Daddyism. A Father's Day Tradition Like No Other.

As another Father’s Day approaches, one muddles over the unfortunate things inflicted on the kids over the years, despite a Dad's best efforts and intentions to do the right thing in the right way. Given the relevant, recent history with a divorce and now a new marriage, I worry if my own issues might have permitted the kids to fall a bit into the cracks.

I should have known things had gone off-kilter when my Father’s Day gift a year or so back was a glass butter dish. A butter dish! Seriously! This kids crack falling thing is not the most celebratory thought right before another Father’s Day. Yet, it is just another part of Daddyism.

Daddyism relies on a heavy concept that, all in all, the kids are relatively resilient. Whatever mistakes and missteps their Dad makes, the mere attempt at doing the right thing as a father seems to prevail. One can only hope.

June 19th, 2011 is my 15th Father’s Day celebration. The number itself means very little except to offer a bench mark in time. It is easy to get caught up in it all, to look back upon experiences and events and feel time as fleeting. Looking forward to events yet to come there are driving lessons and SATs; high school graduations and proms; and, just a handful of remaining family vacations around the corner. All too soon (poof!) they should be off to college where both the fatherly influences and inadequacies shall have a relatively zero mitigated impact (thank goodness). Then, if history predicts anything, it’ll be another ten years before the kids return to perhaps see ‘ol Dad wasn’t/isn’t so bad after all.

The other day, I saw where the Houston Zoo had a rather unique day for Dads planned. Kid’s can name an endangered toad after their Dad and celebrate that splendor. How appropriate and funny and a wonderful illustration of a hidden truth. Somewhere in the layers and layers of parental phobias and decisions and daddy dogma, there is an uplifting calm, not to mention hilarity, in the humanity of Daddyism. I embrace that concept and philosophy, completely.

Daddyism holds perspective power. Most of us don’t truly realize our own kid-dom. We are mostly a product of the chronological listing of stretched stories and half-truths. Our memories change, filter, and reprioritize the important who-ness, what-ness, where-ness, when-ness, why-ness, and how much-ness (as well as, bad ass-ness) of our histories. Much is forgotten in the timelines from diapers to driving. We watch it happen, take a few notes, document it all as best we can, but the minutiae and wonderful details get lost on the shuffle to get to the inevitable what is next in life. Yet, the best part of Daddyism is our front row seat to watch it all unfold so we can, hopefully, talk about it later.

And it does unfold in strange ways. What seems like yesterday, I remember a small, chubby baby barely able comprehend the beauty of a simple fart, yet smiles anyway. Today, we belly laugh as we quickly roll down the windows of the car, knowing full well the profound accomplishment. Now THAT is human progress; an illustration of the overwhelming human experience boiled down into chunks one can more readily digest.

Yes, true Dads laugh. A lot! They harbor no overwhelming sorrow. No obvious fear. They are compassionate, yet strong. There is no status-envy as one would be hard pressed to think of a more cherished position for a man. True Dads love unconditionally. We promote productive, positive possibilities and a propensity for play, purposefully.

Sounds fun, doesn’t it? For those non-Daddyism endorsers, there isn’t a much more compelling argument for or against Daddyism than that. Daddyism doesn’t offer a cure-all to what ails you; quite the opposite, actually. It sells to Dads that front row seat perspective as the days, months, and years parade by offering you rare conclusions or quick fix solutions, but a heck of a lot of enjoyment along the way.

The risk is that, one way or the other, the kids might turn out to be just like you. Not the solace you are looking for, huh?! No harm, no foul. Life is elusive in handing one explanations and directions for happiness, significance, and reason. The Zen in me says, right there, THAT IS Daddyism in and of itself.

Maybe, the only real risk is that one day the kids offer you thanks by naming an endangered toad after you as you bask in the immense capacity of their love. This thought gives me hope. It is better than a butter dish and that there is progress. They are learning, in spite my fatherly falters and many misgivings.

Happy Daddyism and a wonderful Father’s Day to the Dads out there.

Good Morning

Here on the pulse of this new day
You may have the grace to look up and out
And into your sister's eyes, into
Your brother's face, your country
And say simply
Very simply
With hope
Good morning.
- Maya Angelou (at the inauguration for President Bill Clinton)

Last night was a wonderful experience. I sat on the couch, my kids on either side of me, watching history. November 4th, 2008 was a day about a new chapter in American history for all the obvious reasons. But it was also about my kids. It was about us. I am proud to be a part of this change.

Granted, the days ahead are going to be challenging to say the least. The responsibility and mountains to climb are rather daunting. However, I am encouraged by the passion and shear energy from this movement. I learned last night that we can, no will, change for the better.

This morning I have hope for change for the first time in a very, very long time.

Good morning, indeed.

Birthday Drive

This highway rocked of craters and boulders
Has wound around unto a new road.
It is rife and rippling with frustrations and rage.
Yet, the love and the calm of a cruise.

The rearview mirror reveals the many
Lefts and rights and the wrongs.
Only the horizon tempts with a rising sun
If I can stay within the guardrails of sanity.

I hold no regrets. Although, I have heart aches.
I get past them, around them, and through them,
Steering clear of them by looking ahead.
Tunnel vision forward. There’s no more what could have been.

I’ve always identified the family man, me.
I was one before family became true.
I wonder if I should change self-perception,
When they’re half the time not with you.

On this day on the morning commute, alone and quiet,
I wonder if the man I used to be, my younger self,
Could understand the path I have become.
That I no longer follow that map anymore,
That now I navigate my way better without one.

Celebration Man, Where Are You?

For most people the “holidays” don’t truly start until Thanksgiving, but for me October 1st is the turning point toward the wonderful insanity of celebration. Maybe because mathematically speaking it is the last quarter of the year. Maybe there is some truth that I feel this way because the Fall I know and love is finally here and the weather is starting, barely, to shift a bit more seasonal. But the truth is, for me, the holidays start in October because of the birthday celebrations I share with my two kids.

October is birth month in the house of Mud. November holds Thanksgiving, the best holiday of all. December ushers up Christmas and then into the New Year. Everything in between is packed with “other” and “getting ready for” those big days. And it takes Super Hero determination and powers to get through it all.

I’m having a difficult time getting motivated. I lack motivation and haven’t mustered the power to fly headfirst into the melee of festivities. Why? Because the Fall of 2007 was shear hell as my marriage was failing in October, falling in November, and fallen by December.

My last birthday was a blast in ‘07, no doubt, as my ex-wife threw me a party with my favorite band playing in our tree-house like setting off the back deck. Friends danced, drank great wine, and I believe everyone had a great time. Yet, reality and reflection shows it was a great going away party, a bon-voyage to the life I knew and loved. It introduced a whole new era.

I never before understood how people could despise the holidays. And they really do, some people. When I was a kid, I remember conversations from adults stating their profound loathing of the holidays. It caused headaches. It was more work than worth. I could never figure how adults could kvetch over loved ones (near and far), all the food, lights, gifts, pumpkins, trees, champagne, and fun. And the pies. Oh, the pies. All that stuff should make you happy, not grumpy, right?

I always wondered, even as an adult, about the negative people. Until last year.

Now, as I trudge through the calendar in my Treo, contemplating the filled events, driving in traffic, lines of last minute shopping, hordes of bitchy people, and the collective crappy moods I used to easily deflect, my mood is sinking. I wonder if I can do this again. I know I can. I know I will. I know the kids need the positive, not the negative. I know I will come out on the other side of 2008 looking at a rather hopeful, gleaming new 2009. I know. I know.

I just don’t feel that Super Hero feeling of Celebration Man today. October 1st is when I dust off the costume and polish the positive attitude. Today is October 1st and I don’t know where Celebration Man is. Last time I saw him was 2006. And of all the years, we need Celebration Man again.

But, I’m working on it. I am. I am Celebration Man and he’s here somewhere.

Update (10.01.08): It helped to walk in the door after work and being given the first "Birth Month" card. That helped a lot.

A Safe Place

When I get into the house every other Friday, I’m typically not prepared to cook for either me or the kids. The Girlie and I do the weekly shopping on our Saturday morning ritual. So, Fridays tend to be pizza night. Last night was no exception. I still push for the three of us to at least sit down, stare at each other, and for me anyway, try to catch up on the missed week of my children’s lives. Sometimes all I get is a “not much”. Sometimes I get last night.

Between bites of pizza at a quiet moment, The Girlie asked me “Why are we still at war in Iraq? The news showed some little kids that were lost. I don’t like that at all.”

I was briefly taken aback and over chewed my pizza, hiding behind a façade of a smile so I could think about my explanation. I needed to think of comforting fatherly words to ward off the evil world that wormed its way into my daughter’s consciousness. I fished for the words that could blur the edges of an impoverished child or tanks or soldiers or worse.

I will admit, I’ve wanted to see more of what the war is all about on tv. I don’t believe it is good to hide our actions from the American people. We already seem to be a culture of sheep to a certain extent. I believe if we actually could see all the caskets with draped American flags and more of the devastation these leadership decisions have caused, the American public (I’m talking mostly about the Republican conservative folks) might not have been as supportive.

However, in this moment with my kids I was torn and I knew with frightened clarity that events happen every day. This wasn’t just about the war. I was actually a bit relieved she didn’t ask me about the fall of the American financial world, as I’m not sure I could have really explained that to my nine year old. Not sure I could explain it to me right now. But it was immediately apparent there is a new nightmare nearly every day. Nine year olds must ponder these things all the time. Or they blindly choose to ignore it all and go naively playing with their dolls all sugar and spice with everything nice.

If given the choice to rewind those moments for her, I would have gladly hit the double arrowed left button and rerecorded a newer, nicer video over her Memorex. After all, in spite of my personal world-view, I am her father. I’m Daddy. I protect. It is my job more than any other. If a part of this life didn’t depend on the tv as baby-sitter whilst I prepare dinner (and my addiction to big screen football Sunday), the tv would be on the curb.

Yet, the news is the news. It is on tv every night, and despite the lack of a credible reality counter for the Good to balance it all out, it should be a reminder to all of us that life is not fair. There is no escaping the injustices this world forces upon us. Dark things exist around some of the most seemingly normal places looking all rainbows and ribbons.

And that clue is what The Girlie wanted to know. She is a smart girl and getting more grown up all the time. She simply wanted a version of the truth she could stomach.

So, without going into my politics I tried to explain the basics of the war in Iraq to a nine year old girl; how it started, why we are still there, and my hopes that we end it soon.

I watched her think. I was apprehensive. I’d given her too much to chew on, politically speaking. Her face scruntched up with cute, little thought lines above her eyebrows, “If Obama wins the election will he get us out of the war?”

That’s my girl, I thought as I took a swig of beer to down my bite of pizza. “I hope so,” I stated.

And that was that.

I sort of wish the conversation had turned back to the scary things. I know she sees a lot of it anyway. There are other kids that go to school with her where the parents have restraining orders. She knows kids from abuse. Hell, she knows life can go pretty quickly from an assumed happy family of four to a divorce and alternating parents every other week. She knows.

After dinner, I cuddled up with both kids for a rousing round of Rock Band on the PlayStation. And I wondered if my heart could slow down a bit and keep time with the drum beats coming at me on the screen. I think it is important for us all to laugh.

That is my counter. That is what I, as dad, do. Teach, warn, prepare, love, encourage, and provide that one and only safe place. Home.

Blogbutt Afternoon

Sometimes you have to pull down your pants and slide on the ice -- Sidney (M.A.S.H.)

Ok. I apologize. I have a confession to make. And I know that what I am about to reveal may lose me one or two of my three readers, but it has to be shared. I think this is the funniest song I've ever heard.

Kimya Dawson just released a song called Alphabutt. The kids and I laughed so hard we fell on the floor. Then listened to it again. And again. This will easily be number one with a shot on my son's iPod.

This simply must be shared to the masses. So … blog, do your stuff. Spread the word.

Go.

..........

Ok, sit.

Stay.

Good, blog.

Kids of Tomorrow ... I Hope

I get comfortable, no doubt. I like my daily routine. But, then time does this all of a sudden thing and takes on jet propulsion and I’m suddenly transported into a new dawn. I like that, actually. I’m not afraid of change. I endorse change. However, there is always a period of adjustment and that can be both enlightening and frightening.

I watch my parents struggle with changing technology. I don't want to be them. I fear that frustration. So, I keep up with the now. Constantly. I think. I hope.

This is a simple concept really. And I’m sure to be slapped upside the forehead like the V-8 commercials, but this time thing continues to escape me and I hate the catch up mode. I’m not at the forefront, obviously. But it occurs to me, and illustrated rather simply, that by the time one finishes high school there is a completely different world out there.

My example ... I was talking today with a recent high school graduate who is a month away from embarking on his freshman year of college. He is the son of a co-worker and I’ve been asked to provide him with enough work to keep him busy through mid-September. In other words, I’m providing busy work so that he has some college spending money (aka, beer money). I relish that idea. He is my data base flunke and learning a whole new computer system in just a few weeks.

However, in our daily conversations it has occurred to me that today’s high school seniors were born prior to the internet. Now they master it. How mainstream has the internet and email become in our lives now? Come to think of it, wireless technology didn’t even exist when he was born. And I’m not sure I could deal with being chained to an outlet with my laptop at all. Cell phones, then, looked like walkie-talkies because they weren’t of the digital variety yet. Now, I can hold the world in my pocket.

Consider all the political changes since 1991 (which was yesterday, am I right?). Music was just becoming mainstream on CDs and leaving vinyl in the dust heap. Now we have MP3s. HD tvs on flat screen have just come about in the last quarter of their lives. Etcetera, etcetera, etc. And I think things are gaining speed exponentially, not just in a nice upward bar chart curve in a power-point presentation (and when are those going away?).

My point is meant to be simple, actually. None of us live in the world in which we were born. I’m not saying run out and endorse the 8-Track and Beta Video tapes of today. But, we shouldn’t raise our kids to think in the now. Technology is getting faster, again exponentially in form. They need to be educated in critical thinking. Math is good. That, thank goodness, is still a constant (for now). Music, or the arts in general, is essential. Creative thinking is today’s martial arts.

The concepts of tomorrow are no doubt complex. If, as a parent, I wait for the schools to catch up, it simply is not the education they require to succeed. So … I encourage to obtuse. Think differently. Artistically. Encourage the out of the box. Because. If I parent for today’s world, they might not be prepared for tomorrow.

Childhood Revisited

My kids reminded me this evening it is our last night together until early August. They are leaving to go join my folks at my childhood safe place, a lake in the northern Midwest. This year I have too much going on to join them for part of it. Actually, because of Europe, I just don’t have the vacation time. But, …

My kids get to live my childhood for a bit, the childhood as far back as I can remember.

The Girlie will collect colorful, unique rocks harvested from the Big Lake near by and lovingly house them in empty Quaker Oatmeal containers with a paper towel between each layer. She will collect Queen Anne’s lace, dandelions, and young ferns from the shadow in the woods. She’ll put them in a large Mason jar and present them to my mom with that beaming, prideful smile.

The Boy will spend hours rowing around in the cool, clear water. I taught him to fish a few years ago. Maybe this is the year he will develop the nerve to touch the fish and remove it from the hook on his own. He is an explorer now. And the lake will provide countless hours of solitary entertainment.

They’ll eat outside on the picnic table in the shade and have fresh white corn and bbq’d steaks that my dad expertly prepares. My mom will make her pea and peanut salad. There will be lemonade, cheap beer, and even cheaper wine. They will eat in their slightly damp swim suits and sit on their drying towels. They will play board games at night with the windows wide open and the bugs bouncing off the screens. Through the glass in the front door, they’ll watch a spider make a nearly perfect web just underneath the overhang by the porch light. They’ll walk up to the small grocery store for candy and random errands from my folks. If they catch the right week, there will be renters with other new friends staying in the cottages near by. Bonfires. ‘Smores. Ghost stories. Jokes. Romance. Crushes. Silence.

The lake water holds my sanity. It is my safe place. Maybe it is the way it regularly captures a calm in the late evening to go with a mango sunset. Or, the way on a windy day the water matches the clouds in the sky and treats me to a marching rhythm of white caps that play a beat on the shore like a metronome. It is where I go at night when I’m far away and can’t sleep.

I’m going to miss my Lake. Not too much, though, because my kids will bring back two weeks worth of stories. Not having them be there would be worse because home and family need to continue on even if I can’t physically be there this year. There is a wonderful sense of balance knowing that some traditions are kept safe.

It comforts me to know that my Lake is still alive for my kids. They will bring fresh breath and a stronger heart home to me when they return.