September 2009 - Posts

• Hey! Enough With The Hitler References, You Crackpots!

  Nobody likes Hitler. Ok, I know there are a few psycho nut jobs out there who like Hitler, but I’m not talking about them.  No, for the most part, nobody likes Hitler.  But man oh man do people like bringing him up to make inappropriate and inaccurate comparisons.  I’m sure everyone has seen the protests with people holding Obama posters with the little moustache drawn on them (that’s the thing about Adolf.  When you’ve got a distinctive goofy little moustache it’s easy to make anyone look like Hitler). If you haven’t seen this, just do a google search for “Obama Hitler” and look under images.  There are thousands of variations.  I was going to post a link to some of them, but I got really disturbed by the websites they were on.  There are some truly nutso people out there and it looks like they’ve learned how to use HTML. I’d seen all that nonsense, but I hadn’t really given it much thought.  There will always be crazy people and every once in a while one of them will get a job in TV or radio, but in general it’s easy to ignore the crazies.  It becomes a little more difficult when the crazy starts cropping up a little closer to home. This weekend a facebook friend posted something along the lines of “Is this what it felt like for Germans as their country was brainwashed and taken over by Hitler?” Wow. That’s someone I know – not well, mind you, but still. I thought long and hard about responding and adding a small shred of sanity to the handful of people who had posted their agreements.  I was planning to add something very calm and rational like: “Are you honestly comparing an administration that is working to ensure that everyone can go see a doctor when they are sick to a government that attempted to take over the world and eradicate several groups of people from the face of the planet?” Something like that.  You know, insightful, well reasoned and respectful.  I absolutely would not have responded with a comment like, “Gosh, if you were to ask which party was most likely to invade other countries and not think too highly of Jews and homosexuals, I don’t really think that would be the Democrats” (Clearly a jab at the Greens) But I didn’t write anything like that.  That would have been tacky and counterproductive and generally (and here’s my point) not the least bit accurate. But the whole thing did make me start to think, what is it with the whole Hitler comparison?  He is generally regarded as possibly the most evil person to ever live and yet he is casually tossed around as a political weapon. And the Republicans are not alone in this endeavor.  A quick google search for “Bush Hitler” also brings up tons of hits (although, oddly, there are many more hits for Obama who has been in office 1/16 as long as Bush). The thing that truly amuses me is that some of the exact same posters are used for both individuals.  For instance, check out these NSFW pictures.    Were they made by the same people?  Is there some crazy “Hitler = (insert politician here)” company that will make offensive protest signs for whatever group isn’t in power at the moment? Here’s the problem. First of all, these comparisons are grossly unfair and insanely inaccurate. Hitler had over 10 million people killed and he attempted to, quite literally take over the whole world – something that used to be a fairly common fixation a couple thousand years ago, but that is generally frowned upon in the present. It is inconceivable that we have had or would ever have an American president who could warrant comparison to this man.  (Maybe Rutherford B. Hayes, but that’s it!) And certainly not our last two presidents.  I understand that there is a lot of animosity against Bush and against Obama based on their political stances, but the most outrageous, partisan action that either one has engaged in doesn’t even come close to rivaling some of the most mundane things done by Hitler. It’s absurd. I once read that Bill Cosby made it a point to not curse in his comedy.  He felt like it was cheating – that if you had to curse to get the laugh, then you hadn’t really earned it.  It was lazy. Comedic stylings aside, I feel the same way about these Hitler references.  It is a reference born out of laziness and ignorance.  When people (who, let’s be honest,  just aren’t that smart) get upset about something, they frantically search around for the most outrageous comparison they can in a desperate attempt to make their point of view seem more significant or righteous. Sure, it’s one thing to hold a rational debate about whether health care reform will place an undue burden on private insurance providers, but if one of the sides is promoting Socialism – LIKE HITLER! – then there really is no debate.  How do you argue with that?  Nobody likes Hitler. (Ok, again, I realize that some people do like Hitler, but we’re not talking about them) Or, it’s one thing to discuss whether the country’s motivations for invading Iraq were clearly couched in a fear of WMDs or were actually an extension of a utopian desire to rebuild a difficult region, but if one of those sides just wants to invade countries – LIKE HITLER!  Then there really is no debate. The “like Hitler” side always loses. Except they don’t. The people making Hitler comparisons tend to come across as a fairly accurate reflection of their true selves – simple minded, hyperbolic morons who can’t calm down long enough to realize that what they are suggesting is both illogical and highly offensive. That’s right, offensive. Perhaps this point doesn’t need reinforcing, but when you ascribe actions that in no way reflect the evils Hitler perpetrated as “like Hitler,” it diminishes the truly horrific actions that Hitler committed. When we equate seeking universal health care to a desire to oppress an entire nation and indeed the world, it diminishes that evil. When we equate the interrogation techniques used at Guantanamo to the horrible and ghastly experiments and murders enacted upon individuals in concentration camps, it diminishes that evil. Until we have a politician who truly tries to take away all of our rights as citizens, begins rounding up people by the millions with plans to exterminate them and attempts to overtake every other nation on this planet, then I think it is unwise, unfair and an expression of the lowest level of intelligence to compare our leaders to those of the Nazis.  This applies to those on the left and the right, and anyone in between who would rather embrace lazy political expedience over an honest and reasoned dialogue. I don’t know if this is an accurate assessment to make, but if you do a search for “Clinton Hitler” or “Reagan Hitler” you have but a tiny percent of the hits that you have when you search for references to Hitler and Bush or Hitler and Obama. Now, it may just be that with the ubiquity of the household computer it is easier to cut and paste a Hitler moustache on to our national leaders than it was in the 80s or 90s, but I am afraid it is indicative of something more disturbing. I am sure every generation has thought that their political dialogue was more fractious, mean spirited and less informed than the previous, but it doesn’t take much research to pull up some pretty crazy things that were said in the Jefferson / Adams election.  They claimed Adams was a hermaphrodite and that Jefferson was the son of a “half-breed Indian and a … mulatto.”  (Oh, the irony). So, I am not one to jump on the “what has become of us” bandwagon.  But it does make me worry that the political discourse in our nation has gotten so simplistic and mean.  Throwing around Hitler references is the act of someone who is deeply angry, but too stupid to understand the details of what they are angry about. (That’s right…. I said “stupid”) I don’t know how you progress to a reasoned dialogue about a complicated and politically difficult issue when the country is mired in name calling that encourages the most heated emotions while simultaneously suppressing the most simplistic logic. People’s minds are made up without the benefit of any actual facts to support their decision and unfortunately, this anger and illogical certainty and unwillingness to even listen to any opposing thoughts exists on both sides of these issues. We need to make difficult decisions about health care and the war in Afghanistan and the relocation of prisoners from Guantanamo and our crippling debt and a hundred other issues and none of these problems has the least bit to do with 1940s Germany. Do you know how I know? Because, despite what anyone says, the fact that people are marching in the street with Obama Hitler signs and that those people have not been rounded up and removed is a pretty clear sign that we are nothing like and never will be anything like Hitler’s Germany.  The fact that congress and our nation are embroiled in a fierce, often mean spirited debate is a pretty good indication that we are in no danger of becoming a totalitarian regime. We reach political decisions by electing officials who argue and debate with one another.  As the public, we march and protest and write letters all in an effort to persuade them one way or the other. Occasionally, we get a little overzealous and say and do things that are unhelpful and even offensive. But the very fact that this debate exists and that people are allowed to make as big an ass out of themselves as they like in an effort to draw attention to themselves and promote their position (no matter how well reasoned or ill informed) is a sure sign that our distinctly American system of democracy is healthy and robust. Would we all be better off without looney tunes of all political stripes waving around offensive signs? Probably. But if it takes a little drawn on moustache to remind us that our freedoms of speech and political discourse remain vibrant and active, then perhaps that’s not such a bad thing. Ok, it is a really bad thing. But it reminds me of what not to be like. I can easily get caught up in the moral certainty that comes with my political positions (especially since I’m right!) and it is helpful and necessary to remember that there are other valuable and occasionally accurate opinions out there that I need to listen to.  Listening and sincerely considering one’s political opponents is the very essence of democracy. Demonizing and turning a deaf ear to one’s opponents is the very essence of demagoguery. Which means that those individuals throwing Hitler’s name around are really the ones most like Hitler.   Posted Sep 29 2009, 07:52 AM by superdad with no comments Filed under: Politics, Better off Dad, stupidity [Edit Tags]

• Killer, Diller, Chiller, Thriller Step Ball Change

  So, let me ask you: Do you like to Dance? Do you miss the 80s? Have you been mourning the passing of the King of Pop? Have you ever wanted to break a Guinness World Record? Are you a fan of the undead? If you answered yes to any of those questions, then I know what you should be doing on October 24th. If you answered yes to ALL of those questions, then I am about to rock your world so hard. On October 24th, hundreds of thousands of people from around the world will be gathering to break the world record for most people to simultaneously re-create the dance to Michael Jackson’s Thriller. That’s right.  You can be cosmically connected to people in China, Australia, Switzerland and Alabama as the largest number of people ever in the history of the world begin dancing like Zombies. Now, you may be thinking: “Why would I want to do that?” But let me ask you this:  “Why WOULDN”T you want to do that?” I mean, look at your calendar right now!  Do you have anything planned for the 24th that will be more awesome than doing the thriller dance with a million other people around the world? I think not. Seriously, I want you to think about Monday, October 26 when you head back to work, or to your kids preschool or to the bar you hang out in (whatever).  Everyone is standing around the water cooler (do they still have water coolers?....... Did they ever actually have water coolers?)  And Bob says, “So, what did you do last weekend?”  And Tim says, “Well, I watched some football on TV and raked leaves” and Melissa says, “I did some shopping and saw the new Renee Zellwegger movie which really sucked.”  And crazy Tim says, “I drove to the Hershey museum and stalked the Miss Kit-Kat bar” And then you…… boring old you, who never has anything exciting to offer says: “Well, I broke a Guinness World Record for participating in the largest simultaneous dance of Michael Jackson’s Thriller.” SCORE! Ok, so now that I’ve got you excited let me tell you all about it.  Apparently some Canadian dance teacher with a fair amount of free time started this event a few years ago and with the passing of the years and the passing of MJ, it has grown into a worldwide phenomenon.  As of this moment, there are 37 countries participating – from every continent except that one that people don’t live on (and heck, for all I know, the weirdoes at that polar research center might be doing it too!) To give you some sense of the scope, China has 9 different sites, England has 18, Peru has 1 (honestly, how many did you think they’d have?) and there are countries participating that I’ve never even heard of, such as Surinam. Seriously, I have no idea what that is.  It could be an island.  It could be one of those little Asian or African countries that we Americans never learn about.  It could be one of those new Eastern European countries that are always being created every few months. I have no idea (turns out, it’s in South America near all the Guyanas.  I’ve got to tell you, I really didn’t see that one coming.) So, you get the idea… This is big. In fact, in the USA alone (because, we are the most awesome zombie dance country ever) we have over …. No, I don’t want to tell you yet. Take a guess.  How many?  How many cities in the good old God Bless these United States do you think will be fighting for their lives inside a killer, thriller tonight? (er… next month) One hundred and ninety-seven! That’s right!  197 different cities will be forming groups to perform the Thriller dance at exactly the same time on the 24th.  That means that no matter where you live, there is a Thriller dance near you (unless you live somewhere lame like North Dakota or Mississippi.) Heck!  Montana has 4 locations!  Alaska has 2!  And California has a mind blowing 22! Awesome! http://www.thrilltheworld.com/events/info/thrill_the_world_2009/official_events “But wait,” you say, “I don’t know the Thriller dance.” Well, don’t you worry your pretty little head about that. I was one of 7 children who grew up in the 80s without cable.  We didn’t have MTV and to this day, I still haven’t seen any of those seminal videos.  I know everyone was all worked up about Madonna doing something in “Like a Prayer” but I don’t know what it was.  I assume it had something to do with someone being LIKE a prayer, but not actually BEING a prayer.  (Maybe she should have used a metaphor instead of a simile.) Sure, I’ve seen brief clips of these things when they were referenced on the evening news about various obscenity trials or something, but I’ve never seen any of the whole videos. So, I’ve never seen Cyndi Lauper wanting to have fun.  I’ve never understood precisely why Cher was straddling that gun on that battleship or why the aliens had forced her to wear that outfit (I assume it involved aliens, right?) Heck, I’ve never even know what the Men at Work were actually working on.  (Maybe a roads project to Melbourne?  Or possibly they were selling vegemite to bread shop owners in Brussels?  I’ve never known). And, believe it or not, I’ve never seen the whole Thriller video.  I just know it has something to do with Zombies and a red Members Only jacket.  (Is that the one where he’s hopping turnstiles at the subway?  That would make sense, since Zombies probably don’t bother to use a smartcard.) So, if I’m not deterred, why should you be?  And luckily there are lots of ways to learn the dance. In the DC region they are having 6 different rehearsal opportunities a week in different locations.  On top of that, the Thrill the World website has 40 different instructional videos where they break the dance down into bite-size segments to teach it to you. They use the “Kinesthetic Linguistic Method” (which I am almost positive they made up) to teach the dance.  This means that while Michael Jackson is singing: “It’s a Thriller!  Thriller night!” You are thinking to yourself: “Walk, walk, roar, turn.  Booty bounce, booty bounce.  Shake it uppa, Shake it uppa.  Turn, look, stare, stare.” What could be easier? For instance this looks complicated, right? [View:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n4t-926LTok&feature=player_embedded#t=36] But look how our friendly Canadian dance instructor breaks it down for us.  [View:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kk4Lz_H2ypU&feature=player_embedded#t=24] (Editors note:  Americans should be careful while attempting the “roar turn, roar turn” with the same level of ferocity as our Canadian instructor.  Remember, she has universal health care and can afford to blow out her knee.) So, what do you have to worry about?  A few hours in front of your computer or a few hours down at one of the many practice events and you will be all ready to Thrill the World! My daughter has the day off from school (Thank you Jewish friends!) and I can think of no better way to spend it than the two of us learning the Thriller dance in preparation for Thrill the World next month. I invite all of you who are not spending the day atoning to do the same thing. Don’t you bet that your children will always remember the day they went downtown, across from the White House, and broke a world record dancing to Thriller? I’m sure Audra will be the envy of all of her friends. “Wow, Audra,” they’ll say, “Your Dad is so cool.” And she’ll turn and say, “Yeah, I know.” and then launch into the “roar turn, roar turn, turn, look stare, stare” just to give all her friend a taste of what they missed. These are truly the moments father daughter bonding was invented for.  If you do decide to do this with your family, just don’t let your kids read the lyrics.  They’re kind of creepy.  Who knew? See you on the 24th! Posted Sep 28 2009, 06:33 AM by superdad with no comments Filed under: Audra, Better off Dad, Michael Jackson, dance, thriller [Edit Tags]

• Adopting Miss Kenzie

  I wasn’t quite sure we were ready. I knew after our beloved Golden Retriever, Minnie, passed away from pancreatic cancer last January that I didn’t want to go right out and get another dog.  I knew that at some point we would bring another dog into our life, but I just wasn’t sure when. We needed some time. But, after seven months or so, I found that I was occasionally looking at websites of dogs available at the local pound and began hungrily eyeing families walking their dog in the same way people trying to get pregnant notice every baby around them. I knew it was time to maybe start thinking about it again, but I still didn’t know when we might take the plunge. Then our daughter Audra began to involve herself in the mix. “Hey Dad, can I get a cat for my birthday?” “No.  I’m allergic” “If you weren’t allergic could I get a cat?” “No, because your mom doesn’t like cats.  They freak her out when they leap on to the couch behind you without warning.” “How about a hamster?  Can I have a hamster?” “No, they smell bad when you don’t clean the cage.” “But I would clean the cage.” “No you wouldn’t.” “Well, how about a bird.  Can I have a bird?” “No, birds make your mother crazy.” “Well what about a dog?  We all love dogs!” (pause) From there on, it was sort of a nonstop deluge.  She had decided that the theme of her birthday party for this year was going to be dogs, because: “I love dogs.  I really love all animals, but especially dogs, and so this party will be all about how much I love dogs and will help us remember when Minnie died and maybe we’ll even get a new dog.” I think our daughter instinctively knew, however, that I wasn’t necessarily the one who needed to be convinced.  One night at bedtime, while Sarah was tucking her into bed, she said: “Mommy, wouldn’t it be awesome if one of the presents at my dog birthday party was actually a dog?” Uh huh. So, one night while Sarah and I were sitting around talking about what birthday gifts to get for our daughter, I casually mentioned: “You know what would be a really perfect gift for Audra on her birthday…. a dog.” Sarah looked at me and sighed.  She knew this was coming. She’s not stupid.  It was the kind of sigh that said, “Yes, yes I know.  I’m surprised it took you so long to ask.” So, with permission granted and sufficient warnings given about finding the “perfect dog” and not just finding a dog quickly, I set off to find a new family pet. This is not an easy process.  We were seeking an adult dog.  I think it would be great to have a puppy sometime, but not now.  Oh, sweet Lord in heaven not now.  I desperately want to add a dog to our family, but I already have one creature in the house that isn’t potty trained and he at least wears diapers.  I really don’t need to have a second one.  And besides, with three young children, having a dog that is out of its rambunctious, chew everything puppy stage would be a definite asset. So we started searching.  We checked with local pounds and shelters, we called breeders to see if they had any adult dogs they were retiring, we looked for ads in papers and craigslist. The one thing we didn’t do was apply to a rescue. The rescues around here can be, well, a little crazy. About 6 years ago we applied to a rescue.  I thought we were perfect, we had one small child and I was a stay at home dad, so I would be around to give the dog lots of attention.  In addition, we had recently fenced in our backyard so our dog would have a safe place to run and play. But we got rejected. Apparently, the lengthy application we filled out had asked the question “Would you ever leave the dog outside unsupervised?” And I wrote a seemingly innocuous answer that was something like. “Well, we have a fenced in yard, so if I was running to the grocery store, I would probably let the dog play in the fenced in yard instead of being cooped up inside.”  Because, you know, it’s a dog. This was not an acceptable answer.  I received a letter that stated that we were not a suitable family because dogs should never be left outside without adult supervision, because neighborhood kids might throw rocks at the dog, or the dog might hurt itself  or (I swear I’m not making this up), “occasionally dogs have been kidnapped and made into coats.” Yes, that’s right.  We were rejected because somebody thought 101 Dalmatians was a documentary. A cartoon documentary. Anyway, we didn’t bother with any rescues.  But I did email a number of people all in search of finding the perfect dog.  And out of that morass of emails, one candidate quickly rose to the top. A small red golden retriever named McKenzie. At the time, McKenzie was living with Ann, a lady who had taken her in from a family that just couldn’t keep her anymore and she was searching for a good home for McKenzie. From the first time I saw McKenzie’s picture, I was pretty sure we could be that home. McKenzie was 4 years old, about 55 pounds, housebroken, friendly with kids and in desperate need of a yard to run in and a family to love her. We had all of those things.  So, I began an email correspondence with McKenzie’s foster mom and it quickly became clear to both of us that McKenzie would be a perfect fit for our busy, chaotic, but friendly and loving family. McKenzie needed a place where she could receive lots of attention, have room to run and chase balls and be doted on by a family.  And we needed a dog to love, a friend to accompany us on hikes and family trips and someone who could eat all the food that Micah throws on the carpet. So, last Sunday, Ann brought McKenzie to meet us. She was perfect.  She ran and played in the yard.  She came when we called her.  She chased sticks, let the kids smother her with pats and then when she came inside she laid down and just meshed into the living room. We stayed and talked with Ann for a long time.  We traded stories about the dogs in our lives and heard about the hundreds of dogs she had fostered over the years.  We learned about McKenzie’s history and talked about her future.  In the end, there was no doubt that McKenzie would make the perfect dog for our family.  The only one who seemed in doubt was poor McKenzie.  She had grown awfully fond of Ann in their two months together and when Ann left, McKenzie spent the next hour staring out the window waiting for her to come back. We played with her and petted her, but in the end, I knew she probably needed time to mourn.  Eventually, McKenzie left her post by the front door and laid down on the floor next to me, but positioned in such a way that she could still see the front door in case there were any signs of movement. The night wore on, and with each passing hour, McKenzie seemed more and more like our dog.  She eventually gave up her door vigil all together and laid at my feet, happily, waiting to be petted.   When bedtime rolled around she trotted up the stairs behind me without even glancing at the door. She was one of us now. In the last few days, McKenzie has blended into our family as if she had always been a part of it.  The only difficulty has been that Asher seems to have trouble saying her name.  For whatever reason, he doesn’t seem to hear “McKenzie,” so he’s just been calling her Miss Kenzie. I can’t quite say why, but I find this incredibly endearing. So, welcome Miss Kenzie.  We are a bit of a crazy family.  There are always people coming and going and life is rarely full of quiet moments, but we’re a good family, a loving family and now: We’re your family. Posted Sep 24 2009, 06:57 AM by superdad with 1 comment(s) Filed under: Audra, Asher, Better off Dad, Micah, McKenzie [Edit Tags]

• I Am 6 Going on 17

  My daughter, Audra turned 7 last Saturday. But somehow it seemed like less a birthday party for a seven year old, and more a final farewell to childhood. For the weeks (months!) leading up to her birthday, Audra talked nonstop (as usual) about the kind of party she wanted.  She said she wanted a High School Musical party, which is, of couse, all about High Schoolers.  This was fine.  I wasn’t entirely sure what one would do at a High School Musical party.  I suppose we’d have games where the kids tried to smoke in the bathrooms without getting caught (while singing?) and make catty comments about each other and then, I suppose, something about bouncing a basketball and trying to getcha, getcha, getcha head in the game. Plus plates with Zac Efron’s face on them. On top of that, Audra told me that she was growing up and wasn’t into little kid stuff anymore.  This came up as we were walking through Target and I was asking her to show me what kinds of things she might like for her birthday.  As we turned down the princess aisle (which was her favorite aisle as of about 6 weeks ago!) she informed me that she had outgrown princess stuff. What do you mean outgrown princess stuff?  You love princess stuff, you have dresses from all the princesses and love to run around in them singing and talking to woodland creatures and stuff! But there it was - 6 years and 354 days:  outgrown princess stuff. I suppose there are an endless number of events or moments that mark the passing of an era: starting kindergarten, learning to ride a bike, not wanting a happy meal anymore,  a first boyfriend …. But for me, this whole outgrowing princess thing hit pretty hard.  A couple of weeks ago, my tiny daughter loved Princess stuff.  And now, poof, like that, she doesn’t care for it any more.  It’s for little girls. Jimminy Christmas! Relatives and friends started to ask me what Audra wanted for her birthday and I didn’t know what to tell them.  If she didn’t like princesses now, what else had she written off?  Is she done with dolls?  Does she detest Disney?  Is she trading training wheels for training bras? People asked what she wanted and I would just shrug my shoulders:  “I don’t know.  A purse?  Lipstick?  The HPV vaccine?” It was very depressing.  And I just knew it was her friends at school that last year had condemned her for liking Dora and this year were casting out Princesses.  What was next year?  Would Mom and Apple pie be uncool?  How long would it be until I was uncool?  (yes, that does presume that I actually was cool at some point, but work with me).  Would these darn kids and their eternal obsession to act 10 years older than they are cast me by the wayside like one more pale blue Cinderella dress lying muddy in a ditch?  (I’m positive I’m not overreacting here). But then, something happened. I don’t know what exactly, or why, but Audra was looking through the catalog of birthday decorations and she decided that she wanted a “dog” birthday instead. “A dog birthday.  What’s that?” I asked. Apparently a dog birthday means you buy a bunch of plates and napkins and cups and streamers with dogs on them….. ok, I can do that. So I ordered a bunch of tripe and we sent out BOW WOW WOW invitations and I started thinking up fun “dog games” and activities we could play at the party. Oh, I had great ideas.  We all have different gifts and skill sets and I have to tell you, planning little kid birthday parties is one of mine. (It’s a darn shame that my talents don’t lie in, say, stock market manipulation, but I guess you work with what God gives you). Anyway, I had a fantastic three hours of activities planned out for Audra and her friends.  We decorated the house with doggy pictures and streamers, we tied balloons everywhere and got all the games ready. As the kids arrived I had this fun craft set out where they used little beads to make dog shaped plastic little… hell, I don’t know what they were, but they cost less than a buck at Micahels and they looked like fun. Well, Audra was all into these activities along with the first few kids that began to trickle in, but then one of her friends decided it was boring and wanted to know if they could go play. “Uh… ok….,” I said, pretty begrudgingly as I watched two of the kids run off into the yard, leaving Audra sitting at the table working on her project by herself.  After a minute, she looked up at me and asked if she could go play too. “Sure, sweetie,” I said, trying to smile as much as I could.  She might as well have asked if she could have the car keys so she could drive her stuff to her new apartment she was sharing with her unemployed boyfriend “tank.” After all the guests arrived we started to play some of the games I had planned.  Since this was a “doggy” party we played games designed to fit with the theme.  For the first game I passed out small dog bowls to all of the children and then brought out a bag of puppy chow.  In the dog food bag, I had placed a bag of cocoa puffs. (Fun note:  I believe the highlight of the party for my father was the moment when we were in the grocery store and I said, “Dad, I have a job for you:  I need you to find the cereal that most resembles dog food.”) I scooped out some cocoa puffs from the dog food bag into each of the kids’ bowls.  Immediately there were cries of concern and disbelief.  A number of kids wrinkled up their noses as they tried to smell the small kibble-like objects in the bowl before them.  I then told them that everyone needed to place their hands behind their back and to eat the kibble like a dog and whoever finished first would be the winner. A girl on the end looked revolted.  “There is no way I’m going to do that,” she said. I glanced at Audra, what would she do?  But she appeared not to have heard, so I just called out “on your mark, get set, eat!”  And instantly, 11 of the 12 heads plunged into the dog bowls and began crunching, slurping and chewing away. After about a minute I realized that nobody was even close to finishing their bowl and that if I let it go on too much longer, we were very liable to have a rather messy and unattractive ending to this game.  So, I quickly changed tacts and began counting down from 10 and declared a small girl who had inhaled 80% of her cocoa puffs the winner.   Next I brought out a cooler that I had filled with Rice Krispies and unwrapped mini snickers bars.  I handed the kids Ziploc bags explaining that part of owning a dog was picking up after them and that their job was to use the Ziploc bag to remove as many, um, deposits, as they could in 10 seconds. Again, the same girl insisted that she was NOT going to do that.  Again, I looked nervously around and saw Audra fighting to the front of the line yelling “The birthday girl gets to pick up the poop first!” 10 minutes later 11 of the 12 kids were sitting around happily munching on their bags of rice krispy coated poop bars. Next we had a scavenger hunt that had the kids running all over the yard, looking for paw print clues and collecting dog shaped pencils, tattoos, tiny plastic dogs and culminating in the discovery of a dog shaped piñata. Now, let me say, initially, I was thrilled to find a piñata shaped just like a cute dog.  It wasn’t until I tied a rope to the hook at the dog’s neck and hoisted it into the air and gave the children a large stick to beat the dog with, that I began to question the wisdom of this moment. Again, our sullen friend refused to participate, and again every other child pushed and wiggled to be first in line. We did a round of walloping with blindfolds which resulted in a few good whacks, but no real damage.  It wasn’t until we took the blindfolds off that the kids really went to town. They beat the snot out of that poor paper mache dog. Eventually one little girl got a particularly good whack in that managed to decapitate the dog, so we had the bizarrely gruesome sight of a paper doggy head swinging from a rope, its body lying split open on the ground while the children all cheered and danced around it. Good times. Later we had cake and presents and Audra got a toy from her grandparents that allows you to trace princesses so you can draw them yourself. Again, I was nervous, but despite whatever Audra had said, despite whatever her friends had convinced her that she should think, Audra was thrilled.  We set it up that night and she has drawn princess after princess, proclaiming that she wants to mail this one to her grandparents and hang that one on her wall and give this one to her mom.  And while Audra sat, eagerly tracing the princesses she claimed to be done with, and as folded up the dog emblazoned plastic tablecloth and cut down the last paw print shaped balloon, I felt nothing but relief. Relief, partly that we had made it through another birthday without any bodily injuries (not always the case), but mainly that my daughter wasn’t quite as grown up as she seemed to think she was. She might proclaim to be all finished with baby stuff like princesses, but I know that deep in her heart Cinderella is still pretty important.  Our kids are cajoled into growing up so quickly nowadays.  They can hardly enjoy playing with one toy before they are told that it is no longer acceptable to like Dora, or Sleeping Beauty, or Scooby Doo or whatever the cool toy of yesterday was. But it is so reassuring to know that despite what they are told, secretly children still long to play with dolls and dress up as snow white.  And that no matter how much someone might protest, it can he hard to resist the blissful joy of pretending to eat like a dog, the childish attraction to the grossness of poop or the pure wackiness of whacking a piñata. My daughter is growing up faster than I want her to and she always will be,  but I know that as much as she wants to be 17, right now she’s just 7.  And although it can be hard to allow yourself to be seven when surrounded by your peers at school, somehow, when you’re surrounded by your friends leaning over a bowl of cocoa puffs pretending to be a schnauzer, being 7 is the most natural thing in the world. Happy Birthday Audra.  I hope you always stay the age you are, no matter what that age might be. Posted Sep 22 2009, 09:43 AM by superdad with 1 comment(s) Filed under: Audra, Better off Dad, birthday [Edit Tags]

• I’m Gonna Get You Soccer!

  We recently signed my 6 year old daughter, Audra, up for soccer.  I wasn’t exactly sure how it was going to go. Theoretically, it should have gone well.  My wife played soccer in high school and college.  In fact, growing up in her little town in upstate New York, she was the only girl on the soccer team.  I think my wife would say that her natural talent may have been adequate at best,  but she worked hard and that more than made up for it. My wife was a tomboy growing up and when I met her in college, still had short hair and liked to wear button down flannel shirts, which, just so you know, is about the sexiest damn thing I have ever seen.  (what this says about either of us is up for debate) Anyway, I think we both sort of assumed that our daughter (the daughter of an athletic tomboy mom and a wussy stay at home dad) would end up as a sports loving, knee scraping, rough and tumble girl who would end up on the Women’s US soccer team. Instead we got this dainty little thing who likes to dress up in fancy clothes and dance around the living room singing pop tunes. In short, instead of taking after her mother, somehow she took after me. Very disappointing. Anyway, so we have our feather boa loving daughter pulling on cleats and shin guards and taking her tiny 5th percentile self out on to the soccer field now.  I think you can sense our concern. This was further hampered by the fact that Audra seems to have inherited my understanding of the game.  Even after years of watching pro soccer with my wife I still have to ask why certain penalties were called, or why the ref just makes up stoppage time at the end of the game instead of using a clock, and why all of the players stand in a line and put their hands over their private parts during a penalty shot.  (All very peculiar) So, here I am, the ignorant, unathletic father taking my daughter to her soccer game and all I can do is say.  “No matter what happens don’t touch the ball with your hands, unless you’re the goalie in which case you can touch whenever you want, except when you have to kick it after you’ve touched it with your feet if someone from your own team passed it to… oh hell, I don’t know, just don’t touch the ball.” So, Audra trotted out to meet her team and realized that she was the only girl on the team and I walked over to where the parents were standing and realized I was the only boy. Somehow, 20 years of feminism and social progress don’t seem to have changed the world a whole lot from that tiny town my wife grew up in to the little corner of Maryland we now inhabit. Between Audra and I, I don’t know who felt more awkward at this moment, but I’m going to have to go with me.  Because gender was the least of the differences I was experiencing.  The women were sitting around in fold up chairs chatting.  Several of them had little pocket sized dogs they had brought with them. I don’t even have a pocket sized dog. Then a new Mom came over and this conversation occurred, involving everyone, but me: “Oh, you look so good!  Someone got a fabulous tan!” “Well, what can I say, it was nice being in the Carribean.” “Where were you, again?” “St. Martin.” “Oh, I just love St. Martin!  We’ve been to St. Martin and St. Bart’s but I definitely prefer St. Martin.” “The beaches are just lovely there…” So, anyway, having never been to St. Martin, or St. Bart’s, or heck, even to a New Orlean Saint’s football game, I felt a bit out of place.  But the practice went well and Audra’s coaches seemed nice. I was particularly pleased with the coaches, because I had heard a couple of horror stories.  Sports around us can be a big deal and it seemed like the competition aspect was starting younger and younger.  When I was a kid I played T-ball (extremely poorly) up through about 4th grade.  Here, they switch to slow pitch around age 5.  Now, I, personally, had a great deal of difficulty hitting the ball when it was sitting stationary on a pole.  I can’t imagine that I ever would have hit the blasted thing if it was flying through the air at me.  I have also overheard more than one parent comment that if your kid starts lacrosse any later than age 5 that it’s probably too late to bother. This was disconcerting since, coming from the South, I hadn’t even heard of the sport until I moved up here.  Growing up in Tennessee my only knowledge of lacrosse was that the ancient Mayans played it and used to kill the losing team after a match or something like that. I wasn’t real sure how much the game had changed over the years. But, regardless, Audra’s coaches were friendly, supportive and had a great attitude about the game and the kids.  They were doing real drills and working on passing the ball and all the other things little soccer tykes ought to be doing.  And much to my surprise Audra seemed to be holding her own.  I’m sure it helped that she was one of the oldest kids on the team even if she was still one of the smallest.  But she got in there and chased the ball around and passed it and kicked it and seemed to generally remember which goal she was supposed to be aiming at. What else could you ask for? Well, her very first soccer game was this past weekend.  So we loaded up the family and headed to the field to watch a bunch of five and six year olds chase a small plastic ball around the field like it was a terrified weasel.  I’ve got to tell you, Audra did alright.  She wasn’t the best kid on the team, but she also wasn’t one of the boys who ran around shooting people with imaginary laser guns, nor did she pick up one of the orange cones used to mark off the field and put it on her head like some people I won’t mention (# 12!) No, she did what she was supposed to do.  She chased the ball.  She kicked it when she could get in there.  She listened to the coach and did what she was told.  She wasn’t one of the stars, but she did a pretty good job. Truth be told, she’s much better at dancing around the living room to “Girls Just a Wanna Have Fuh-Un!” than she is kicking penalty shots. Yes, I’m afraid she’s got a little too much of her father in her. Or to put it another way:  A little too much Ham and not enough Hamm. But that’s ok.  She got out there and she had a good time. At the bus stop the following Monday a mother from the other team came over and said, “Audra, I saw you playing soccer on Saturday.  You did a great job!” Then her son sneered at her and said, “Yeah.  Too bad you lost.” I don’t think she even knew that her team had lost up until that point. Which is why I turned to the boy and said, “Yeah, too bad your Mom raised a snot nosed brat.” Ok.  I didn’t say that, but I thought it.  But in a few hours, Audra will be lacing up her cleats again and heading out on to the field for practice.  I doubt she’s ever going to make the Women’s National Team, or ever get a place on one of the US Women’s professional teams pulling in a cool $40K a year.  But hopefully, the skills she obtains will help her learn more about competition and leadership and working toward a goal. And if nothing else, at the end of the season she ought to know how to kick snot nosed little boys in the shins.  And that’s good enough for me. Posted Sep 15 2009, 07:09 AM by superdad with no comments Filed under: Audra, Better off Dad, sports [Edit Tags]

• Dinner Party

  Boy, this is going to be an exciting day for you! I have just invented a new game that is about to sweep the nation.  Soon all of your friends and co-workers and even your slightly addled Aunt Meredith are all going to be playing this game, and you (that’s right, you!) will have heard about it first! Remember a few years back when everyone was playing that Six degrees of Separation game?  Well, this is just like that, except different.  But guaranteed to be just as popular! Here’s how it works. You own a lovely home with a beautiful round dining room table made of mahogany and just perfect for sitting around and having long satisfying dinner parties.  Now, this table has six chairs (seven if you have a spouse you feel like ought to invite).  And you are about to create the most perfect dinner party ever. You are going to send out 5 magic ticket invitations for a dinner party at your house.  So the question is – who do you send them to?  Who would make the perfect dinner party guests? Ok, I know this sounds easy, but it’s not.  And that’s where the fun comes in. For instance, maybe you are inclined to just invite the first 5 people that come into your head.  I know, how about Angelina Jolie, Barack Obama, Robin Williams, that cute girl from the office that won’t talk to you and Frank Sinatra! Ok.  These are terrible choices.  Let me tell you why.   Now, think about it.  This is a dinner party.  The whole point is to create an opportunity to sit and talk late into the evening with a group of interesting people.  You need to choose people based on whether they will get along well, whether they have something interesting to contribute to the conversation and their ability to listen as well as talk. So, let’s take a look at your abysmally selected list and I will use each one as an example of what not to do.  First of all, Angeline Jolie.  Alright, so she’s pretty, and she has lots of babies and she has lips larger than most Central American countries, but would she be a good dinner guest?  No. I mean, does she even talk?  I’m trying to think of the last time I saw her talk in an interview, usually she just pouts gloweringly at the camera.  I don’t want that at my dinner party.  She would be taking up a valuable chair!  This is going to be the greatest dinner party ever!  I don’t want someone who’s not going to contribute. Ok, moving on.  Barack Obama.  Now, I love Barack Obama. I think he’s a fascinating guy, but he would be a terrible dinner party guest.  Why?  Because everybody else would just sit there and want to talk to Barack Obama.  The whole dinner party would become about him.  These events have to be about balance.  A Barack Obama tips the whole thing way out of sync.  Plus, he would probably be called off to deal with some economic meltdown, or minor international invasion, and that would just ruin the whole party.  No, Obama just wouldn’t do.  Now, in 20 years when his luster has waned a bit, he would be the perfect dinner party guest - funny, self effacing, with lots of interesting stories.  Yes, he’s at the top of my list for my 2029 dinner party, but not this year. Robin Williams.  Oh, Robin Williams.  I know it seems like a good idea.  He’s always funny on those David Letterman appearances right?  Sort of the life of the party?  But have you noticed how David never gets a word in edgewise, it’s just Robin running around doing funny voices and flapping his arms and stuff.  No, at a dinner party you need to check your ego at the door, it can’t all be about you.  You should want to craft your dinner party with people who will be genuinely fascinated with one another and will want to ask as many questions as they answer.  Ok, now about that cute girl (guy) at the office that never talks to you.  I know you think that this is your big chance because she would have to come to your house, but this is a dinner party, not a booty call.  This is an opportunity for inspired conversation not a series of machinations so you can get a date.  Along those lines, don’t invite any big celebrities you are hoping to score with.  That really demeans the whole dinner party concept.  Now, that’s not to say that if, for instance, you invited Tina Turner, Madeline Albright or Jennifer Garner that they wouldn’t be so taken with your sparkling wit that they might not slip you their number on the way out the door, but that shouldn’t be the focus of your dinner. (mmmmm Madeline Albright) And Finally – Frank Sinatra.  Ok, let me just go with the obvious:  He’s dead.  Now, if you want to create some fantasy dinner party where you have Frank Sinatra, TuPac, Leonardo DaVinci, Ghengis Khan and Jesus, I can’t stop you, but that’s not what this is about (and please don’t even make me start explaining why that would be a terrible line up!  I mean, they don’t even all speak the same language!  And the egos!  Hoo boy!  Not to mention that Tupac isn’t even dead!  What were you thinking?)  No, let’s not confuse this very real game with some fantasy nonsense.  Please only invite people who could actually come.  Otherwise, it’s just silly. Now, I know what you are thinking. “Gosh, you have clearly thought about this a lot…. Maybe too much.  Who are you planning to invite.” Well, I am so glad you asked.  I have to admit, I’ve been thinking long and hard and I don’t have all the details worked out.  I keep thinking of new people who would be fun to ask and my list changes every day, but let me walk you through my thinking. This game all began with Scott Simon. Who?  You might ask?  Well, for the uneducated amongst you, Scott Simon is the National Public Radio Host of Weekend Edition Saturday. http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=3874941 Scott is witty, charming, funny, kind and from what I can tell, a charming and doting father.  I remember listening to him one morning and thinking, wow, he would make the perfect dinner party guest.  I can imagine hanging out long into the evening chatting with him and laughing as we polished off a bottle of Riesling. So Scott Simon has the first chair at my dinner party. My second chair goes to an author (as you can tell, I want to have a very refined, classy dinner party).  I thought about asking my favorite author Richard Russo, but I heard him talk once and while I think he would be great to talk with one on one over coffee, I’m not sure he could hold his own in a larger group (you’ve got to think about these things!)  So, I’m going with Ann Patchett.  http://www.annpatchett.com/ I’ve heard her speak before, and she’s brilliant, funny, cute as a button and just a little cheeky.  She would fit in perfectly.  And hey, if she slips me her number on the way out, who am I to complain? I think seat number three will go to Jimmy Carter.  Doesn’t he seem like about the nicest guy ever?  He would have some great stories to tell and I think he’s humble enough that his ego wouldn’t get in the way of the conversation.  Plus I just love his accent.  I could sit and listen to that all night long. The fourth seat goes to Jon Stewart.  Ok, ok, I know, that’s not the most original choice ever, but I just think he would be fascinating.  He’s incredibly informed, wildly intelligent, funny but I also get the sense that his ego isn’t too big.  Sure, on his show, his job is to get laughs, but I think that at a dinner party he would be content to step back and just converse.  He doesn’t strike me as someone who HAS to be the center of attention, plus, he and Scott Simon would get along just great.  They both have young children. From here it gets tricky.  I only have one seat left and there are so many people to choose from.  The balance has to be just right.  Now there are a lot of ways I could go with this, so let’s talk about a few.  I could use this seat as sort of a wild card.  I could invite someone who has had an interesting life but is a little bit nuts, say a Liza Minnelli or Bette Midler or something.  Or I could fulfill a personal fantasy and invite Tina Turner, but as we’ve discussed, this really isn’t the place for that kind of thing, and besides, she’s still on tour.  I’ve thought about Bruce Springsteen, but I’m afraid he would draw too much focus, plus I can barely understand him when he sings, so I don’t know what kind of conversationalist he’d be. I do need another woman, I don’t want poor Ann to feel like a token (not that she couldn’t handle it) and I am embarrassed at how white this dinner party is (damn Barack Obama being so all fired important!).  I’ve thought about Meryl Streep and Dar Williams (an absolutely charming folk singer) and even Stephen King.  I’ve never read any of his books, but he has a column in Entertainment Weekly and he is a veritable treasure trove of pop culture knowledge, I think he would have a lot to offer.  I’ve got to admit, I’m awfully torn, but I think I’m going to go with Mary Chapin Carpenter.  She’s smart, charming and I think she would really enjoy the Poulet a la Fermiere dish that I would make for dinner.  I do worry that she might be a bit reserved. (You know the introspective folk singer type) but I think she’d do just fine.  And besides, this doesn’t have to be my last dinner party, it’s just my first.  And let’s be honest, after word gets out about what a lovely affair this was and how delicious my Peach Pie is (made especially for Jimmy) then I’m sure the next party will be even easier to arrange. So, now that you understand how all this works, who are your five?  Please post below.  And if you have a particularly good set of invitees…. Save a seat for me. I’ll bring dessert. Posted Sep 11 2009, 05:34 AM by superdad with 1 comment(s) Filed under: Better off Dad, game [Edit Tags]

• I Guess that English Major Wasn’t Such a Bad Idea After All

  I came across an article this morning about the top 5 lowest paying college majors. http://encarta.degreesandtraining.com/articles.jsp?article=featured_5_lowest_paying_majors_and_what_you_can_do_about_it&GT1=27001 Go ahead, take a second and make a mental list of what you think the top 5 lowest paying college majors would be. Did you guess English major?  I did.  But as it turns out, English majors do ok.  They’re nowhere near the bottom of the economic list.  You want to know why? Because none of them get jobs in English! That’s sort of the beauty of an English major. There isn’t actually a job that you can do with that major.  There simply does not exist a post bachelor’s degree career where you sit around and read old books and tell people why the theme of water was actually a metaphor for sexual reawakening. Sure, you could get a doctorate and get a job as a professor making other people write papers talking about how the theme of water was actually a metaphor for sexual reawakening, but the truth is that’s not going to happen.  No, English majors do ok financially because they are absolutely forced to go out and get some completely random other job.  Sure, they majored in English but the closest career related job they can hope for is a manager at Borders.  So they end up at some business or corporation somewhere working in a cubicle, making decent money and reading Jane Eyre on their lunch break as part of their “finer things” club. No, the people who really suffer aren’t those nerds toting around Ulysses and wearing a look of ironic detachment.  No, the real losers in the financial graveyard of college majors are those folks who wanted to help people…. And dancers. The top 5 lowest paying college majors in order are: 1. Social work 2. Special education 3. Elementary education 4. Home economics 5. Music and dance That’s right, the poor saps who sign up to teach our children are superior only to the even poorer saps who sign up to teach our children with disabilities, who are superior only to the poorest saps who sign up to help struggling adults. I’ve got to tell you, as a parent, heck, as an American, I just find that embarrassing. I mean, come on, when someone who majored in home economics has a higher salary than a teacher, you know teachers are underpaid.  People who major in home economics don’t even want a job, they are actively seeking a career in an unpaid profession and yet they STILL make more money than teachers and social workers. The wacky neighbor’s kid who majored in tapdance is looking downright brilliant about now.  At least he’ll make more money than your kids’ loser third grade teacher. The most embarrassing thing about this is that I majored in English and threw away that lucrative major to go become a teacher!  What was I thinking?  I could have had all that money and been involved in a lovely finer things club and instead I ended up teaching kids. I’m a moron. Want to know what’s worse?  Guess what my minor was?  That’s right.  Sociology!  And to top it all off, as a Stay at Home Dad, I now basically have the duties and responsibilities of a Home Ecnomics major but without the education to back it up.  No wonder I have such a hard time getting stains out of clothes.  I never took that class. Now, obviously, nobody goes into Music or Sociology or education to get rich, they choose those fields because they have a passion for them, or they have a drive to make the world a better place, not just a wealthier place.  But isn’t it a little sad that the people we entrust to educate our children and to take care of our most damaged adults make less than every single other person who went to college?  People with majors in drama, philosophy, French, history, French History, peace studies and horticulture all make more than the average teacher and social worker.  Probably not much more, but still, that’s ridiculous! Honestly, I’d feel better about this if there were some perks to these jobs, like maybe if social workers always got free coffee at restaurants like cops did, or if teachers got use of a corporate jet during spring break, but no, the great irony is the lowest paying jobs usually come with the fewest perks, the poorest working environment and often a fair amount of depression and stress. Heck, at least teachers get the summer off, the poor social workers are working year round for that sad little salary. So, should we pay teachers and social workers more?  Heck yeah! Is it going to happen? Heck no! So, what’s the solution?  Well, the best I can tell, if you want to make a decent living the only solution is to steer away from jobs that involve helping people and changing the world, or to steer toward those jobs, but also make a real effort to marry a lawyer (worked for me!) or… Really push them toward that English major.  That’s where the money is. Posted Sep 09 2009, 05:11 AM by superdad with no comments Filed under: Better off Dad [Edit Tags]

• America – A German Perspective

  For the past two weeks we have had a German exchange students staying with us….. well, I suppose “exchange student” is a bit of a misnomer.  We don’t actually have plans to send any of our kids back to her house in exchange, although the thought has occurred to me. Anyway, she came to improve her English and to learn more about America.  This is a great idea, except for one thing:  To whatever extent there is a “typical” American family,… we are so not it. I spent some time thinking about what would happen if your entire perspective of America was seen through our family.  I am very afraid, that you would get a somewhat skewed version of what the US looked like and yet, you would have no idea that it was a skewed version.  Sure, it might seem odd, but you would think, “oh, well.  I guess that’s America!”  I don’t know whether she will be required to write up an essay about her journey here, but if she does, I am somewhat concerned that it will end up looking something like this:   What I Learned From My Trip to America America is a wonderful place, but it is very very different from Germany.  When I was in America, I stayed with a typical American family, but this is not like a German family.  In America it is the WOMEN who go to work, while the MEN stay home with the children!  In America the women leave early in the morning to be lawyers while the men sit around in their pajamas and write “blogs.”  Then the men will feed and dress the children before putting them on giant yellow buses to be taken off to school.  Then the father will spend his day hanging out with other fathers and drinking expensive coffee.  Then the father will go to the grocery store and buy lots and lots of food.  It is important to buy lots and lots of food, because Americans all keep black teenagers from Mississippi in their basement and these teenagers eat lots of food. The father will then come home for the children to have naps.  American babies all take naps, but American toddlers only pretend to take naps, but really play in their rooms.  After “naps,” the big yellow bus brings the American school children back home.  The American school children always talk.  They talk or sing or dance around while talking or singing without ever stopping.  If no one is around, they will talk to themselves.  German children are not like this. In the evenings, the American Father cooks dinner while the children run around and the older children talk to themselves.  The American father turns up music very loudly and sings to Tina Turner while sautéing onions.  German fathers do not do this. After it is dark, the American mother comes home and then we all sit down to eat dinner.  The father always makes more food than we could possibly eat.  He says that he is afraid of people not having enough.  I think he is unable to measure properly.  After the very large dinner, the children go to bed and are read silly American stories about spiders that make webs for pigs.  Then the parents watch “quality television” like Monk and Wipeout.  These are very funny.  They show silly Americans doing very silly things. On many, many nights, the American father goes to meetings at church.  Americans go to big churches that have many black people and many white people together in them.  The black and white people all sing songs together and worship together.  This is how all Americans go to church now.  I think they all do this because Barack Obama is president. Americans are always going somewhere.  Every day they get into their big cars and drive  to a zoo or a museum or a Target.  On the weekends they will go to other people’s houses and cook little crabs (ALIVE!) and then they will take knives and hammers and beat and stab the dead crabs so they can eat the little tiny bits of meat inside them.  Americans are very violent.  Also, Americans always have people coming over for dinner.  Always there is someone who is coming to eat and so the American Father must buy even more pork chops or more hamburgers (which I don’t believe come from Hamburg at all!)  There are many kinds of people that come over.  The kinds of people who come over are these: people who work for the government and people who work at home.  There are Protestants and Jews, and Catholics and people who claim to believe in “the big turtle in the sky” but I do not know what that means.  There was even a mother who came over who was staying at home with her kids!  How funny!  Also there were two women who were married who came with their children.  I believe you call them Lesbians, but I do not think they are Italian. This womens family stayed for several days and the American Lesbians and non-Lesbians would all sit around and make jokes about Lesbians and about how they like to can pears and do wood working and wear their hair short.  I did not understand these jokes, because the Lesbians did have short hair and can pears and they brought an Adirondack chair as a gift that they had made through the working of wood.  So why was this funny? I do not understand American humor.  The American Father especially likes to make many jokes that are not funny.  Why does he do this?  He also is always saying “I do not want to tell you what to do” but he does this while he is telling you what to do!  It is very peculiar.  But there were many times when we did have many laughs.  For instance the Americans all talked about the time President George Bush tried to give our German Chancellor a rub on the back and how Angela Merkel was frightened. It was very funny. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eTQY1Aw9zcs&feature=related We also watched videos of President Barack Obama looking at a woman’s bottom, but it turns out he was not looking at the bottom!  But French president Sarkozy is definitely looking at the bottom!  We laughed a great deal at this. Looking at these videos is what Americans do for fun when they are not driving their giant cars. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SMmX72N6EtE Also for fun we rode bicycles in Washington, DC.  There were many many memorials there.  I could not believe how many memorials!  Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln, FDR, Vietnam, WWII, Korea, Women soldiers and Nurses and Air force and Navy and many many more.  The Americans love their memorials.  And many many Americans come from all over to look at them.  They wear big loose shirts to hide their enormous American bellies which they have gotten from eating at places like Chili’s which is a place where we went to eat once that was very good but I can see why it would give you a big American belly. So I enjoyed my time in America.  I liked visiting and especially listening to all of the music that was always playing on the Ipod, but I am glad to be back in Germany where all is normal, where women watch the children, men go to work and nobody has teenagers from Mississippi in their basement.  But I will miss my American friends and all of the amazing things they showed me.  I am just glad that nobody tried to give me a backrub.  It looks very scary. Posted Sep 08 2009, 06:37 AM by superdad with no comments Filed under: Better off Dad, washington DC [Edit Tags]

• First Day Jitters

  Asher recently had his very first day of Preschool. We weren’t really sure how it was going to go.  His older sister, Audra, had loved preschool, but as it turns out, kids are different. I know that sounds shockingly obvious, but before I had kids, I’m not sure I truly understood that.  Of course I knew that kids were different, but I think I fell more into the nurture than nature camp.  I kind of thought that if you raise kids similarly, they will turn out similarly.  Well, the older my kids get and the more kids I know, the more I think that the nature / nurture balance is tilted pretty darn heavily toward nature. From the best I can tell, a kid comes out with a fairly innate personality and as a parent you just try your best to bring out the positive aspects of that personality and to tone down the negative aspects, but those aspects are all there pretty much from day one. My two older children are considerably different from each other (and boy the youngest is downright different from all of us).  Audra is the quintessential student.  She loves school, she loves to please the teacher.  She is angry that they haven’t started giving homework yet. We had no qualms about sending her to preschool at the tender age of 2 years and 11 months.  She was ready.  Boy, was she ready.  That first day of preschool she walked in to the class and didn’t give us a second look.  She was off. At the time, I largely attributed this to my excellent parenting.  In retrospect, I think that itwas just a roll of the genetic dice that came up with a predisposition for school. Asher, on the other hand wasn’t that clear cut. When he turned three he still wasn’t potty trained (we had another 6 months to go on that) and he didn’t exactly seem ready for school.  He probably would have done ok, but I wasn’t sure.  So, we waited a year.  He stayed home with me and his brother and all in all, we had a pretty good time.  But now, he’s four and he’s ready to go…. We think. You see, I still wasn’t quite sure how that first day of class was going to go. I could tell that Asher was nervous about it.  He kept asking questions about school and it was clear that he wasn’t sure what was going to happen.   We had explained what school was like, but I’m not sure how much sense it all made to his little four year old mind. At one point, he thought it meant getting on the school bus with his sister and disappearing for 8 hours a day.  We had taken pains to explain that he was going to a different school for just a few mornings a week, but apparently this hadn’t quite registered. He would switch between telling us that he couldn’t wait for school and that he had changed his mind and didn’t want to go. When Audra left for her first day of school, he literally laid down on the carpet and cried. I was starting to get nervous. Last week, we had a “meet the teacher” day at his preschool, and it was clear he was nervous too.  He was very quiet the whole time we were there.  Because it was “meet the teacher” day, there were lots of kids and lots of parents standing around in the small classroom.  I think Asher felt a little overwhelmed.  When we left I told him to go say goodbye to the teacher.  He got as close as he could amidst the crowds and called goodbye while waving his little hand, but he couldn’t ever catch her attention. I still wasn’t too worried, because Asher’s best friend, Thaddeus was in the same class and I knew that as soon as he saw him, it would probably all be ok.  But I wasn’t positive. The morning of preschool rolled around and Asher seemed alternately excited and worried.  Our main goal was to keep him happy.  We were both afraid that one fight about what to wear or where his shoes were might set him off on another spell of not wanting to go to school.  We knew that if we could just get him to school happy, that he would have a great day and that he would more or less be off to a great start for the year.  We just had to get him there in one emotional piece. Audra was not helping. Adura was relishing her role as the big sister who knew all about school and she just couldn’t shut her trap about it. She prattled on about preschool and how it wasn’t like real school, but that it was ok and how there was lots to do and how Asher would have a good time unless his teacher died, like hers did and then he wouldn’t but…. Eventually we banned her from being around Asher for the morning. Finally, it was time to leave.  Asher had his Spiderman backpack and his brand new school outfit on.  When we got to the school, he hopped out willingly but nervously.  When we asked him whether he was excited about school, he said, yes, but he seemed to be trying to convince himself as much as us. Meanwhile his two year old brother, Micah, was all excited about school.  We had a bit of a squabble because Micah wanted to carry Asher’s backpack.  Micah, grabbed, Asher cried and eventually we found another backpack for Micah to wear and the drama settled down.  Micah was happy and he slung the massive backpack over his tiny shoulders and marched off ahead of the rest of us.  The backpack was so big that Micah had to hold our hands stepping over the curb lest it throw his tenuous balance off. So, with Micah in the lead and Asher and Sarah and I trying to keep up, we all headed into preschool. I still thought Asher was going to be fine, but I also realized that there was a very good chance that he might cling to a leg and have to be coaxed in like a nervous whimpering puppy. As it turned out, whatever apprehensions Asher may have had, vanished as soon as he walked into that classroom. There were things to color, toys to play with, play-doh to mold and friends to talk to.  The teacher was kind, the kids were friendly and he even had his very own hook with his name on it to hang his backpack on. Sarah and I hung around for a few minutes to watch, while Micah stomped around the classroom with his backpack still on. It was clear to both of us that Asher was going to be fine.  A few minutes later his best friend Thaddeus arrived and any lingering concerns we had floated away.  The two boys ran to each other and then set off to explore the rest of the classroom.  Sarah and I spent a few more minutes trying to convince Micah to actually leave the school but after a few false starts, we were walking back out to the van.  Somehow, I had gone from a father of three to a father of one in a single quick hour.  Audra was at school busily impressing the teacher and Asher was at preschool, coloring and playing and getting ready to sing the alphabet song.  And my youngest was trying to figure out how to climb in the van while carrying a backpack that was bigger than he was, all ready to start off for school himself.  It was the first day for a lot of us.  Asher’s first day of school and my first day as the parent of two school age kids. I was happy and melancholy and spent a lot of the rest of the day ogling babies that I passed.  I wasn’t entirely sure how I felt about all this. But at the end of the day it was hard to feel anything but pleased.  When I picked Asher up, he practically skipped over to where I was, grabbed his bag and waved goodbye to his teacher. On the way out to the car, he told me about the stories they had read, the crafts they had made, the songs they had sung and the games they had played. He was excited and happy and pleased with himself. I said, “Asher, You seem to have had a really good day at preschool.” He looked back at me, smiling.  “I did,”  he said, “I really did!” Posted Sep 03 2009, 06:41 AM by superdad with no comments Filed under: Audra, Asher, Better off Dad, Micah, school, preschool [Edit Tags]