“Dad, I’ve got to show you this video,” said the child to her poor, worn-out father who had just returned from work. He collapsed in a heap upon the couch and was pounced upon immediately by the 10-year-old. She shoved an iPhone in his face and hit play. “Another spring break video?” he questioned. “Don’t you realize I’m a working stiff and the sight of so much unbridled fun could cause your poor father’s heart to squeeze itself to death?” “I’ll chance it,” she said, “because you’ve got to see THIS!” “This” involved two kids twirling each other in a chair while a classic song from the 80s played in the background. Oh, and there was a pillow with a smiley face. (It had something to do with the plot.) “Child,” this father said, “this is nothing more than two kids twirling each other in a chair.”
The great bike search
There are millions of color combinations in the world. Maybe billions. But if you want to buy a 24-inch beach cruiser girls bike, it seems there are only three choices: pink, pale blue, and light green. Somebody explain this to me. I know this because I’ve been in the bike shopping business for a couple of months now. My daughter, as she is rudely known to do, keeps growing. The last time she went to ride her bike, she resembled a gorilla on a toy. Her knees jutted out so far that they looked like wings. “Child,” I said, “this bike is done!” But 24 inches is an odd size with major color limitations. Obviously those three colors sell best — I can’t argue with that — but my daughter isn’t in to any of them, and the search is driving me nuts. As a kid, I don’t remember having an awful lot of color choices. For little boys, color didn’t really matter than much anyway. It would quickly be covered in a crust of mud, grease and probably my own blood. More important, at least for a boy like me, was that it looked “mean” — a dirt bike with attitude. The tires would have treads like angry teeth. The handle bars needed to be sturdy and cocked forward. The seat had to be tar black. And there couldn’t be any safety devices anywhere — no nighttime reflectors or foam pads keeping you from knocking your teeth out. (Knocking your teeth out was […]
Here come the big kid teeth
In 10 years of parenthood, I can think of only two things I could do without: 1) diapers (luckily long ago in our past) and 2) losing teeth (unfortunately still with us, and getting bigger. And badder. And more terrifying with every one that pops free.) I think I’ve been a fairly good parent. I think I’ve met some obstacles and challenges that I handled well. But this teeth thing is testing me. It’s one of the few things about having a kid that gives me the squirms. “Hey dad,” my daughter says, tapping me on the arm. “Is this tooth loose?” “What’s that you … OH MY GOOSE-BILLED PLATYPUS, WHAT IS THAT?!?!” I am met by the most horrible sight I have ever seen: a tooth seemingly dangling in mid-air as my daughter presses her wide-open mouth into my eyeball. I scream. I clutch my head. On occasion I faint. Losing teeth used to be easy. They were little baby looking things. More like Chiclets than actual teeth. Tiny, cute, no harm to anyone. They got a little loose and then they fell out. She put them under a pillow and money showed up! But these days, my daughter is dropping boulders out of her mouth — the big boys. Molars and eye teeth. Maybe a small meteorite — possibly the one that got the dinosaurs. They don’t just fall out. They’re dramatic about it. They bleed profusely. “Does this tooth have a little blood on it?” my daughter will ask, […]
The kid grows up
“Have I grown up?” my daughter asked me a couple of nights before Christmas … and her birthday. It was a serious question, asked in a serious voice. She sounded like she wanted to know if the end of the year was a good time to buy stocks, or if El Niño was going to make the oceans rise faster. We had been watching old Christmas morning videos. How odd to say “old.” Because there should be nothing old about them — she’s still just a kid. Yet, they were labeled strange years, long in the past: 2009, 2010, 2012 … And the kid in the video was nearly unrecognizable. In one, she was missing all of her front teeth. “Did you get in a bar fight?” I asked. “You look like a hockey player!” And her voice in some didn’t sound like the little girl sitting in front of the computer. “Yep, that was my little kid accent,” she said. “I’m not sure when that went away.”
The math homework hoodwink
My wife offered me a compromise: “I will run out to get the pizza if you look over the math homework.” “DEAL!” I shouted. I can be a man of action. When I see an opportunity — a GOOD opportunity — I jump at it. And this seemed like one of those. I will wrestle a komodo dragon to get out of a pizza run. Math homework? That’s a no-brainer, even for a no-brainer like me. The school binder was laid out on the dining room table. The page of “math” sat atop it. Shoot, I didn’t even need to go looking. “A sucker born every minute,” I thought to myself, proud of my coup. Wondering if I had magical powers that brought good luck upon me. “I always said I was special!” Until I took a look down at the page … DIVISION!
The Halloween flight
This is not what you want to hear on the news the night before you fly out of Austin, Texas, so you can get home in time to take your kid trick or treating: “Today’s storm was one of the worst we’ve seen in Texas … houses flooded … roads washed out … people climbing trees to escape the floodwaters … 14 inches of rain fell at the airport … air traffic control tower damaged … check your flights … expect delays … It’s Halloween. You’re DOOMED!!! MUHAHAHA!” Commence panic attack. I was at a conference in Austin and had lined up a flight early enough on Halloween to get back for the candy run. My daughter turns 10 this Christmas and you never know how many Halloweens you have left. So I had to be there. This meant getting out of the hotel by 5:45 a.m. Getting through security quick. Avoiding delays. Praying for good weather. Making a connecting flight in Houston. Flying like we had a mad dog on our tail. And not climbing a tree to escape floodwaters.
Pumpkin carving time
It’s pumpkin carving time — by far one of the most violent, dangerous and disgusting traditions a family will ever undertake. One of the only occasions you will ever hear sweet little children utter phrases like, “OK, dad, now stab it in the face and then rip some more guts out!” I look over at my little daughter and remind myself to sleep with one eye open. Normally I just worry about the large, usually dull knife that I hold in my slippery hand while trying to carve into a slippery pumpkin. I don’t want to be the dad wheeled into the ER with paramedics screaming, “Got another carver with a blade to the femur.” In the past, pumpkins have been simple, rudimentary affairs — big, gaping mouths. A tooth or two. Large, odd-shaped eyes. Maybe a nose — and it’s a big maybe. Young kids don’t hold parents to high expectations when it comes to pumpkin carving. They’re impressed when you can just stomach pulling out pumpkin guts … or don’t stab yourself in the mid-section. But this 9-year-old? I’m not so sure this year. I think I’m going to have to step up my game.
Early Christmas shopping already?
May my daughter not see this. It is mid-September. By my count, at least three months from the holidays. Yet, there is a study out from CreditCards.com that says 14 percent of consumers have already started Christmas shopping. Yes, that means nearly 32 million Americans are buying gifts … in SEPTEMBER!!! I’m aghast. For a couple of reasons. First, it’s still technically summer. And I haven’t finished Christmas shopping … from last year. Then there’s my real concern: the damage it could do to my household. Once upon a time, my daughter was only exposed to toys that advertisers could sneak into commercials she didn’t skip on DVR. Or maybe a catalog that arrived in the mail. Or a toy she saw at a friend’s house. It was limited. Controlled. Filtered. Restrained. But now she’s almost 10, wired into the world and incredibly capable of searching online for toys like some kind of high tech bloodhound. With that power at her fingertips, I can’t afford (financially or from a mental sanity standpoint) the wave of requests that could begin this far out.
The ‘sibling’ arguments between cousins
It was a heated argument. The kind that shakes the ground. That ends friendships. That counseling is required to remedy, and that in another place and time might have led to war between clans. Something good? Something juicy? Nope. The proper name of the new Jurassic World Blizzard at Dairy Queen. If you’re wondering, it’s “Smash.” My wife’s cousin and her 11-year-old son, Adam, were in town for the week. The boy is my 9-year-old daughter’s second cousin. Except, as they both come from only-child houses, they are about the closest thing they have to siblings. And pseudo-sibling-hood, I quickly found out, comes with all the accoutrements of real-life siblings.
For a kid and a dog, the joys of mountain running
To be a kid again. Or a dog. Never was a dog, but I could have been. After a week in the mountains of Blowing Rock, North Carolina, I would definitely take another childhood. Or a doghood. We rented a cabin. It looked like it had fallen out of the sky and landed teetering on a steep ridge overlooking a stream. There were old logging roads and lots of trees and not a living soul but us. The only way to the cabin was on a gravel “road” that could have been a ski jump if it wasn’t broken up by so many switchbacks. You know you’re in for a wild ride when your road comes with instructions for navigating it. You also know you’re going somewhere isolated. Away from people. And where your clan can run wild and free. To be a kid again. Or a dog.