the paucity of nope

Last night the kids and I walked down to Brennan's school where we played some basketball, swung on the monkey bars, and I got called "daddy" by some random little girl who was convinced I was her father (she almost convinced Brennan too...he gave me that "you're not, right?" look). Before leaving the house and walking the 4 decently long blocks down to the school, Zoe and I had an altercation--she wanted to ride her bike down to the school, but I knew it would turn into me carrying said bike, so I said nope. She began to get really cute and sad, so I relented--with the condition that she ride it the whole time, and that I would not help out if she got tired (which inevitably happens every bike ride, about 45 seconds after it begins). She agreed, stopped crying, and away we all went.

45 seconds later

Zoe: I'm tired.
Me: Sweetheart, you know the deal.
Zoe: But I'm sweating.
Me: Sweat is good for you, and you know the deal.
Zoe: But now my knees hurt.
Me: Mine too. You'll get used to it.

We finally arrived at the school 10 minutes later and had some good fun. I smiled awkwardly at the young girl's mother as she called me "daddy." The mother failed to correct her or giggle. She just looked at her, then looked at me. I smiled, and she just kept looking at me. I felt like I should introduce myself, or give her my business card. I really didn't know what to do. Brennan got the concerned look on his face, so I assured him that I only have three kids. I didn't go into great detail of how I can guarantee there is zero chance I have additional children, but I didn't need to, he believed me. When it was time to go, we began the trek home, with Zoe and Brennan jumping on their respective bikes.

45 seconds later

Zoe: I'm tired.
Me: You know the deal.
Zoe: But I'm sweating real bad.
Me: You are very cute and convincing, but I'm not carrying that Dora bike.
Zoe: My knees are sweaty.
Me: Let me feel. No they're not.
Zoe: But my tummy....
Me: Stop.
Zoe: But I love you.
Me: Good grief.
Zoe: *lip curling*
Me: I'm not carrying your bike for you. Let's go.

We continued along until we reached Prospect which is one of the busiest roads in town. As we approached the street, I told Zoe I'd carry her bike while she held my hand and crossed with me. Brennan was to stay at my side on his bike. There was a sizable break in the traffic, we looked both ways (because that's what you do!) and seized our opportunity. When we reached the sidewalk, Zoe let go of my hand and took off running. Just as she did this, Brennan came zooming up behind her: there was the screeching of tires, the grimace on my face, and the inevitable collision of boy, girl, and bike, all three heaped together on the sidewalk. Both of them started screaming (Brennan because he felt bad, Zoe because she just got mauled). And then it happened. Zoe looked down at her foot and saw blood. True, real, red blood. Just as she was about to start really letting loose, her face softened and she realized what this meant: "he WILL carry the Dora bike now." She began to sob cutely, then looked up at me with those big blue eyes, and began:

Zoe: I'm bleeding daddy. I can't walk.
Me: Oh, you're right, that looks like a bad owie.
Zoe: *through sobs* Hold me Daddy! Hold me! Hug me!
Me: Ok...but only because you're...oh forget it, come here.
Zoe: *on my shoulders, running her fingers through my hair* thank you daddy, I needed you.
Me: I need you too sweet girl.
Zoe: *with thumb in mouth* I love you daddy.
Me: I love you too.

Twinkle twinkle little Zo.
How I wonder where you'll go.
Over land and through the sky.
With a twinkle in your eye.
Twinkle twinkle little Zo.
I love to watch you grow and grow.

And when the twinkle doesn't get you what you want, a scraped shin and a tire mark across your thigh certainly will.

insufficient testicular fortitude

I usually try to limit my accounts to those which I witness first hand, but today's little episode was way too good to pass up. It's Saturday, which in our house is preceded in sacredness only by Sunday (although I must admit, occasionally the order is reversed). When I have extra work I typically get up really early or stay up very late during the week in order to avoid weekend absence from Lori and the kids. However, with a looming * publisher's deadline and a fast approaching family road trip to DC, today's visit to the library was unavoidable. I had been gone about 5 hours when Lori called and said that Brennan was wrapping up a headstrong tantrum after being frustrated with his inability to find a very specific Lego guy. Even after he found it, he was difficult to console and ended up taking apart all of the Lego creations he had laboriously put together during the afternoon. Then he said something about "never getting any attention around here because of Zoe and Ava" and took off for his room "to get some socks for my hands so I can put my hands through the window."

About a year ago Brennan was sliding across our living room floor and slid a bit too far, going hands first through a window. The result was a tremendous amount of blood and 27 stitches which left a very noticeable u shaped scar on the outside of his left wrist. As you might imagine the experience was traumatic for everyone, and Brennan was babied for several days, ate way too much ice cream and a was offered a regrettable foray through the aisles of Toys R' Us where he exploited my intense sympathy for children in pain.

Brennan occasionally employs these little techniques; and whether or not he is expressing a real concern, we tend to ignore him until he settles down and can talk rationally. If the concern is real, we tend to have a pretty good conversation when things simmer. If the concern isn't real, when it's brought up later Brennan giggles and admits he was "just mad." So, Lori ignored the sadistic threat of bloodied socks and gave him some time to calm down upstairs. After about 5 minutes she went up and asked if he was ready to head downstairs to rebuild the Lego city he had decimated. He responded affirmatively, but said he would "need to put his hands through the window first...then Daddy will just have to meet us at the hospital." (that was real emotion, after all, I was not honoring our day and he needed to play). Lori responded that this was one way to make that happen, but "daddy will be home soon, so let's just wait." Brennan followed her downstairs with socks on his hands...stood in front of the window...moved the curtain to one side...moved Ava's baby toys away from the spot where his blood would fall...then proceeded to punch the window...with about the same force I just used to press the space bar with my right thumb. Lori witnessed the whole thing and started dying with laughter as our little Brennan showed his ability to make good on his word, coupled with his inability to do anything too terribly damaging. After being satisfied with his level of expressed obstinacy he stopped...took off the socks...and returned to being the kid we know and love; like he had awakened from a dream, returning to the conscious state where he smiles and shares.

Unfaithfulness to my wife has never been a real option (I cannot imagine sharing that level of intimacy with another person because I happen to find fatal flaws in other people pretty easily; seventeen years of knowing Lori and I'm still looking for a deal breaker) however, there have been a handful of occasions where the thought crosses my mind, "if she doesn't knock this off, she is going to be sorry. I will walk down to Green Street right now, and I will find a girlfriend." The reality is, even though I may have this thought, and I may even walk to the door with shoes on my feet (and socks on my hands), there is no way this thought will turn into action. My threat of a "hike on the Appalachian Trail" (which in my case would mean a salacious trip to Brasil, not Argentina) is so far from what I'm capable of, that the mental threat is absurd, laughable even. I have an idea of what consequences follow this disregard of covenants, this misuse of trust, this blatant and raw betrayal. As in the case of Brennan's would-have-been sliced hands, unfaithfulness would do harm to many, but I'd be left with the real scars. This inability to follow through on damaging impulses is a god send. Sometimes I type out email responses to people who have supposedly wronged me. The message is created to restore justice, yet it is never sent. The threat is completely hollow. And I don't necessarily feel better, but for whatever reason I have to prove to myself that "I will do this thing, just watch me," knowing full well that the thing will never be done. Perhaps I am projecting my own experience onto Brennan, but I'd like to think there are pertinent parallels. That these threats which we play out in our head are driven by the same need to take back control of a situation and be in charge. To show that we can inflict more pain than is being inflicted upon us in this moment. I am capable of this thing, just watch me. But to overcome the impulse and weigh out the consequences can be quite liberating and can offer insight into myself and the "offender; " for me, this insight is the silver-lining in painful encounters or uncomfortable conflicts. Christians may call this surrender, or forgiveness; Buddhists would call it vijjā, or knowledge. My friend Sam might call it "insufficient testicular fortitude" (Sam's at Harvard...those of us with average IQs call this "no balls"). Whatever it is I'm glad Brennan didn't go through with it. The first incident with the window produced a wicked cut and more blood than a Sarah Palin moose hunt. As for me, I am sure if I were to ever go for a "hike on the Appalachian Trail" (my new most favorite euphemism), the bloodshed would be about the same.

* this was a shameless attempt to sound like a legitimate writer. Have no fear, the writing is for a college textbook on compensation and benefits.

always look both ways

Happy Fathers Day, Dad. I occasionally get this fatherhood thing right. And when I do, it is in large part due to the fact that I have a wonderful example in you, which is more than many men can say. Thanks for giving me direction and a standard. I love you.

Yesterday I was on the other side of the fairly busy road which runs in front of our house. I was speaking with Mary, our widowed neighbor, about her tree which sustained serious damage during Friday night's storm (and which subsequently almost smashed our Toyota). Brennan and Zoe had followed me out of the house, but I asked them to stay on our side of the road because I would be right back. After spending more time than I (and they) had anticipated speaking with Mary, they made a dash for me and ran--unattended--across the road together. Mary about fainted, and I just stood there dumbstruck, half impressed by the bold crossing, and half mad out of my mind that they would blatantly disobey me and put themselves in harm's way. When they reached me, they had a look of satisfaction on their faces, as if to say, "dude, did you see what we just pulled off! We just crossed that bad boy by ourselves! Woohoo!" I took them by their sweet little hands, bid adieu to Mary (who still looked a little woozy), and walked back across the street and inside the house. After explaining the danger of their decision to them, and mentioning the fact that I had specifically asked them NOT to follow me, I put them in time out where they were to remain until I returned from a quick errand. Brennan said he was sorry over and over again, while Zoe just screamed (Brennan upset with the fact that "Gryffindor had lost points," Zoe just upset she got in trouble). During my errand, I thought about the kids' behavior, my response, and decisions in general. The thing about their crossing is this--they had done EVERY thing I have ever taught them about roads. They approached the road cautisously, looked both ways twice making sure no cars were within 2 blocks, and then SPRINTED across the road. We have done this together multiple times. The thought of them getting struck by a car as they ran excitedly towards me was nauseating; but I couldn't help but take some of the responsibility. Something inefficient had occurred in my teaching. Something I did or said sent the signal that crossing the road by themselves was ok. Surely such slips occur in other areas of parental instruction as well; confidently teaching a principle only to see it be applied erroneously. Of course I cannot ensure (or expect) that all lessons will be received as I intend. And even when the intended message is accurately communicated, and thoroughly received, I cannot force them to behave accordingly. Even with the potential for error, I will have to allow them to practice what I have taught, by themselves. They will cross the road alone. They will continue walking. They will walk into situations far more precarious than passersby. And when they find themselves in those situations, all I can do is hope that the lessons they have learned (from Lori and me, and others) will be remembered, and that they will always, always, remember to look both ways.

no trouble, mister

My son certainly doesn't get his healthy respect for authority from me. I'm the guy who got an internal suspension in high school for telling my chemistry teacher he needed a "shot of masculinity" (in my defense, he had just told me I needed a "shot of maturity"...we were probably both right). Today at the public pool Brennan was alerted to the new rule which bans outside food and drink (fascists). When Lori (my wife) tried to get Brennan to eat a homemade PBJ he refused, citing the new rule. When she explained that some rules are meant to be broken (I love my wife) he continued to resist. Finally he relented, but only after Lori helped him devise a plan whereby he could hide his contraband under a towel, eating his sandwich in covert anonymity, out of the glaring eye of "he who whistles." He peaked out from underneath his protective shield only occasionally to ensure the lifeguard wasn't on to his deviant behavior. Later in the day as we were walking out to the car from the mall I was trying to convince Zoe that if she ran into a certain spot on the wall, which I promised was Platform 9 3/4, we could take the Hogwarts Express home. When both kids refused to play into my fantasy, I ran into the "platform" myself, only to be rejected with a swift thud. I responded that we would now just have to take the flying car home, even though it was strictly against the code to do so in front of Muggles. Brennan pondered our pretend predicament, then responded, "or you could just send an owl and explain the situation. That way we don't get in trouble and risk losing points for Gryffindor." When we finally did get to the car (which at this point was not a flying car...good grief) I pulled into a handicap spot momentarily as we waited for Lori. I looked in the rear view mirror to catch Brennan's reaction, and like clockwork he got that look of concern on his face and let me know that "it is against the law to park in a wheelicap space." I was about to turn around and explain again the little deal about breaking rules, but my plan was thwarted by the mall cop who was sitting there, smiling, waving me to move along and leave the wheelicap space for someone else...who was wheelicapped. I pulled away, and looked once again in the rear view mirror to find Brennan smiling smugly, satisfied that this mall cop had validated his day of obedience and proved to his dad that just because you're brave enough to make fun of your chemistry teacher in high school, doesn't mean all authority can be disregarded. Touche. Today I was outcooled by a mall cop, but tomorrow I'll teach Brennan all about BitTorrent...

they love him

I watched as my kids played on Sunday with their uncle; my 18 year old little brother who just finished up high school. They love him. He is attentive and sensitive. He is attuned to the minutia of their budding personalities. Brennan (our 6 year old) created a game called basket football which consists of throwing a football into the basketball hoop (slightly more difficult than it sounds—particularly the rebounding); my little brother played with him until they were both exhausted and sweaty (Brennan won, 21-19). Earlier that day as we sat in church, Brennan peacefully put his head on my brother’s shoulder—a sign of unadulterated affection from a little boy who is often too busy to display such physical manifestations of his love. Zoe (our three year old) was playing with magnetic dollies, dressing them up and placing various hairstyles on each doll until she found the perfect combination of hair, shirt, and pants/shorts/capris. My brother’s was her favorite. He found a blonde dolly and enhanced her appearance with the careful placement of magnetic lederhosen and a cat mask. There was an innocence to their creative and expressive play that left me clinging to hope and fearing the future at the same time. I juxtaposed the happy, clear faces of my children with the smiling, pale, drug-enhanced darkness that shone from my sweet brother’s countenance. They don’t have any idea of the thoughts he has, or the means by which he corrals them. They don’t know of his destructive plan to walk down a path from which so many have not returned. I remember him as a child, constantly engaged in a creative and expressive play that charmed his family. When and why did the toy dinosaurs and dress up clothes evolve into pipes and powders? Why didn’t those childhood games lead to harmless (if not obnoxious) teenage games? Should I allow my guilt and hopelessness to be swallowed up by the joy my children experience in the presence of this tender, sensitive, thoughtful, and kind drug addict? Do I abandon my natural tendency to fix even the unfixable and follow the lead of my children—enjoying the moments I have to spend with my little brother? I’m confident in a hope that I can teach them—when that time comes—what happened to their uncle…why he fell in and out of consciousness as they sat playing with him. I will explain why his light was overshadowed by his darkness. I will explain why we have the deified capacity to accept and love those whom we could easily reject and disregard. Until the time for these explanations arrives, I will teach what I can, and continue to love my children. And I will love them for loving my brother. And I will love him. And I will continue to take in the lessons to be learned on these adventures in fathersitting.