Childhood Adventure

Perched atop a rocky point, overlooking the northern Atlantic, was the majestic house that he called home every summer. He and his sister were always excited when summer began growing near. They were going to stay with their father, step-mother, uncle, aunt and grandmother, in the ‘castle on the beach.’ This is where he had some of his fondest childhood memories.

The house itself was enormous…but he enjoyed his time outside more than anything else. He’d always climb down the cliff to the beach, as opposed to taking the weathered stairs. It made a great start to his day of exploration. Heading north along the white sandy beach…there was not a house to be seen…it was ‘his beach.’ It took him only about ten minutes to make it the next outlying cliff – his destination. Getting closer, he could see the odd shapes and black holes in and around the upper edges of the cliff. His excitement grew, increasing as he got closer…because this day he was going to explore farther and deeper than he ever had before.

As he began climbing up the steep embankment, his eyes began to hone in on anything and everything that he could add to the little bag that was draped around his neck. Scrambling to the top, he rested for a minute and then did a full 360 to take in his surroundings and gather his bearings. Knowing that he was embarking on a journey that no other 11 year old boys had ever been on, he smiled and took a deep breath, which he held in for a moment, as if to not let his fear or anxiety surface.

Looking inland from the cliff top, he marveled at what lay before him. The old fort, abandoned by the Marines more that a decade ago. He eyed the reinforced trenches, gun turrets, crumbling stairwells that seemed to lead nowhere…he did not know where to start. He’d been there once before with his sister, but she was scared and they did not explore the way he planned to this day. Mentally flipping a coin, he started walking north along the cliff.

When he came to the first of the seemingly endless bunkers, he walked around it, searching high and low for the doorway…he found none. He did, though, find several spend shell casings from a machine gun. The shells quickly went into his bag. Moving on he came to a spot where he would have to cross the trench. It was not deep, but there was still a certain level of fear that began to creep up. He turned and lowered himself into the trench. Once inside he realized that to get out…he’d have to find a fallen rock or a spot where the wall had broken. He began his journey along the trench. Comforted by the ever present sun on his head and the familiar sounds of crashing waves, he proceeded. After a few minutes, he saw his opportunity to climb out of the trench…a large piece of the wall had fallen inside. It was just enough for him to climb up and then pull his way out.

Right there in front of him was another bunker. He had to find a door on this one. Scurrying all the way around the 10’ X 10’ bunker, jumping up onto the earth-covered top and then back down, he still found no way in. He wondered for a moment how the soldiers got in and out. Scratching his head, he walked around it once more. This time more slowly and eyeing everything. About ¾ of the way around, he saw where the 10” window, which encircled the bunker, was broken. It could have broken from decay in the salt air or from a fallen rock…but he was going with a missile blast…yeah, that’s what made the hole.

He first peered inside. Not seeing much of anything, he remembered his difficulty in getting out of the trench. Finding a few large rocks that he could roll, he one by one, rolled them into the bunker to use as a ladder if he could not find a door. Then he dropped to his belly and began descending into the bunker, feet first. Inside the bunker it was dark, the air was still and…he had no flashlight. Walking around the room feeling the walls for a door, he noticed that there was a bunch of stuff on the floor. In the dim light he could not make everything out so he lifted items, one by one into the light from the sliver of window. This room was a gold mine for shell casings…he even found 2 belts of shells…where they were all held together by little metal pieces. These, he knew, were used in the large machine guns.

Finally he found what seemed to be a mini door in the wall that opened to a stairwell. He could see nothing in the stairwell. It was pitch black. He sat there for a moment, contemplating whether he would brave the stairwell or go back the way he came. The internal argument was brief…he’d come back another day with a flashlight for the stairs. Climbing up on the rocks that he’d pushed down into the bunker, he was able to emerge from his first explored room with ease. Once back on solid ground, outside the bunker, he searched for something to mark the bunker with so that he could come back to see where that stairway led. The only thing that he could find was a bunch of rocks. He grabbed them, one by one and piled them on top of the bunker, in a pile that he’d be able to see from a ways off.

At that point, he decided to head inland from the cliff to see what was there for him to explore. Passing by several flat cement circles, each with a few sets of holes in them, he noticed huge amounts of spent shell casings and knew that there must have been machine guns mounted there. He took a few minutes to pretend that there were still guns mounted in their positions. With his hands up in front of him, he shook back and forth and turned back and forth, making machine gun noises. With that, he thought to himself what a great vantage point that spot was. He had a great line of sight up and down the beach…as well as the ocean to the east.

Moving on, the boy came to a set of stairs which led down about fifty feet to a large open area. Seemingly an old staging area for the military personnel, to him it looked like an un-kept playground …with no equipment. Reaching the open area and turning to look at the hillside toward the ocean he marveled at the number of stairways, doors and open passageways that riddled the embankment. As if he were a trained soldier, he squinted his eye, peered back and forth and then seemed to KNOW which direction to head.

As he started to the north-East, he noticed something that stood out to him. It was not the shape of all of the other things he was finding…and it looked to be halfway stuck into the ground. Crouching down in front of it and brushing some of the dirt away from the sides…it became clear what he had found.

The tarnished metal sticking out of the ground was making his eyes widen and his heart race. Grasping his hand around his new found treasure, he pulled with all of his might. After a few seconds of pulling he found himself falling backwards, landing on his rear and holding, up in the air, what would be ‘the find on the day.’

Lowering his treasure to eye level, he carefully studied it. Knowing very well that he’d found an old bayonet, he was anxious to get it cleaned up. Vigorously rubbing the handle up and down the leg of his jeans, spitting on it and rubbing some more, he began to clean away the dirt and grime. Holding the weapon by its semi-clean handle, he wondered what to do about cleaning the blade. What if it had blood …or something cool like that on it? He put the blade into his bag to clean up later…when he could take the time to do it right.

Continuing to the north-east, jumping, happily, over pieces of broken cement blocks and mounds of dirt, he came to an incline that would bring him up the slope of the hillside fort. He began up the cement stairs and after a few of the stairs basically crumbled under his feet, he moved to the left and on all fours, continued up the overgrown embankment. Around the midway point there was a small landing where he found a small open doorway. It was pitch black inside and he was a bit scared. Poking his head in, he barely made out that the room was quite small and it had two doorways that he could see. He was frightened, but the excitement of exploring this forgotten fortress was too much to handle. He sat for a minute before it hit him…he would make himself a torch. Backing out of the doorway, he turned and scanned the hillside for a stick that could serve as a good torch. He spotted one, grabbed it and sat on the small landing. Taking his bag off his shoulder, he sunk his hand in, to the bottom and quickly pulled out his pocket knife. Setting it on the ground beside him, he stood and reached into his pocket for the book of matches that he’d stolen from next to the fireplace. Happy that he had all of the tools that he needed, he began to cut a long strip off the bottom of his T-shirt. Carefully wrapping the cloth around one end of the stick (yes, he was an Indiana Jones fan) he slung his pack back onto his shoulder, stood up and stepped into the doorway to the darkness.

Holding the stick between his thighs, with the cloth-wrapped end sticking out in front of him, he struck the first match. Not able to ignite his torch with the first match, he tried again, and then again. Frustrated, he struck two matches at once and held them underneath the torch head. It lit! Smiling to himself, he quickly shoved the matches back into his pocket and proceeded into the room. In the flickering light he decided to head through the door to his left. It was a narrow hallway and he was now surrounded by cement walls and darkness…all except for his circle of safety within the orb of flickering light. The smoke-filled hallway soon opened into a larger room. As he entered the inner room, he noticed that his torch would not be burning for long. He knew that he’d have to keep moving.

The room was seemingly empty, except for a set of stairs on one side of the room. He quickly headed for the stairs. He was about half way up the stairwell when his torch flickered and burnt out.

At first he was consumed by fear. He did not know where the stairway was going to lead him…and he did not know if he’d be able to find his way back the way he came. Suddenly, as if being guided by some supernatural force, he closed his eyes and with an uncanny sense of ease, pushed through any and all of the fear that was lurking in his vulnerable head. While still midway up the uneven staircase, he blindly took off his backpack, removed the rest of his shirt and would it around the charred end of his torch stick. Operating as if he had no need for eyes, he quickly ripped two matches from the book in his pocket and had his torch relit in a matter of seconds.

As his eyes began to adjust from pitch blackness to the blinding light of his new torch, he began to survey his situation. He decided that he would explore just one more room before heading back. Continuing up the stairs he finally reached the top. Standing on the top landing and using his torch to see, he noticed that there were two ways he could go. There was a closed doorway to his right and a hallway to his left. Looking at the hallway, he noticed that it seemed to be inclined…heading up towards the surface. Thinking for a moment he proceeded up the inclined hallway, sure that it would lead him above ground.

Stumbling over a few loose rocks on the floor and noticing small little doors in the wall which were all locked. His guess was that they were storage areas for food or ammunition. Now he knew that he would have to find a way to map this maze of tunnels and rooms, marking where he had been and the things that he had found. On his next trip, he would undoubtedly bring some supplies such as; bolt cutters, flashlights, a clipboard and paper for his map, etc.

The inclined hallway led him up and around a corner and into yet another room. This room was large and had big wooden doors on the floor of the room. There was obviously something below him. He tried to lift 2 of the doors and he could not budge them. He mentally added a crow bar to his list of items to bring back with him. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a light poking through a small crack in a wall. After examining the wall for a door, he found a small crawl space that seemed to be an exit. Knowing that he only had a minute or two of light left on his torch, he proceeded to crawl through the opening. The opening led him to a very narrow hall that became almost too small for him to get through with his pack on. It got brighter and brighter as he pushed forward. Finally he reached the small opening into the natural sunlight. Looking back at where he had just emerged from, he saw that it was an almost unnoticeable opening between a large tree and a big boulder. He was sure that he’d just found one of the fort’s secret entrances.

Snubbing out his torch in the dirt, he thought it best to leave a few of his things there so that he did not have to carry as much. He left scraps from his T-shirt, his torch stick, and a few other items right next to the base of the tree. After looking around and thinking for a minute, he picked up the T-shirt scraps and hung them over one of the low hanging branches…as an indicator of where his gear and the fort entrance was.

TO BE CONTINUED…

What is a Hot Dad to do????? Continued

In an effort to keep you all updated on posts of importance, I thought I would fill you in on the latest home visit from the girl who can’t keep her hands to herself.

On Wednesday as I was heading to the front door to greet our 13 year old as she came home from school, when I saw ‘her’ head coming in the front door. I don’t know what came over me but I did an instant 180 and bolted straight back to my desk. After settling my head a bit I walked out, gave a passing fist bump to our daughter and then to ‘the girl’. I immediately went up stairs and just sat on the edge of my bed.

A few minutes later, Mariah came up and asked me what my pained look was for. I explained that I was …chicken to go down stairs…as I did not want any possibility of this child’s inappropriate behavior to present itself. She chuckled and told me to man up.

After thinking about it for a few more minutes and realizing that she was right and I was acting like a big old pussy…I went back down stairs and returned to my desk and normal after school activities.

Surprisingly enough, the two teens stayed at the table doing their homework and chatting with one another. Two hours later, when the girl’s parents showed up to bring her home, I realized that either my ‘fist bump and walk away’ worked or she was not in a ‘friendly’ mood…either way, I am happy that there was no incident to report this time.

I have decided…and have told all of the kids…I am now the fist bump dad. All of the kid’s friends get a fist bump every time they come over…nothing less, nothing more.

Normal Childhood - Military Training (part 2)

Catch up on Part One if you have not read it yet.

By the time morning hit, we could hardly wait to see if we’d caught anything (or anyone) in our traps. We ignored the stealth policy as we bolted through the woods to the location of our creations. One by one, we closely inspected them, noticing nothing but a few random piles of animal scat and a small handful of porcupine quills.

Disappointed with having caught nothing we regrouped for a new strategy. After thoroughly discussing the mater in detail, we thought that the best plan was to lure someone into one of the traps. Yes…I was the one with 3 sisters and it was decided that little sisters make great prey.

Upon returning from my neighbor’s house we approached my middle sister, taunting her with a large bag of Twizlers and candy corn, we told her to count to 100 and then if she could find us at our fort that she could have our bag of sweetness. She began counting and we bolted into the forest snickering at our own genius.

A few minutes later, as we had taken up position in eyesight of each of our traps, we began to hear the crunching and twig snapping of a non-trained civilian tromping through the woods. Excited beyond belief, we all sat completely still, awaiting our catch.

A few seconds later, she appeared on the path…only 20 feet or so from our spring snare. Prancing up the path with thoughts of mouthfuls of candy, she neared the hidden danger. All of the sudden, we heard it. She had kicked the trip wire and *swoosh* the slip knot had tightened around her feet and she was hoisted into the air. Screaming and struggling, head bobbing a few feet off the ground we all emerged from the bushes, laughing and impressed with ourselves.

We stood in a circle around he, patting each other on the back, completely ignoring her cries for help. After a few brief comments and a bit more laughing, we decided that it would be best to leave her there for a while. Backing away and heading out on the path towards our house, we peaked over our shoulders just to see her squirming, and tears streaming from her eyes and landing in the cushion of pine needles that lined the forest floor.

We got back to my house and in an attempt not to tip off my mother, we busied ourselves with our bikes and the construction of a jump at the end of the driveway. About an hour later, after one of my friends launched off the jump and crashed into a tree at the edge of the woods, we all looked at one another with a touch of fear in our eyes and we took off into the woods. We had forgotten about my sister who had been hanging upside down in the middle of the porcupine and fox infested woods for close to an hour.

When we arrived, we saw my sister, still crying, but too tired to struggle. It seemed that she had just enough energy to tilt her head enough to see us approaching. Her sobs were faint, but at least she was still alive. We quickly released the knot at the base of a nearby tree and my sister fell with a thud to the ground. As she got up and began to stumble down the path she yelled to us that MOM was going to kill us and that we were going to be in big trouble. Chasing after her, with the bag of candy held out in front of us, we bribed her with the contents of the bag along with mild threats of further violence if she did tell.

As far as I know, our secret lived on and from that point on we re-adjusted out traps to only catch animals…which we did.

Kids, Immagination and Yoda

Am I the only one who thinks that imaginary friends are an odd fucking thing?

I have come to find out that I live in a house with 3 girls and 1 (really sexy) woman who all have or had imaginary friends.

We talked about it at dinner tonight and I could not be convinced that having imaginary friends was a normal, everyday thing. I was bombarded with fun little chatter about everyone’s ‘friends’…including the chickens that lived in one’s eyes…who even had a slide, the little boy Charlie who had to go everywhere with them and even had to have plates of food prepared and set out for him, the hand/finger elephant that would play for hours on end, and yes, the group of stuffed animals and dolls that were actually alive and talked…but only one person could hear them….

I proceeded to say that I never had an imaginary friend, played with dolls, talked to my hand or any stuffed creatures that resided in my room. Along with all of that…I do not recall any of my 5 brothers and sisters having any of the above either. The closest I think I came was pretending that I was Yoda and trying to move shit 'with the force.'

Their response…almost simultaneously was…”you are no fun…lighten up!”

Maybe my thoughts have something to do with my mother being a child psychotherapist…me majoring in psychology or the numerous movies and TV shows that I’ve seen where the kids with those imaginary friends pick up an axe or flame thrower…or some shit like that and kill everyone who can’t hear their friend.

Any of you have thoughts on this subject?

Neosporin Moms at the Playground

Have you seen that new Neosporin® commercial with three hot moms at the playground? (Not a men's playground, but the kiddie kind.) They're sitting on a bench, undoubtedly talking about Jon and Kate divorce news (I'm kidding), when a kid falls off a slide and yells out in pain. The moms immediately reach into their bags for the new Neosporin® product: Neo To Go! It's some sort of First Aid/Pain Relieving spray.

But wait - they don't just pull the product out. They spin it on their fingers like a gunfighter in the old west. Three hot moms ready to save the day!

To which I say: WTF? What happened to letting kids tough it out?

Don't get me wrong - if there's blood, chances are someone needs a bandage. If an arm gets broken, paramedics should be called.

But a scratch?

I'm guessing if those were three hot dads sitting on that park bench, undoubtedly talking about the best chicken marinade recipe, mai tai recipe, or maybe just waxing on about backyard sex (this time I'm not kidding), the men would have shrugged, told the kid to dust himself off, and the dads would have gotten back to the manly business of hanging out.

I realize women might perceive behavior like this to be uncaring. Please know, we dads care a lot. It's just that men are genetically predisposed to teach our offspring how to be tough. Even the most caring, loving father knows not to fawn over a bump or scrape at the playground.

It doesn't take a David Letterman joke about Sarah Palin for people to understand that men can be crass.

Is that so terrible? After all, every hot dad knows that crass rhymes with bad ass.

I Am Indeed A Violin

"She'll pull you out on the river - she's gussied up like sin,
You got jack all squat - you're a violin
And you're gonna get played until the money's all gone
Dearly beloved, the fix is on..."

- "The Fix Is On" by Peter Mulvey, from the album The Knuckleball Suite

Yes, it's true, no matter how much I try to deny it.

I am a violin.

How do I know this? My daughter is a master violinist, and doesn't really know it yet. She plays me like nobody can, I'm powerless to stop it. It's like I'm Superman (don't laugh, please) and she is like this three and a half foot tall, almost five-year old block of kryptonite that has legs and can wheedle better than God.

Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm almost ten times older than her, I'm bigger/stronger/faster than her. I am adult with a job and rent and I can vote and drink beer anytime I want and drive* anywhere anytime...yet, somehow I can't resist the force of nature that is my Wee Lass.

I could say its because I just can't stand to hear whining, in any way shape or form. Especially that dentist-drill-in-the-form-of-a-kids-voice that so many of the kiddies are able to inflict on the world**. I could say its because the little kids are cute-cuddly-the-future-of-the-humna-race-blah-blah-blah...I could even say its because I am just a weenie who cannot muster the cojones to say no, just because I am the dad and I said so. And these are significant reasons why I am a violin.

But...the real reason is...I look at my daughter and she looks back at me with those impossibly beautiful eyes of hers and she smiles or does the "Happy Dance" and I say something that makes her laugh, and ohmygawd that laugh, that laugh can launch ships and cure the sick and it makes me want fall to my knees and kiss her feet because, because, because...

...she's my big pretty girl and I am dumbstruck***, in awe, totally flummoxed and grateful that I can be in her presence and know that I had something to do with bringing her into the world.

And that makes me a truly lucky man.

Happy Father's Day, to all the dads out there. Let us bow our heads and give thanks!

*But not when I've been drinking. That would be balls up stupid. Don't do it.

**Of course, that's why we have earphones. And beer.

***Some would just say "dumb" and leave it at that. Sigh.

For further proof that my name should probably be "Stradivarius", please check out more Wee Lass chronicles here and here. You'll see what I mean!

‘Normal’ childhood? - Part Three - The Bat and the Broom

Be sure to read part one and part two before this one

At the ripe age of about 9, and after causing some sort of stink at the dinner table, I was sent to my room while everyone else finished their dinner and had their ice cream.

Now, we lived in an old Victorian house and my room, the one that I shared with B1 was on the top floor …the converted attic.

Sitting up there sulking on the edge of my bed, wondering if I could coerce B2 to sneak me up some ice cream after dinner, I was startled by a freaking bird flying right through my open window. As it zipped back and forth around my room, spinning in circles, seemingly very disoriented, this ‘bird’ swooped down and got its feet caught in my hair.

Pause for image of said hair. (and maybe a bit of laughter)




Completely freaking out, running in circles, yelling for my mother and flinging my arms up to try to dislodge this hair intruder….I hear my mother yelling up the stairs, “I told you to be quiet up there…or you’ll stay up there all night!”

Continuing my cries for help, my mother stormed her way up to my room, cursing me enough so that I did not know who to be more scared of…this beast clawing at my head…or the one about to bust through my bedroom door with a belt.

A second later my mother burst though my door, with belt in hand and a lung full of air to scream at me. Upon seeing the flapping, tangled mess that was once my head, she screamed, “BAT!” and swiftly ran out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Shocked that A. It was a bat in my hair and not a bird…and B. that my mother would run out and just leave me there. I continued screaming and running around the room. A minute or so later she barged back into my room…armed with a broom. She march straight at me and began bashing me on the head with the broom…worried more so about hitting the bat than the structural integrity of my cranium. Once she successfully knocked the bat loose from my hair she dragged my whimpering body out of the room (as if I were a wounded soldier being saved by a war hero) and slammed the door once again.

After pleading with the man that lived next door, the bat was evicted from my room. The story ends with a haircut appointment for me early the next morning.

As the stories are seemingly endless…I’ll continue with another next time – Military Training

‘Normal’ childhood? – Part Two - Fork Dinner

Be sure to read part one before this one

We were all sitting around our gi-freaking-normous dinner table one night and B1 and S2 were sitting at the head and the foot of the table. It was the usual banter, bickering and chaos that it had always been and our parents had grown fond of eating their dinner at the kitchen bar.

At the table, something B1 said to S2 made her pissed. I, to this day do not know what it was but she was furious. The tone between them became more like Carrie and Freddy Kruger going at it and the rest of us just sat there staring at the two of them…it was actually getting pretty good….until, out of nowhere, S2 picked up her fork and (as if she’d been secretly studying with Ninjas) threw her fork across the table with such precision that it stuck, squarely in my brother’s forehead. (The fork mind you, sticking straight out of his head, was about an inch above but directly between his eyebrows)…held there by the 3 prongs that neatly wedged themselves ever so slightly into his forehead.

All of us just sat there …mouths on the floor, eyes open wide with amazement…but nobody said a word…not even the two of them. Our parents, not hearing any more yelling, instantly KNEW something had gone awry, came running in to see what had happened. Both of them stopped abruptly when the saw the fork, that was protruding from B1’s head, drop to the table with a loud clanking sound.

They then ran to him and checked his head and proceeded to load him into the car and off to the emergency room.

After all was said and done, and my brother had no serious injury (except for the line of three dots in the middle of his forehead that were visible for about a year) that story has been told by us all, parents included, with a smile.

Stay tuned for the next glimpse into my childhood… The Bat and the Broom

Normal Childhood - Part One - The Mini Hulk

When I look back on my childhood, I think of it as a happy, ‘normal’ childhood…just like everyone else who was growing up in the 70s and 80s. We had everything that we needed and parents who loved us and tended to us the way parents should.

Recently I’ve found myself telling wild stories from my childhood, that lead me to believe that we were anything but normal.

Growing up with 5 siblings (3 sisters and 2 brothers) there was always a lot going on and there were always rifts springing up between sets of us. For the most part, our parents just sat back (and now reflecting on it were most likely cracking the fuck up) and letting us sort things out ourselves…as learning experiences.

M=Adoptive Mother
F=Step Father
S1=sister (older by 2 years)
S2=sister (younger by 4 years)
S3=step-sister (younger by 6 years)
B1=brother (younger by 2 years)
B2=step-brother (younger by 4 years)

I will summarize a few of the questionable stories for you over the next week or so. Then you can tell me if my childhood sounds normal to you or not.

‘Normal’ childhood? - The Mini Hulk

I was a bit of an instigator (still am) and would make it a point to pick on (almost to the point of crying) B2. Now being 4 years younger, he knew that standing his ground with me would be a drastic error in judgment…so he never did…until one day. It was right after school and I was mentally jabbing at him and making him feel as close to a pile of dog shit as I could. Then something happened…the boy freaked. His eyes changed. His skin flared up in a deep red and he screamed, “I HAVE HAD IT!” I responded with some bully-ish retort that sent him flying over the edge. With that, he, moving faster than I’d ever seen him move, ran past the wood stove, snatching up the large iron fire poker and proceeded to chase me around the house…swinging at will trying to silence my banter. Realizing how serious he was, by the trail of broken vases and lamps in his wake and the near miss to the back of my head, I found the only lockable room in the house (my parents) and securely locked the door behind me. Sitting on the edge of their bed, listening to his threats of violence…I figured that the homicidal rage would soon subside and we could all go about our day as per the norm.

All of the sudden, my thoughts were interrupted by the crashing sound of the fire poker connecting with the door knob that was currently saving both of us from a great deal of pain. I watched as the knob became looser and looser, heard wood of the door cracking and I knew that it would be any minute that mini Hulk would come crashing through the door.

I took that as a sign that he was not in a frame of mind to calm down and that I should seek refuge elsewhere. I scrambled over to the window and lowered myself as far as a 12 year old could and jumped the remainder of the two story drop…then bolted (with a slight limp) over to a neighbor’s house until my parents got home.

Come back to read the next installment…Fork Dinner

The Boy In The Hall

The boy in the hall, looking so confused
Having no friends - And all the friends in the world
Expressions changing, personality so fluid,
Like the chameleon, his ability to blend is his only defense

Thoughts and attention on surviving the day,
Inner self is ignored ‘til enemies are at bay.
Mistaken happiness – fitting in
Sadness overwhelms the innocent victim.
Sliding from clique to clique just to maintain,
One false move and it all goes down the drain.

Being pulled form all sides,
Can’t hold on, he needs to choose.
The forecast is blurred, he has to guess.

Praying the right choices were made,
He’ll do his best in all he does.
Realizing that wrong choices were made,
Unwilling to change made the boy who he was.

Lessons learned

Things I've learned in the 8+ yrs I've been a dad...

• Be a good husband. Show his mom respect at all times
• Teach him to keep a secret
• Set a strict bedtime as he's growing up. Boys need their sleep
• Let him know that he's never too old to take a nap
• Don't let him sleep in your bed, even if he's scared or sick. Sleep on the floor in his room
• Teach him to garden. It involves 3 things boys love- dirt, digging, and water hoses
• Accept the fact he just might play with dolls. It's no big deal
• Ask him what he did today. Listen to his answers
• Teach him how to dial 911, when and why
• Show him how to throw a punch. Then raise him to never start a fight. And teach him to walk away
• Take him on hikes and show him how to ford a stream. Let him get wet and dirty
• Let him hang out with you. Remember, he has to be around you, to learn what being a man is all about
• Reassure him he won't die if he spills a little blood
• Take your son to work with you every once in a while. Pay as much attention to him as you do other people in the office
• Tell him sometimes you're wrong
• Give him responsibility
• Make sure he knows he's always safe at home
• Don't tolerate temper tantrums. Not now. Not when he's 15. The world won't
• Scream at him and you will raise a screamer
• Don't let him quit out of frustration. He won't learn anything
• His favorite game for a long time will be playing with you. Be available, even when you're tired. Even when the presentation went south. Be available
• Insist he play outside a lot. It's much healthier than watching TV or playing computer games
• Never forget that you can't hug or cuddle or kiss a young boy too much
• Never tell him boy don't cry. Ask him why he's crying
• Teach him to respect authority but not to be in awe of it
• Encourage friendships with the white kid, the black kid, and the oriental kid who can barely speak English
• Don't forget the point of sports when you're a kid is to have fun
• Last but not least: Teach him that he can pick his friends and he can pick his nose but he can't pick his friends nose! Bwahaha...
  

That's all for now.
[Many of these were taken from "Father to Son: Life lessons on raising a boy" by Harry Harrison. I'm not smart enough to learn all of this on my own.]

Travel fun

This past weekend Darling Boy and I traveled to Pittsburgh to visit my mom and ailing step-father (maybe a post on that some other time; he's doing okay...). We flew from Boston to Pittsburgh on JetBlue.

Let me tell you, if I ever meet the guy who came up with the idea with putting a TV at every seat, I'm gonna kiss him! Perfect for keeping an 8 year old kid entertained...

Anyway, you're all probably familiar with the announcement "We'll now begin pre-boarding for those traveling with young children, anyone needing assistance, etc..." After a few elderly passengers and a couple with an infant board the plane, DB and I go to the counter and I ask if he is young enough to count as a "young child".

I certainly don't feel entitled to board first, and won't mind at all if they say no. DB is 8, after all, and we'd be fine boarding with every one else. But I figured the worst they'll do is say no and we'll wait. The young lady asks me "Is he less than half your size?" with a smile on her face.

"By weight, yes, no height, no". "Good enough for me, go ahead and board"

So off we go.

Fast forward to Monday evening and our return flight. We get to the airport and go through the same drill. Except this time I don't ask the gate agent if it's OK to board early. And he doesn't say anything to stop us and says "Have a good flight".

But...

There is a couple waiting by the podium that is none to pleased with us. We get the evil eye from both of them and one whispers, none too quietly, "He doesn't look like he needs assistance"

Whatever.

But here is my question for you: in your opinion, is an able-bodied 8 yr old too old to qualify as a "young child" in this situation?

It seems obvious to me that the airlines don't have actual guidelines and it's up to the judgment of the gate agent, and the ones I dealt with didn't have a problem with us boarding first.

Or was I taking advantage of the situation and being a bit of an ass? Just wondering...

My love for Al

Al Pacino. My hero. The only man that I would say I have a crush on. A man's man.

The style, confidence, bravado, and all-knowing Al Pacino. There hasn't been a role he has played that I haven't taken a piece of and tried to incorporate in my own personality.

Whether it be the leadership qualities he possessed in the Godfather series, the combination of his self-deprecating and confident manners in A Scent of a Woman, or the fearlessness and determined Tony Montana in Scarface, Pacino has the it that I want. He is just one bitching dude.

I can recite line after line that he has uttered in his movies. I often do in my own life. A few examples:

"Just when I thought I was out they pull me back in.", said in Godfather III. I used it when I returned to coaching football after a three-year stint as a golf coach.

"I always tell the truth. Even when I lie.", said in Scarface. My favorite response whenever asked if I am bullshitting or not.

"There are two kinds of people in this world. The first group is the people who face the music; the second group are those who run for cover.", as Frank Slade in Scent of a Woman. I have used this with students who have found trouble.

One line that I have always wanted to use, but haven't found the right opportunity to is the famous, "Say hello to my little friend!" That scene from Scarface gets me every time.

The only appropriate time I have thought of saying it would be before sex. I have not in fear of ruining the mood.

Even as a parent, Al Pacino is in me. As a young child, I remember watching Author! Author! with my parents and thinking that he played a great father. He was a single parent who showed vividly how to handle all the challenges of raising kids on his own.

My favorite scene from the movie is one that I often play out with my own girls. After a long day at work, Pacino enters his house and begins to talk about everything he did during his day to his kids. He ends it by screaming "I forgot to beat my kids!", and runs around the house chasing his kids.

Ever so often when I come home, I calmly walk into the kitchen and begin to spew off details of my own day. Then I yell, "I forgot to tickle my kids!"

As soon as the words leave my mouth, my girls take off running all over the house with me close behind. They want to be caught. They need to be caught. And, sooner rather than later, they are caught.

I dive into them, tickle them to near tears, then leave them in a hump on the ground breathless. Each of them possessing a smile on their face that can't be beat.

It is the closest to being Al Pacino I can get.

Posted by Coachdad

When 'Recall' does not work

Ever had a nasty email go to the wrong person? The one that it was about?
Well, that just happened to my ex...and it was sent to me.

Here goes!

First Email…to a friend of hers – but it got sent to me accidentally

Can you please hang out at the school, at pick up to make sure he's there on time to get J (7 yr old)? How much you wanna bet the a-hole won't spend the time with them alone and takes them to Santa Monica to be with the other trailer trash? Not that I should trust him to do homework with J(7 yr old)...he can't spell for shit anyway!

Thanks and see you tomorrow night.

My response…

I am not refusing to communicate...you have sent me 5 or 6 emails today and are trying to 'run' my visits. I will pick them up and then have them home by 7PM.

Secondly, this weekend we are going camping and the boys will not be able to go to the birthday or the play date. Please let your friends know. We are leaving on Saturday morning and will be back Sunday evening.

1st 3rd and 5th weekends and every Wednesday are my time with the boys and, unfortunately for you, I will be deciding what we are going to be doing. It is not your place to; tell me what I should/can do with them, tell the boys about events on my weekends (you should inform me) or expect that I report in to you on everything that we do. You leave town and don't tell me where you are going, what flights you are on....I have yet to receive any reports from either school or doctors about how things are going...who is not communicating?

And feel free to stop bad-mouthing me to the boy's friends' parents...I think that just makes things much harder with respect to me bringing them to parties/events for those families.

Her response…

And, you are showing my friends that you are an asshole but doing things like this. And they see what you write about me. I'm not making you look bad, you are making yourself look bad.

Then she had my 4 year old call me to say that he wanted to go to a party that she told him about. Then she got on the phone and yammered on until I had to hang up on her.

Then I got this…

Wow. You are an asshole.

I am not trying to run your visits. You know nothing about the boys' day to day routine because of your refusal to communicate, so I have to let you know about their routine. You don't care about their dietary needs / restrictions even though I have mentioned them to you in the past. You haven't even logged into the Our Family Wizard site in weeks...on which I outlined our trip to Disney and the details. There haven't been any school reports, but again, I put everything including emergency numbers, etc in the Our Family Wizard because I am doing my part.

E is one of J’s (7 yr old) BEST FRIENDS and you already said you'd bring them to her party. If have it in an email and you told E’s mom you'd let them come.
C was one of J (4 yr old) best friends and you are denying them the opportunity to see him on his first and likely only visit back for a long time. You are purposely denying them of important events because of vengeance and ego. I just told the boys that you said they can't go to the party or to see C because you are taking them camping, and they said then they don't want to go to your house this weekend. They can go camping anytime. These are people that are important to them...who are a part of their everyday lives. All of their friends will be at these events. And, E’s Mom is calling you because E’s best friend now won't be at her party and she is very upset.

CANNOT WAIT TO go to court on the 9th.

...oh wait...then I got this one

I wish you would think about your children. You said you'd talk to them about it tomorrow? To put the burden on a 4 and 7 year old and go back on your promises to them, as you admitted on the phone, is awful.
And, clearly you were drunk when I just spoke to you --- are all the children in your house asleep?
Again, I look forward to our trip to court on the 9th.

....shit....and then this one

Also – I have many emails in which I offered to switch the weekends with you – weeks ago – because of this weekend’s important events. And, you said you’d bring them to the party since you couldn’t switch and would let me know about the Sunday event with their friend who moved away.

I will make sure to bring those emails to court. You can go camping anytime, but instead are choosing to lash out at me via to the boys’ detriment. That is quite obvious.

WTF?

Drama Unveiled !

I am completely losing my freaking mind here. I don’t even know where to start.

After getting home from volunteering at the kid’s middle school today, we got phone calls from both middle school kids saying that they were called into the school counselor’s office and were interviewed by Social Services. Upon hearing this, Mariah about lost her mind, while puking all over her insides.

We had no clue about any issues and we immediately called the school to find out what was going on. They explained that Social Services interviewed the two kids today due to an investigation that they are conducting. We hung up and could not dial the number for Social Services fast enough. With sweat pouring down our faces, we were given the number for the woman assigned to our case.

After leaving her a message that we were concerned and wanted to find out what was going on, she called back about 15 minutes later. She explained that they received a call from an ‘anonymous’ source claiming ‘general neglect and emotional abuse - that we; are alcoholics and drug addicts, leave the kids unsupervised for hours at a time and allow parties for our high school daughter with drugs and alcohol.

Now we were also told that the call came in on Saturday the 7th of February (the same day that I told my ex that if she did not bring my boys to me for my first overnight visit, that I would call the police.)

As the report is confidential, I can not say for sure who made the accusations, but I do have my suspicions. Now…I know that she dislikes, hates or distrusts me…and does not like Mariah (whom she has never met) but making accusations to CPS is absolutely out of control. How can someone who has never met Mariah or any of her kids, who has never stepped foot in our house, who has never spoken to anyone in this household and who knows no mutual friends…make any accusations?

I understand that she wants to punish me and …be the boss of me, but attempting to have Mariah’s kids taken away from us – just so that I won’t get further visitations with my boys, is absolutely insane!

Now…the allegations are false and the interviews today went very well…but I guess I am just at a loss for what to do. Do I find a way to fight back? Do I leave it alone? Do I say “OK…what do you want of me? Do you want me to walk away? Do you want me to be in our boys’ lives?....WHAT?” I kind of feel that she is just attacking with whatever she can …and since I’ve been granted the overnights…she has taken out the ‘big guns.’

I don’t know … but what I do know is that this drama needs to stop. Bottom line is that I think it would be great if we could invite her over to sit down with a glass of ‘JUICE’ and smooth things out …see what she wants and find some middle ground so that none of the kids are in the middle of this ridiculous battle.

GOD…GRANT ME THE SERENITY…

Overnight Excitement

I am very excited to announce that tomorrow I get to have my two boys spend the night with me. The last time I spent the night with them was September of 2005.

The divorce and visitation/custody proceedings have been long and drawn out. It is nice to know that things are finally moving forward. I have been spending weekend days with them but until now I have not been able to have them sleep with me.

I know that the first few sleep-overs will not be easy as they are used to being with their mother, but I am so happy that we will be having this time together. I have spent the last few days taping some shows and some of my favorite childhood movies for them, cleaning and setting up their room, preparing their beds and stocking up on their favorite foods.

Again…I can’t even venture to tell you all how happy I am …but at the same time I can’t help but to feel anxious and worried that they might have a hard time adjusting to sleeping at my house. I want it to be smooth and worry free for everyone. I know that it will all work out and that they will love spending every other weekend at my house.

Well….everything is ready and now…I just have to wait until tomorrow morning.

What's next??

I got some parental advise from my seven-year-old the other day. She is concerned with the way I am bringing up her little sister - the 4-year-old who thinks she is 18.

Seems Savannah is trying to make up for the fact that I don't have their mother around to make sure I don't screw my kids up too much with the way I raise them. Cute for sure, however, what the hell does she know about molding a young child?

After all, I have been doing it on my own for four years and aside from telling Shelby to hide a quarter her in mouth to keep it away from Savannah two years ago, I think I have done a pretty good job. (Shelby would go on to swallow the quarter and we would end up spending the rest of the day in the emergency room.)

In addition to making sure they are provided for, I read to them every day, help them with homework, play games with them, let them apply makeup to my face, wake up at a ridiculous time on the weekends to make them pancakes, and never go out at night because I feel guilty about them spending so much time with a babysitter while I work.

What could I possibly be doing wrong?

"I just think you need to do some things differently around Alani,'' Vanna said.

"And what is that baby? Don't be afraid... just tell me."

"You need to stop saying bad words around her. Me and Shelby know that just because you say them doesn't mean we can. I am worried Alani will be saying them all the time at school when she starts Kindergarten next year. It's bad, Daddy."

Wow. . . just like that, I was speechless. She had a point. I do spew out four letter words a lot in the house. I don't direct them at my girls, but they leave my mouth quite regularly. And Alani has gotten pretty good at including them in her own vocabulary.

I always tell her not to, but it hasn't seemed to deter her too much. It probably doesn't help that the girls and I laugh after hearing Alani talk as if she is walking the halls of my high school. Some of her classic sayings that have brought laughter from her siblings and I include:

"What the fuck did you do that for?" Said after I hit the back of her mouth while brushing her teeth recently.

"This is bullshit... I am going to play with my Barbies." Said after being frustrated at losing when playing the game Sorry with the rest of us.

"Dad, don't you think Hannah Montana is cool as shit?" That one needs no explanation.

And her favorite and one that was said recently while I had some coaching friends over watching an NFL playoff game. "More fucking football? Don't you watch anything else?"

Did I mention she is four?

After replaying all this in my head for a few minutes, Vannah brought me back to the present by asking me, "Don't you think it will be your fault if she is cussing in class next year and in trouble all the time? What do you think she is going to say to the teacher when she is told that snack time is over?"

I answered her, "What the fuck? I am not done yet."

"Yea, Daddy. You have to stop it around her."

She was right. Son of a bitch, she was right. I gave up smoking last week, now I have to stop cussing?

I hate to think of what's next.

Posted by CoachDad

Childhood Adventure - Part 2

If you have not already...Read Part 1 first

He first peered inside. Not seeing much of anything, he remembered his difficulty in getting out of the trench. Finding a few large rocks that he could roll, he one by one, rolled them into the bunker to use as a ladder if he could not find a door. Then he dropped to his belly and began descending into the bunker, feet first. Inside the bunker it was dark, the air was still and…he had no flashlight. Walking around the room feeling the walls for a door, he noticed that there was a bunch of stuff on the floor. In the dim light he could not make everything out so he lifted items, one by one into the light from the sliver of window. This room was a gold mine for shell casings…he even found 2 belts of shells…where they were all held together by little metal pieces. These, he knew, were used in the large machine guns.

Finally he found what seemed to be a mini door in the wall that opened to a stairwell. He could see nothing in the stairwell. It was pitch black. He sat there for a moment, contemplating whether he would brave the stairwell or go back the way he came. The internal argument was brief…he’d come back another day with a flashlight for the stairs. Climbing up on the rocks that he’d pushed down into the bunker, he was able to emerge from his first explored room with ease. Once back on solid ground, outside the bunker, he searched for something to mark the bunker with so that he could come back to see where that stairway led. The only thing that he could find was a bunch of rocks. He grabbed them, one by one and piled them on top of the bunker, in a pile that he’d be able to see from a ways off.

At that point, he decided to head inland from the cliff to see what was there for him to explore. Passing by several flat cement circles, each with a few sets of holes in them, he noticed huge amounts of spent shell casings and knew that there must have been machine guns mounted there. He took a few minutes to pretend that there were still guns mounted in position. With his hands up in front of him, he shook back and forth and turned back and forth, making machine gun noises. With that, he thought to himself what a great vantage point that spot was. He had a great line of sight up and down the beach…as well as the ocean to the east.

Moving on, the boy came to a set of stairs which led down about fifty feet to a large open area. Seemingly an old staging area for the military personnel, to him it looked like an un-kept playground …with no equipment. Reaching the open area and turning to look at the hillside toward the ocean he marveled at the number of stairways, doors and open passageways that riddled the embankment. As if he were a trained soldier, he squinted his eye, peered back and forth and then seemed to KNOW which direction to head.

As he started to the north-East, he noticed something that stood out to him. It was not the shape of all of the other things he was finding…and it looked to be halfway stuck into the ground. Crouching down in front of it and brushing some of the dirt away from the sides…it became clear what he had found.

To be continued….

Posted By BedsideTalesMan