Out of the mouths of parents; the improbable things we say in a week's time

There is nothing so capable of humbling any of us as being parents.  Think of it this way, in all of the James Bond movies, did you ever see him sitting at the dining room table trying to explain compound fractions to a 10 year old?  Did you ever see him trying to get a four year old from the front door to the back seat of his Aston Martin without having her jump in every snow bank and mud puddle between the two points?  No - Hollywood is a dream world - they would never show old 007 completely over his head; at the mercy of two kids he adores yet who drive him to say stupid things. He gets all the easy stuff.

Parenting causes you to kind of reinvent yourself, doesn't it?  I love to tease that I was cool at one time in my life.  My memories of college are that as a college senior I was somehow funny - a bit of a character.  Now, 23 years later, I am 100% caricature.  The precise thought of how really odd this parenting thing would be first struck me the day I lifted my two year old son up in the middle of a crowded restaurant, held his tiny little backside up to my face, whiffed, and then proclaimed to his mother "He's fine!"  When I realized that I did this with the same ease and fluidity of motion as I do putting on my coat or flipping on the computer I knew then that my world would be forever changed.

I also knew at that time, based on the two distinct groups of people I noticed staring at me as I lowered my giggling son; those, mouths agape, staring in disbelief at my complete lack of couth, and those meeting my gaze and nodding in silent agreement - the parents - that I was joining a select group of hearty adventurists.

Since that day I have been barfed on, peed on, pooped on, cried upon, searched the skate park for shards of two broken teeth, and it seems to me that every sweatshirt I own has at one time or another been a welcome hanky to a kid with a sinus infection.  I have learned more about Rota-virus and the differences in boogers than most epidemiologists and have along the way said some things that, for lack of a better word, make me feel like an idiot.

So today, an experiment - I have tried here to isolate the most idiotic, absurd, maddening words and phrases and exchanges occurring within the four walls of my home for the last week.

1.  "Hey you - whatever your name is...please don't color the cat."  You can never remember their names when you really need to.  Most days I call them "Moe and Larry."  Yes, I am aware one of them is a girl...

2.  "Whose poop is this?" (like I was gonna call "dibs" or something...).

3.  To my ten year old, who seems to be on some kind of iPod sponsored life support - "When I was a kid, iPod Touch was called a baseball mitt."

4.  "Not all farts are funny..." (to my son and his 11 year old cousin)

5.  "Hey, you know what?" (said to the same kid standing in my kitchen staring blankly at the open maw of a dishwasher waiting to be filled.
"What?" He says back to me, in a trance...
"Your "not helping me" (air quotes installed)...it's not helping me..."

6.  "I've told you a million times to keep your hands to yourself!  Now get over here and give your sister a hug and kiss goodnight..."

7.  "There's nothing coming out of your closet.  I'm the scariest thing in this house and I am right here - You're fine so go back to bed!"

8.  "Did you toot?" (there were only two of us in the car and I was pretty sure it wasn't me who dealt it).

9.  "Don't you point that sword at your sister!"  Yes, we have swords - plural.  And why did I say "don't point that at her" when he was across the room?  Was I afraid it was going to go off accidentally while he was cleaning it or something?

10.  "Eat your dinner"  This comment in and of itself is neither silly nor absurd.  What is both silly and absurd is that I would have to say it 92 times in a single meal to my four year old.  I can't wait for her to master reading so I can just get it printed on a sweatshirt and be done with it.

11.  "What do you mean you left your shirt at school?  Didn't you notice you weren't wearing one when you got on the bus to come home?"  (this was absolutely one of my favorite "Dad" moments ever - it was from last year, not last week, but a good one none the less. :-) Just being there when he skinned off his coat like it was perfectly normal to come home from school without his shirt.  God I love that boy :-)

12.  To either of them, several times during the course of the week "whatwereyoudoinganddon'tyoudaresayIdon'tknow?!" (comes out as all one word a million miles an hour.  Have to say it all at once and quickly otherwise they get two or three seconds to think up a plausible lie).

13.  To no one in particular "Who wrote on the wall by the bathroom...?"  Silence, silence, silence....then comes a wee little squeaky voice two rooms away "well....it could have been Michael...or maybe a monster...but I probably think it was Michael...it sure wasn't me...." Suggesting it might have been a monster was actually a very wise gambit for a girl only four years old. The offending graffiti was right by the basement stairs, and we all know that's where most of the monsters live.

14.  This next one was more Kristin than me - Wednesday night we had to take our cat, the brown one, to the vet.  Turns out she is kind of pretty sick.  I actually feel bad for her.  So, it was a tough night all around.  So after making a stop for some cat things to make the brown one more comfortable, I decided I was too tired to cook when we got home.  "I'll call for Chinese" I said.

So I place the order for delivery and we drive home. 25 minutes later the doorbell rings and the 4 year old races to get it. Looking out the door she announces "DAD! It's the Chinese, they're here!"  The delivery man was, you guessed it, Chinese.

15.  And the all time topper in this category comes from my dad, to me, when I was questioning him about genetics and his family.  His father and my grandmother were divorced when my father was two.  So I never knew my grandfather on my dad's side.

When we were pregnant with our oldest, the topic turned to genetics over dinner one night and I am afraid my dad got a bit defensive at Outback steak house.  Tired of the topic, he eventually slammed his hand down on the table, palm down, resulting a terrific clattering of dishes and silverware, and proclaimed:

"This is bullsh*t!" he growled, "your genes start with me!"  I cherish that memory - so wonderfully him <3

So thanks for stopping by my blog today.  I hope wherever you are or whoever you are with; you are sharing time with people whose company delights you and whose future development is so important and vital to you that the urgency of it causes you to say improbably silly things.

Dennis
smalltowndad@hotmail.com

The forces of good...

Those were the words Michael’s fencing coach used when completing the initiation ceremony for young fencers moving from the beginning to the intermediate fencing class.

During the ceremony, the kids dress up in their gear – all of it shiny, spotless, and brand new – and stand at salute position while the coach addresses them; challenges them to be “ambassadors of the sport, abide by their honor…” and then finally, binds them on their oath to join “the forces of good.” He then moves smartly down the line of modern knights, striking the guard of each one’s sabre with a quick stroke from his own blade thus giving each of his students their first dueling marks.

So I heard the words “Forces of good…” and thought “My God, who talks like that any more?  The forces of good?”  I was moved by it.  We all ought to talk that way, I thought.  What’s wrong with telling kids out loud that they should make it a goal to do good things, take good care, and be good people?  We place an emphasis in our family on being the good guys - and that goal is not always easy or uncomplicated.  I was reminded of that fact late last year when I got a note from Michael’s school indicating he had been making comments that some thought were perhaps better kept to himself.   

Michael is neither particularly shy nor quiet.  He is my live wire.  A terrific kid, full of energy and laughter.  I cannot imagine he blends meekly into the woodwork in any class.  Leading a class with him is probably sometimes a little like trying to fish with dynamite.  

Inquiring a little farther, I learned from Michael that he had been having disagreements with some of his classmates over, of all things, a cousin’s name.  Michael has a cousin who is wonderful, Ababu.  Actually all of Michael’s cousins are wonderful kids.  My family, this flock of great kids ranging in age from 20 to 4, is overflowing with fantastic kids.  Proof again, I suppose, that as a child I was found wandering near my parents' home and they just sort of took me in.

‘Babu is from Africa.  A child my brother and his wife adopted from Ethiopia, literally saving his life from a place where he was given up for dead.  To watch ‘Babu with my brother’s family is to understand that love and life exist on a level most of us could never imagine.

So when Michael learned they were coming to visit last Thanksgiving, his enthusiasm got the better of him.  Pretty much the case for all of us really.  I think the last time my entire family; siblings and their kids, was all together was about 4 years ago.  We were all a bit giddy about seeing them.

So the disagreement at Michael’s school turned out to be that he was telling his buddies the story of Ababu and a couple of the kids starting making fun of ‘Babu’s name.  Michael, who has not seen ‘Babu in four years, took up the defense of his kin by lighting into the offending classmates.

“That’s racist,” he told me he said to them.

Hardly words of temperance and deliberation, and not the kind of words his mediator dad would use to resolve a conflict, but then again his mediator dad wasn’t there, was he?  So this 10 year old, possessed of a very strong “champion” gene, took up the fight and, as a  sworn member of the "forces of good," rode out to meet the forces of ignorance, intemperance, and discrimination.  Lochinvar in tennis shoes.  A champion with freckles. 

“He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone.  So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was a knight like the young Lochinvar.”

Did I mention he’s 10?

The champion gene, not always the most useful in every situation but nearly always one of the most remarkable to observe in action, is strong in my family.  My dad’s family had it – one ancestor was actually kicked out of West Point for striking another member of the Corps of Cadets over the head with a plate because he thought the man a coward.

And my mom’s family is rife with it.  So famous is the fast blade of indignation and affront on her side of the family we actually named those moments “Joan moments” after her.  If she didn’t have a car she would certainly have the fastest horse in the county and it would remain perpetually saddled next to the homestead, ever at the ready to ride into harm’s way if someone dared trespass against one of her kids.  The Joan moments are things to behold. She is indeed a champion.

So that night when I was chatting with Michael about the note from school, it was with equal parts concern –I reminded him that we absolutely will be respectful of the educational setting and treat everyone’s learning time as if it is vital; and admiration.  The admiration part was me wondering “who among us taught you to be so righteous, so decent, and so devout to the high principles of the forces of good?  How are you so courageous and yet won't turn off the light in the basement?"

Mostly, I did not forget to remind him of how proud we all are of him that, though he cannot remember to turn off the basement light, he certainly has kept his promise to join the forces of good. He is, among all the other things a 10 year old could be; impossibly decent and essentially good.

So thanks for stopping by my blog today.  I hope the day finds you in good health, protected by the love of a fine family, and that among your kin there is a champion who will protect, inspire, and defend you to the last as a dauntless member of “the forces of good.”

Dennis

smalltowndad@hotmail.com

"The tree long remembers what the axe soon forgets..." What are you teaching your kids?

I saw a bumper sticker the other day that talked about global warming.  Essentially it said “what if we fixed global warming; made the Earth healthier, saved endangered species and cleaned up our atmosphere and it was all a big mistake?”  The sticker ultimately was taking a jab at the consequence of fixing the causes of global warming and then it turned out that global warming wasn’t even really as bad a problem as we thought it once was.

So that, in turn, got me thinking about bullying.  What if we committed ourselves and our schools to raising better kids; creating learning communities that were more supportive, more accepting, and less harsh or cruel – and in the end the bullying problem wasn’t as bad as we feared it once was?

Any of us with kids who aren’t bullies feel like bullying is a danger to the physical and emotional well being of our kids.  Just google the names: Seth Welsh, Phoebe Prince, Bobby Tillman, or any of thousands of others and you will take a small measure of the problem.  Google the phrase “Bullied to Death” and among the 320,000 hits on that phrase you will find in heartbreaking detail descriptions of bullying’s worst case scenarios.

Yet, the problem still exists.  You’d like to point at teachers and ask “what are you doing?  Why can’t you stop this?  How are you protecting my kids?”  But the truth is, it begins with the parents.  The parents of one notorious bully in my parents' old neighborhood said many times “we don’t get involved in these kinds of things; we let the kids work things out for themselves…”  It strikes me as a parent now myself that that kind of thinking is all well and good if your kid is the bully.  But what if your kid is the victim of the bully?  Some surprising and sobering facts on bullies can be found in the 2009 Indicators of School Crime and Safety – a survey which collected statistics from a variety of studies and showed that:

• One third of teens reported being bullied while at school
• About 20 percent of teens had been made fun of by a bully, 18 percent of teens had rumors or gossip spread about them, 11 percent were physically bullied, such as being shoved, tripped, or spit on, 6 percent were threatened, 5 percent were excluded from activities they wanted to participate in, 4 percent were coerced into something they did not want to do, and 4 percent had their personal belongings destroyed by bullies
• 4 percent of teens in this study reported being the victims of cyber bullying
• Most bullying occurred inside the school, with smaller numbers of bullying incidents occurring outside on the school grounds, on the school bus, or on the way to school
• Only about a third of bully victims reported the bullying to someone at school
• About 2 of every 3 bully victims were bullied once or twice during the school year, 1 in 5 were bullied once or twice a month, and about 1 in 10 were bullied daily or several times a week
• In this study, females and white students reported the most incidents of being the victims of bullying
• 44 percent of middle schools reported bullying problems, compared to just over 20 percent of both elementary and high schools

Similarly, the 2009 National Youth Risk Behavior Survey found that about 1 in 5 teens had been bullied at school in the last year. The Federal government's Find Youth Info web site also reports some recent bullying statistics:

• Bullying is most common among middle school children, where almost half of students may be bully victims
• Between 15 and 25 percent of students overall are frequent victims of bullying, and 15 to 20 percent of students bully others often
• About 20 percent of students experience physical bullying at some point in their lives, while almost a third experience some type of bullying
• About 8 percent of students have been the victims of a cyber bully
• Studies have indicated that females may be the victims of bullying more often than males; males are more likely to experience physical or verbal bullying, while females are more likely to experience social or psychological bullying
• Students with disabilities are more likely to be the victims of bullying
• Homosexual and bisexual teens are more likely to report bullying than heterosexual teens

Experts agree that there is a relationship between bullying or being bullied and other types of violence, including fighting, carrying weapons, and suicide.  So why, with that kind of data so readily at hand, do we tolerate bullying?

For parents, it might boil down to toughness, competition, social Darwinsim.  You won’t get ahead in life if you let other people roll right over you, right?  Well that’s what we always thought – and what good did it do us?  Has tolerating that mindset eradicated bullying?  Has peace broken out world wide and no one told me? Was the Civil Rights movement waged by bullies or by peaceful action?

For kids it might be as uncomplicated as “snitches get stitches.”  No one wants to be a tattletale.  We hold tattletales in greater contempt than we do the bullies it seems.  But it’s not that simple, is it?  Are we really expecting a decent country if we teach our kids to readily divorce themselves from the greater good?  We can’t really mean that.

For teachers, it might be the 30 – 40 kids they have in their classrooms and the requirements of all that goes into educating our kids that keep them from solving the problem.  It could be also the state of education in general – I am certain there are teachers in almost every state in the union who wish for more resources and smaller classes. For the teacher contemplating acting toward a bully they must invariably think “well, whose brother, the lawyer, is going to sue me tomorrow if I accuse their child of being the school bully?”  While it may be true that we live in a litigious society and that teachers don’t have enough time or resources, I respond to that truth by saying “So what?”  It’s called leadership. Failure to exercise it is a betrayal of the sacred trust we put in our teachers. 

I don’t know the answer – except to say that we have to force these issues out at least into a open dialogue.  Parents, force your schools to confront it.  Principals, force your teachers to report it, and teachers and staff members be vigilant in creating educational communities that support trust, acceptance, support. What if, in so doing, we cured bullying and it turned out it wasn’t really that big of a problem after all?  What would the benefit be – of having more decent kids; more supportive academic environments, less hate, more tolerance, less division, more acceptance?  What if we started out to change just one little corner of the world and ended up making a real and lasting difference? What else might we cure in the process?

My children are my heroes – they are so good; so decent, so kind.  It pains me to see them, in their decency, to be made the victim by kids whose parents have raised them not to care, to be cruel for sport; to be deliberately unkind.  When we teach effective communication strategies, one of the things I always include is the idea that “the tree long remembers what the axe soon forgets.”  Are you teaching your kids to be axes or trees?  I am a big fan of the gorgeous trees, myself.

So thanks for stopping by my blog today.  Wherever you are, I hope you are well and that you and yours are surrounded by those who love you, who will stand with you unshaken and immoveable by the bully’s unkind agenda. I hope you find yourself in the company of ordinary heroes who will not permit any bully to win the day or take the high ground at the expense of any child’s innocence and joy. Thanks for taking the time to read this note.  It is perhaps my message in a bottle to the world written out of love for my kids.  An artifact of my silent hope for them, and your kids as well, to grow up in a world more gentle, more fun, and less harsh.

Dennis

Smalltowndad@hotmail.com 

There is no title - this post is about drunk driving...

So look – we all agree drinking and driving is a bad idea, right?  I mean at this point, with our current level of media saturation it shouldn’t be news to anyone reading this that drunk driving, or riding with a drunk driver, is a bad idea with potentially tragic outcomes.  Yet these stories persist – transecting all age, race, and income demographics – it is an all too common experience that we hear of people drinking and driving and then end up reading about the tragic aftermath.

This past weekend in a small town near my home, 5 kids were out way late on a Saturday night/Sunday morning.  There were kids, 5 of them, all jammed into a car on a weekend night - no different than my own experiences jammed with all my regular crew into a buddy's car 30 years ago. 

In this case, there was a car accident.  Slippery roads, late at night, perhaps alcohol involved.  The situation this moment is that two of those five young people, children really, died Sunday morning and a third died at the the hospital today.  While no one has been convicted or even tried, police nonetheless suspect that alcohol was involved and the teenage driver is in custody.  Word is there was a party – for some affected it was perhaps their first taste of alcohol and autonomy – who knows?  In the rush to prove who was right and wrong; who was liable and who was innocent – all reality will be lost to the legal concepts of mitigation, proof beyond a reasonable doubt, rules of evidence, etc. 

What is known is that these were all young kids – to their community they were treasure.

What is also known is that three of them are now dead and one of those in the car is now in a situation where his fate lies with scary grown-up institutions and professionals.  Lawyers, insurance adjusters, policemen, media, jail, prison, bail bondsmen.  Gone forever are the catcher’s mitt, basketball, iPod, and fragile innocence.  What is known is that the driver of the car also took the moms and dads and brothers, sisters, friends, teachers, neighbors and many others into this accident with him.  

What is known is that for some gone are all the dreams of college, marriage, adventures both great and small. What's left is residue; the inevitable packing up, and the constant hurt and anger that roils and subsides like the pain of a dying tooth. 

Present forever will be the “what-ifs” that are irreconcilable; the “how-comes” that strain against the Earth’s rotation only to give way to inevitable and heartless realities.  Try as you might to unwish it; to change it, you can’t undo the horrible reality that three kids are dead, one is hospitalized, and one may be headed to jail for a very long time.

As parents we look on and hope and pray that these matters do not affect us; that they leave unharmed those we love and those for whom we are sworn to protect.  But here’s the thing – in my life which is decidedly uncosmopolitan – I have seen this phenomena come and go way too often. My small town life has seen it many times.  If in my boring Grover’s Corners’ existence this tragedy creeps, then how can anyone really be safe from it?

In college there was the couple killed returning from a New Year’s eve party. They left behind small children and a broken family.  After college there was a relative, injured by a drunk driver headed the wrong way down a one way street.  Not three years removed from that, there was a good friend, one of the most decent people I have ever met, killed at 22 by a drunk driver out having a good time.

There are no words that make sense out of what follows this tragedy.  There can be no commitment to ending drunk driving any greater than what we have already made.  MADD, SADD, colleges, universities, high schools – they are all in on the education side.  Insurance companies, law enforcement, the government – virtually every entity save for perhaps the food and spirits lobby is a trustee of the message “don’t drink and drive.”

Yet here we are – tonight in a small town in the middle of Michigan, like many small towns all over America on a weekly basis, families grieve the dead with broken hearts.  I have been there first hand – was present when the mother of a son killed by a drunk driver arrived at college to collect his belongings.

I will never forget the sound of that one sob as long as I live.  Traveling from out of state, she and her husband arrived a day or two after the tragedy to make arrangements for Mike and to pick up his things.  As the residence hall director I escorted them to his room and a number of us waited there, respectfully outside – to attend their needs, ensure their privacy, provide some sense of community to them in a place where they knew no one but a place where their son had made many many friends.

The sound of that one sob, the sob his mom made when she snatched up his pillow and could still smell him on it, is something that is with me to this day.  They, Mike’s mom and dad, sat in the stillness of that quiet dorm room crying for a long time. My staff and I and others waited outside – guaranteeing their privacy and committed to helping them any way we could.

After a while Mike's dad came out and, through eyes stung with tears, we each met his gaze.  He approached the oldest among us, a college administrator who was himself a father and a fine man, and asked quietly "Do you have any kids?"

“Yes” came the answer, “three of them – all girls.”

Through cracking voice my friend’s dad said “well go home then. We’re all done here.  Go home and hug those kids, ‘cause you just never know…just hug them”

So while it is a certainty that nothing will tomorrow make the world a softer, gentler place for the community of friends and family mourning this latest drunk driving accident – what is certain is that we can be reminded to go home and hug our kids.  Just hug ‘em, hold them, and try to teach them about the way lives can change in an instant.  Try and teach them that some mistakes you can't ever take back; and some decisions will stay with you, and others, the rest of your life. Because you just never know.

Thanks for stopping by my blog today.  I wish it was a happier topic; wish it was written under different circumstances.  Wherever you are tonight, I hope you are holding tightly to those you love and those who love you.  It is, at the end of the day, the only thing that matters.

Dennis

smalltowndad@hotmail.com

UPDATE from the Lansing State Journal, April 27, 2011:

LANSING – A 17-year-old Holt High School senior pleaded guilty today to being drunk earlier this year when he crashed into a tree, killing three passengers.

At a hearing today in Ingham County Circuit Court, Brett Johnson pleaded guilty to one count of operating while intoxicated causing death, officials said.

Johnson faces up to 15 years in prison. He will be sentenced on June 8.

The crash happened Jan. 30 at about 2 a.m., when the 2003 Pontiac Bonneville Johnson was driving went off Hagadorn Road and struck a tree.

Killed in the crash were Holt High School senior Holly Bossenbery, 17, and Holt High School graduate Taylyr Cochran, 18. Anthony Harris, 17, a Holt senior, died three days later from his injuries.

Johnson is a senior at Holt High School.

UPDATE from the Lansing State Journal, April 28, 2011:

 

MASON — Three college students who hosted a party in January where alcohol was served to the teen responsible for a fatal crash that killed three other teens pleaded guilty today to misdemeanor charges.

The three are: Michael Freund, Jordan Henika and Charles King III. All pleaded guilty to conspiracy to contribute to the delinquency of minors.

Each initially faced five felony charges. Those were dropped as part of a plea agreement.
Freund, Henika and King each now face up to one year in jail and $1,000 in fines. They will be sentenced May 26 in 55th District Court.

Brett Johnson, 17, pleaded guilty Wednesday to drinking at the party at the trio’s Meridian Township apartment and crashing his car into a tree, killing two Holt High School seniors and a Holt High School graduate. Johnson also is a senior at Holt High School. He faces up to 15 years in prison. Killed in the crash were Holt High School senior Holly Bossenbery, 17, and Holt High School graduate Taylyr Cochran, 18. Anthony Harris, 17, a Holt senior, died three days later from his injuries.