five minutes away from the riot police being called. It was a birthday party for my daughter. She just turned 9 on Dec. 26, and this year we decided to throw a shindig somewhere besides our house. Preferably somewhere with concrete walls that could survive a Cat 5 hurricane, or whatever damage 8- and 9-year-old children could cause. “OK. So, I’m just going to go run a couple of quick errands …” and she didn’t even finish her sentence. She just turned and ran for the door screaming, “Poor delusional fool!” I wondered if I would ever see her again. And if it was as bad as it seemed. The chaos my wife and I were overseeing. Let’s see: We had a kid topple backwards over the seat. My daughter dropped a bowling ball on her finger. Another kid had a bowling style that resembled Olympic shot putting. She would launch the ball off her shoulder high […]

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The crazy-grandfather-mafia-“this-is-happening” Christmas gift list

I’ve never heard my father talk that way. Stern. Forceful. Commanding. A little like a general. It scared me, a bit. He’s an understanding man. A great listener. Compassionate. Reasonable. One who would rather help you see the way than simply tell you which direction to go. I appreciate that about him. It’s a great trait. But this was different. “OK, just go away,” he said. I think it’s the only time in my life he’s ever spoken like that to me. Head down, I trudged off. I knew I was doomed. “And shut the door, please,” my daughter said as I went. I left her alone in the office. On the computer. Using Skype. With my dad. To talk about … CHRISTMAS PRESENTS!!! He has been bugging me. Cryptic emails that read, “For your eyes only!” in the subject line, and then Web links to a toy page on Amazon.com. It had specific instructions: “identify the circus ones she most likes and RANK them (and no holding her back, I’ll filter them).” What does that even mean? Aside from the fact that I have completely lost control. That the mild-mannered man has gone Christmas mad and has every intention of doing whatever he wants. Grandfathers spoil kids. They can buy whatever they want. I’ve learned that now. For a half hour the two of them chatted back and forth on Skype, wandering through Web page after page as they mulled over various Playmobil sets. I sat in the other […]

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The ever-expanding Christmas decorations

The Empire State Building had been erected in my living room. It tottered and teetered from size-to-side, threatening to topple. The weary dog, trembling, was busy packing. She had the car keys. Was fleeing town. I heard boards in the floor creak. We all stood around it and stared. This tower of … of … of … Christmas decoration boxes! It touched the ceiling. Shoot, we could skip the tree and just decorate it. The stack was taller than the tree. We would start a new tradition. But how had our collection of holiday stuff grown to this monstrosity? “Did you get the box of Christmas books down?” my wife asked. My head cocked toward her. The way a zombie would. My spinal cord had long-since become detached from my body, ruined by all the life-threatening trips into the attic. I was the Christmas Sherpa. And I was lucky to be alive thanks to the wobbly fold-out stairs. “The box of Christmas books?” I said in disbelief. “You mean there’s more!?!” “Oh yeah,” she said. “It’s right next to the box of Christmas CDs, and the box of Christmas 8-track tapes, and the box with the note that reads, ‘Don’t throw away, but don’t put out. Too hideous for company!’” The wha … never mind. I fetched the box. It didn’t used to be like this. Once upon a time, there were one, maybe two, Christmas decoration boxes. A manageable lot. Decorating wasn’t a monumental task. It wasn’t like unloading […]

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The in-demand, under-wraps Christmas gift list

Someone asked my daughter if she had her Christmas list done yet. “No,” she said. “Not yet.” My jaw dropped out of my mouth. Oh yeah? Then what were all those sheets of paper littering my desk? They had piled up so high I thought a family of opossums had built a den on there. There were lists of animal figures with prices and multiple checkboxes next to them. So what were all those lists? Oh, simple, she said. They are just things she wants … but not specifically for Christmas. To be a kid! And at Christmas, no less. When you can dream big and put anything you want on a piece of paper and hope for the best. A real, live lioness and cub. A jumbo jet with spare tire. A teleportation kit (Real. Not fake!) To be taller. Why not? Put it on. It’s Christmas. A magical time. Dream big, or go home. That’s a kid’s motto. I always loved putting together my list when I was little. The sky was limit. And I asked for the sky once, too. But to be a parent, the gift list can be an all-enveloping, time-eating, stress-inducing whirlwind. And not because of the kid. Rather, it’s all the people asking what they should buy the kid. “What’s on her Christmas list?” they all want to know. No, no. That’s not right. They don’t “want to know.” They don’t ask to know. They DE-MAND to know. “Tell me! Quick! Hurry! Before […]

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