How An Hour A Day, Changed My Life.

I started helping at Mr. Mans school this year. I helped last year too but it was very hit and miss and the teacher always sent me to the office to staple things and sharpen pencils. I never helped in the class.

This year I started helping with a reading program for second graders. I started off by going in for an hour, one day a week. Very soon it became two or three days a week. Then I was going in everyday, five days a week. Now I'm up to five days a week with two extra hour on Wednesdays as well.

I can't begin to tell you how those little creatures have changed me. I will never be able to give them as much as they give me.

The irony of this, is that they break my heart. OK not all of them. It's just a few that break my heart.

Everyday I get told by these kids, about brothers and sisters that beat them. Parents that are in jail. Families that consist of gang bangers, drug dealers, general dead beats, and all the joys of living near a military base. Single parents, abusive parents, or no parents at all.

One of the boys came in last week with gang graffiti all over his arms. Drawn in large Sharpie marker so it wouldn't come off. When I asked about it, he smiled and told me that his older brother did it to him. The boy fell asleep on the sofa and his brother tagged him. Today that same boy told me about "getting" to go to court yesterday because both of his parents are facing drug and gang charges. He smiled and told me he missed reading class but was glad to be back today. He asked how my weekend was. Every week this boy tells me about his mom letting him watch movies like "The Saw", "Chuckie", "Halloween", and the nightmares that follow. He's 7. But every day he has the biggest smile on his face. Even when he tells me about him mother teaching him how to tag things and not get caught, he's so proud of her. You can see and hear the love he has for his family.

Yesterday a little girl came up and took my hand. She wanted me to walk with her to her next class. She says, "Mr. William, would you like to hear something sad?" Not really I told her. I don't care for sad stories. They're sad.
"It's not all sad." she tells me. Her father had to go away until next spring, but when he comes home she said they will do what ever she wants to do. That sounds like a good deal I told her. I asked if her dad was in the military or if he was shipped away.
She said,"Oh no Mr. William, Daddy went to jail. He can't stop the drugs." She smiled and gave me a big hug. Said "See you tomorrow!" and skipped away to her class.

Almost everyday I leave school fighting back tears. Today as I rode my bike home I almost crashed  because I was could see straight. Tears pouring out of me.

They are all such happy little buggers. No matter what horrors they are going through at home. Everyday they greet me with a warm smiles, hugs and high fives. So pleased to see me. When I'm not there they all ask about me and want to know why I had missed school.

Today they had a substitute. When I told them that I couldn't stay because they schedule had changed, they gave a collective sigh of sadness and begged me to stay. "Why can't you stay instead of the sub?" They asked. In front of the sub. I felt bad for her. I told them, "Ms. L will be great fun  today, just be good and listen close. I'll be back tomorrow." Half of them rushed me for hugs and high fives.

Some of them, I just want to take home with me and tell them that they will never have to live with those things again. I want to wrap my arms around them and save them from their own families. But I can't. As much as want to save them...I can't. I get one hour a day. Two and a half on Wednesdays.

I worry about them. I think about them. Even though I'm not religious, I pray for them, just in case I'm wrong.

I know I can't save them, but every day I can give them an hour. It can be one of the most difficult hours of every day. But it's usually one of the most rewarding as well. And I wouldn't give it up.

I really hope they can get back even a little of what they give me.

Hooray For JCrew!

I am just amazed at how closed minded so much of the world is today. Maybe it's always been that way. It makes me sad. Yesterday a couple of first or second grade girls were making fun of Mr. Man and I because we were holding hands as we walked to school. It just made me angry. I wanted slap their parents, if I knew who they were.

I have never understood the need for labels. Gay, straight, bi...WTF does it matter? 

In my life time I have painted my finger and toe nails bright red on more than one occasion. Just for fun. And I liked it. I wear an anklet, ear rings, a necklace, rings on my fingers and on a toe...often, all at the same time.  I have worn make up and not to dress up in drag, but just to wear it. 

And, hold your hat...I have even kissed a man on the lips. 

At no time in my life have I ever been confused about who or what I am. I have never needed psycho therapy. Or thought that I was a harmful influence on my son. The thought of people getting their pantie in a bunch over this JCrew add...

 makes me sad for the future of humanity. It's this kind of bigotry and narrow minded thinking that will ruin people and drive them into counseling. Not a little pink polish on a boy.

How do you even get through to people like that? Are they even capable of rational, kind and open minded thinking?

These are the toes of Mr. Man when he was around three and a half. He rocked this look. I have no doubt that he will never be confused about who or what he is.

For as long as I can, I will hold his hand when we walk. I will paint his nails if asks. I will encourage him to be who he wants to be and live his life the way he wants to live it. I will love him no matter what and I will teach him to love others with an open mind.

When I get home, I just might paint my toe nails bright red.(pink just isn't my color) Just because I can.

Why I Hate Wii...or...Viedo Games Are Going To Kill Me....

7am: 
Dad, can I play some Wii this morning?

No. We don't play on school days, especially before school.

But we made it to the Asylum...

No.

But, Dad?

No!

Dad? How did we make it to the Asylum? Can we play the bad guys all the time now? How do we get back to the Asylum? What did we go through to get there? Can we go back? Do we get to play the Joker? What happens if Batman gets us while we're a bad guy? Can we fight Batman and Robin when we're bad guys? What happens if we beat Batman when we're bad guys? Can I play Wii after school today?

7:02am
Dad? Dad? Dad?.............Daaaaaaad?


No you can not play Wii during the school week! Stop asking. Or no Wii for the rest of your life.


Dad?

Yes?

If my friend Diego was playing Wii as a bad guy could he beat Batman?

(sigh!)I'm sure you meant to say good morning! Are you ready for school yet?

Dad? When can we play Wii? Is tomorrow the weekend? Can we play on the weekend? On the weekend can we still play the bad guys?

I'm sorry I couldn't hear you over placing the add for a free wii on craigslist.

Daaad! Can we play until you give it away?


7:03am
Dad? Dad? Dad?

Mom? Dad just bashed his head on the table and is sleeping. Can I play Wii until he wakes up?

Morning Giggles...or, Death, By Blow Job...

As Mr. Man and I are getting ready for school, I hear him from the other room, "Dad, my hair's still soaked, I think I need a blow job this morning."

Excuse me?

"A blow job. I like getting dressed after a hot blowjob in the morning. "

Oooooo k......

"Would it be a good idea to bring the blower in the shower with us so we can blow job without getting out?"

Noooo. That kind of blow job would not be a good idea. The whole electric and water thing. Zap. Fry. Dead...

"Ok. I can wait for my blow job then."

That's a good idea, I would rather wait than die. 

"What a way to go."


My thought's exactly.

Daylight Time Travel Savings...

Precious: Mr. Man, remind me that we need to turn your clock back one hour before bed time.

Mr. Man: Why?

P: It's called Daylight Savings Time. We turn the clocks back one hour in the fall.

M:What do we do with the extra hour? Do we get to remember it?

P: ?

M: Do we get to remember the hour and do things again or do we have to do things the same way?

P: We don't get to go back in time, we just change the clocks.

M: Well what good is that?

Ready Or Not...

Yesterday was our first day of Kindergarten.

How, when, who...

Our Mr. Man can not possibly be old enough for school. I'm not ready for this.

Of course he took it all in stride. Barely a moment of apprehension. Turns out I was making him nervous all week with the constant questions. "Are you excited?", "Are you ready?", "Can we practice your writing and reading again?"

Daaaaaaad! Can we stop now? Let's play something. I'll be fine.

But you...but, but...

I'm ready already.

And he was. We took a few packs of glue sticks for the class. It was the only thing I could remember from the 'needs' list. Mr. Man handed them to his new teacher and told her, "You can keep these. My dad said we have more for home." as he wandered off to find a tiny chair.

He sat between two other boys. On his right was the class crier. On the left...(I'm sure he's a nice kid, but his parents had shaved his head. Who shaves a 5 year olds head?)was the kid totally opposite from crier. Out going and excited.

Mr. Man looked at the crier, looked up at me with a look of "WTH?" and then to Buzz. Buzz looked at Mr. Man and said,"Hey, do you want to play with these blocks?

"Sure, that'd be great.

"Ya. We should be friends."

"Ok. Let's play."

And that was that. The pure simplicity of childhood. It was beautiful. Except for the crier. He just would not stop. I sort of felt bad, but you have to learn to face the world or those other kids will eat him alive. Kids can be brutal.

I was one the last parents to leave after drop off. I wanted to make sure everything was alright and check out the other kids. I wanted to check out the other parents and see how they handled it all.

Other people frighten me. That's all I gong to say for now. They frighten me.

The very worst part of watching my son grow up, is knowing that one day, that pure simplicity that can and should make childhood the most wonderful place in the world, will be gone. Eventually, he will forget those simple pleasures and be like most all of us. That I find painful and very sad. I hate that I even think about such things.

I should just let it all be and encourage him to be a kid, and enjoy all of those simple things, as best he can, for as long as he can. I will remember his childhood forever, even if he doesn't. And I have pictures.

It just pisses me off feeling like this. It totally justifies a lot of what my mother does. I can just hear her voice, " You just wait..."

I hate it when she's right.

Not, ready.

Monsters, Love Sleep Overs...

Tonight was our first sleep over. Mr. Man had a friend over late in the day, and in the midst of playing, they asked if Friend could stay the night.

Now the only thing wilder than a sugared up five year old boy is the addition of a sugared up six year old boy.

After a couple of strange glances at one another and a, "It's alright with me, if it's alright with you?" We agreed.

So we called Friends mom to make sure she was alright. She was extremely nervous. Much more so than Friend.

We let them play and stay up late. I started off being the strict Dad and tried to reel them in a bit. I was quickly reminded that they are small boys having fun. No harm. Yet. With in minutes Mr. Man was crying. They were rough housing on the bed and some one hit their head on the solid wood head board.

No blood, no dents, no blurry vision, everything's good. Carry on.

Then the girls from across the street decided to drop in. Kid count: 1 - 6 year old boy, 1 - 5 year old boy, 1 - 5 year old girl, 1 - 4 year old girl. We are officially suburban parents. How the Hell did this happen?

That's right. Sheer disaster waiting to happen. With in a few more minutes the 4 year old girl was crying and wanting to go home. Fine with me. They are kind of little Princesses. Back to two boys.

Then we end up with Friends dog as well. It was across the street, some one's gone, long story short, we now have the dog too.

Well the new dog is terrified of our cat Fat Louie, which we now call "Cat", an other story.

With in a few minutes Friends dog has taken a leak on the bath room floor while the boys are taking a bath. Great.

Friends mom realizes that now she is missing her son and her dog, calls us to see if she can at least have her dog back for the night. After the wizz, you bet. The sooner the better.

A couple hours after bed time, around 11:30, Friend wakes up and wants him mommy. We try to distract him with a movie and some laughs. He falls asleep on the sofa, rolls over and lands on the tile floor. Now he really wants his mommy. We do a group hug thing and some more laughing and diversion, but Friend has had enough. He wants to call home.

We did. Friends mom didn't even hesitate to say, "I'm on my way". She only lives two block away. I swear she was here in about 45 seconds.

Honestly I felt bad. I was wondering what we did wrong. Then I remembered my first sleep over. It was a frightening thought to be away from your family for the first time. I don't think I made it all the way through.

So in the morning I will try to explain to Mr. Man why his Friend is gone.

Monsters, of course.

Mild And Stress Free...

It's Tuesday, which is our family day. We close the gallery and spend some quality time together. Both Precious and Mr. Man are still sick. Even though, we thought it might be nice to go out for lunch and maybe let Mr. Man play at the arcade for awhile. I found a great new game that I'm totally hooked on. (that's a different post)

After about an hour of mindless money wasting it was time to go. Mr. Man decided that this would be a good time to pitch a fit. The place was packed too. Spring break and all. He starts screaming, "I'm not happy!", and trying to get away from us. Of course it caused a scene.

Trying to explain to a three year old why he should be grateful that he got to go play in the first place, is like talking your car into not burning fuel. It just doesn't work. All he knew is that we had ruined his fun.

On the way home he decides that he hadn't had enough yet. More crying, kicking the seat and then he went for broke. "I HATE YOU GUYS."

That one was over the top. When we got home I escorted him to his room for a talk and a lengthy time out. Again, I might as well have been talking to his bed. I tried to explain again that getting to have fun is something to be grateful for. Thanking us would be a better move than getting nasty, and beyond that we will not tolerate the I hate you comments.

It's heart breaking. We knew he was sad. We try to cut him some slack for not feeling well, but we will not have an unruly brat for a child.

It amazes me how much this little person has changed me. I see everything differently. I react differently. I think differently. He can bring such joy one minute and have us at wits end the next.

It never stops. From the time he wakes up until he goes to sleep, we have to be on top of things. When he's sick, we're up all night checking on him and worrying. It's exhausting. Sometimes, being a parent makes me want to do something mild and stress free, like working for the bomb squad.

Saving The World...One Child At A Time.

Let me start by stating that I am all for children (under 18) having certain rights. We want them to grow up and be responsible human beings, so we should give them the tools and responsibility they need.

There is one right however that I strongly disagree with. That is a child's right to privacy. Sure they should be able to have a little personal time at home, but a parents right to know where their child is should out weigh any right of the child.

We seem to have forgotten that they are children. Not adults. Not capable of caring for them selves. Not capable of making adult decisions. Still in need of adult supervision.

According to the National Criminal Information Center, 800,000 children a years go missing.

The first National Incidence Studies of Missing, Abducted, Runaway, and Thrownaway Children (NISMART-1) was released in 1990, and the second, known as NISMART-2, was released in October 2002. According to NISMART-2 research, which studied the year 1999, an estimated 797,500 children were reported missing; 58,200 children were abducted by nonfamily members; 115 children were the victims of the most serious, long-term nonfamily abductions called “stereotypical kidnappings”; and 203,900 children were the victims of family abductions.


Here is how you put an end to this. Once and for all. No child will ever go missing ever again. Kidnappers, abductors, pedophiles, family members, runaways, it wouldn't matter. They could all be found in a matter of minutes with out fail.

How?

Implanted GPS. Capable of being tracked by satellite any where on the planet. Placed in the child's body until the age of 18. For their 18th birthday they get the right to privacy and freedom.

Before you start screaming "Big Brother", human rights groups have beat you to it. Having these implants placed in your kids is illegal. It violates the children's, right to privacy.

That's right. A child's right to privacy. WTF?

What is wrong with us? What is more important to us as parents? To us as a society?

We would rather have children run away or be taken and sold into slavery or used as some perverts sex toy than infringe on a child's right to privacy?

These are rules that are being made by people that don't have children. What if it was your child? They go to park to play with friends and don't come home. You give them the benefit of the doubt and wait for a while. Then you go to the park and look for them. Not there. Their friends say your child went home. Now what. You call the police and wait. And wait and wait and wait. While God knows what is happening to your child you are helpless to find them.

Where are our priorities? How could the ability to find our kids be a bad thing? What ever happened to the "Greater good of society"? No more missing children, ever, is a Greater Good.

It's our job to protect them. To keep them as safe as we can. Why aren't we doing everything we can?

800,000 children a year.

Acting Childish...

I heard someone ask their child to stop acting childish. It seemed odd to me at the time. After thinking about it I realized that I have said the same thing to Mr. Man. He does something silly or acts up a bit and I tell him that he is too old for kind of behavior.

Is he really too old to act like a kid?

We all grow up. Eventually we all out grow the things we did as a child. It's nature, we can't help it. But why do we, as parents and as a culture, want our kids to grow up so fast? When was the last time any of you thought to yourselves that you wished you had grown up faster? Don't we all grow up way too fast anyway?

Let kids act like kids. In fact, we should all spend more time acting like kids. Without a care in the world. No pressure from a job. No bills to pay. No worries of war, crime or a government bent on ruining things for everyone as long it benefits them.

We should all be kids for as long as we can. We're grown up for way too long as it is.

A Day With Thomas...

It was a fun filled day of play and adventure. Mr. Man was so surprised he could hardly stand it. I have to admit, I was pretty excited too. We love the Thomas The Tank Engine stories. We met Sir Topham Hatt, got to ride on the train behind Thomas, sang songs and played games.


Anytime I go some place like this for the first time, I picture it in my mind the way I would put it together. The problem with this is that I am very often let down by the way it's actually done.

This was true of the Day with Thomas. I had imagined a day in Sodor with Thomas things. In reality it was a couple of inflatable bouncy cages, for kids only. A couple of plastic Little Tyke play sets. The food court was a taco stand and a hot dog and burger stand. All of the souvenir things were for kids only. A couple of tables with Thomas toys that were broken, needed batteries and scattered all over the bloody place. And it was all in the middle of a dirt parking lot.


I realize that Thomas is for kids, but I was not the only adult upset that not one of the Thomas shirts was larger than a kids size 7.

3 out of every 4 bodies attending was an adult. I was a little let down. I had been looking forward to a Day with Thomas tee shirt for myself. I think they missed the merchandising boat with this. At least Mr. Man got one.

The worst part was the other parents. I don't claim to be the best parent on earth, but I could have written a book on how not to parent from this group. I could not believe how many of them paid little to no attention to their kids, who were running amok.

While we were at the play table one woman took a toy away from Mr. Man to give to her kid because she thought I wasn't watching. Twice. Mr. Man was playing nicely and she walked past and just took it. There were toys every where, but her kid wanted the one Mr. Man had so she just took it. No "Pardon me" or "Thank you" or "Can we trade". Then when I called her on it she got ugly with me. All I can say is that she was lucky Mr. Man was there. I try to set an example for him by my behavior. I try not to be a "Do as I say not as I do" type parent. I want him to learn from how I do.

I so wanted to kick that womans ass. That however would not have taught Mr. Man anything and it would have gotten me in trouble. I took his hand and told him, loud enough for the woman to hear, "let's move to another table where we can play nice." She just glared at me. Bitch!

The best part was seeing how happy Mr. Man was with all of it. He didn't care how it was set up. He gave Topham Hatt a big hug and thanked him for bringing Thomas to see us. He thanked Thomas for giving us a ride. On the train he sang and cheered and looked out the window and waved to everyone and everything.


That is what made it great. That is why I would do it again, no matter what I thought about it.

Monsters....

It was about 3:30 am when I awoke to a very soft "Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, save me Daddy".

"What's up Mr. Man?"

"Monsters Daddy, save me." He was standing just outside of our bedroom door. Afraid to go back to his room, afraid to come into ours.

We spent the next hour hiding under his covers until he went back to sleep. Me holding him close to keep the monsters away. I knew exactly how he felt.

I still have trouble sleeping most of the time. I often have horrible nightmares that stay with me for days. They started when I was young. They can be terrifying. So real at times it's hard to convince myself that it was only a dream.

When I was 6 years old I started have a reoccurring nightmare about a giant that would stomp on houses and snatch up the people trying to get away. When he got to our house he would duck down and peek through the window at me. I would run outside and hide behind the big oak tree. Just as I would look to see if he was still there I would wake.

I had that dream for years. It would play in my mind as if on a loop. Over and over and over. I can still see it as clearly today as could then. It has been some time since I had the dream but in a way, it still frightens me because I have never forgotten about it.

I felt helpless holding Mr. Man. Telling him (and myself) that monsters were not real was of little comfort. Because in your mind, they are real.

The world can be such a truly ugly place. I want to shield him from the violence and hate that surround us. Those things have no place in the mind of a child. Or even in the mind of an adult. There is no place in our world for such things. Where do such things even come from?

Loud And Clear...

There are times when I stand at the edge of the abyss. I scream for someone to hear me. Not really anyone. A specific someone. Almost always I get silence in return. No matter how I plead for a voice to show me the way. Nothing...

I have always know that one day, after I cry for help and get silence in return, I would take that one step further...over the edge. If they wont come to me...I'll go to them.

Well not this time my friends. This time I was answered. Loud and clear.

My problem Is that when I scream and cry for help. I very seldom stop to listen for an answer. As if I expect to hear a clear voice telling me what I need to do. You see, the universe speaks a different language. At times it is very subtle. You have to be very quiet and listen close.

First of all, thank you to all of you that sent your support. You 're great. I adore you people.
I was listening.

As nice as it was to hear from you, something else slapped me up side the head and said, "Hello. Listen up!" Well universe, I heard this one. I felt this one. This one changed me.

Let me share it with you all.

Yesterday I was at the gallery. Clients of ours came in to look around and say hello. A month or so ago, Precious had sold them one of my paintings for their home. They wanted to meet me. I love to hear people like my work, who wouldn't.

The couple have a daughter. About 7 to 9 years old I would guess. When they introduced her, she ducked her head behind her dad and said "Oh...wow..."

It was very cute. I figured she was shy, like most kids that age are when meeting an adult.

They were going to buy souvenirs and then go to lunch. Hours later when they returned. The little girl shyly walked over to me. Her parents assured her it was alright. She handed me a drawing.



"This is beautiful" I said to her. "Keep practicing and someday we will show your work here." Then I tried to hand the drawing back. She dropped her head again a turned red.

"It's for you." she told me softly.

I looked up at her parents with a puzzled expression.

They told me that she was very moved by my painting they had bought. When they came to town she spent her souvenir money on a pad and crayons. When they went to lunch she sat and drew me this picture.

Then I turned red. In all of my years of selling my work, I have never been so moved. I can honestly say that it was better then thing my work has brought me.

My work has touched this child in some way. What I heard was the universe telling me not to give up. My works mean something. Even if I never sell another work. One of my paintings meant something to this child.

That is why I paint. That is why I will continue to paint.

There is not enough money in the world to make me feel the way this young girl did.

I'm so glad I stopped feeling sorry for myself and listened.

Studio Sessions...

Three for one. This is all I have managed to paint for the last week. Each one is 8 x 24 inches. I started two others but they are going no where. Last night I gessoed over 7 paintings. I had been looking at them for weeks and finally decided they were not up to snuff. (gesso is a white primer used to prime a canvas before painting)

The gallery has been sucking the life out of me lately. Huge crowds of people and not a one of them interested in art. I like to refer to it as a cattle call. Mooooo!

*****

For the last couple of days David and Donny have been over working in my studio. It has some great natural light. The view isn't bad either. You can't see it here but it is.

David is working on a commission seen here. Donny is conceptualizing a large mural project for a coffee shop in Portland. He has been working on it for almost a year now.

*****

This is the first time in years I have had other artists to work with and share ideas. It helps so much to bounce ideas off one another.

*****

Mr. Man caught me saying "Butt head" this week. Now he is running around, "Hey Butt head"
Aren't kids a hoot?

The Dragon Of Grindly Grun...

I'm the Dragon of Grindly Grun,
I breathe fire as hot as the sun.
When a knight comes to fight
I just toast him on sight,
Like a hot crispy cinnamon bun.

When I see a fair damsel go by,
I just sigh a fiery sigh,
And she's baked like a 'tater-
I think of her later
With a romantic tear in my eye.

I'm the Dragon of Grindly Grun,
But my lunches aren't very much fun,
For I like my damsels medium rare,
And they always come out well done.

by

Shel Silverstein

This is one of my all time favorite poems.

The Terrible Two's...Ya Right

Who ever said the two's were terrible, never lived with a three year old.

Mr. Man recently turned three. All of the sudden he has been taken over by an unrecognizable little monster. It's like he transformed over night.

My Mother and sister had told us that we were really lucky. Mr.Man was not like most kids. He was good. I always shrugged it off. My Mother has run a day care for years. My sister teaches pre-school, kindergarten and first grade.

I am beginning to think they were not just telling me tales to make me feel better. In the last month Mr.Man has started spitting, kicking, talking back, throwing fits, screaming, you name it, he tries it. His attitude has done a 180 and not in a good way. This is not the same child we have been raising for the last three years. Our Mr. Man was a good child. I don't who this kid is.

We can be having the best time, and then, out of no where, Devil Boy!

As a parent I am on the strict side. I don't let him get away with any of this. He gets no warning before punishment. So far punishment seems to have no impact on him.

How can a three year old turn a (somewhat) rational adult into a complete simpleton? He knows exactly what buttons to push to send me over the edge, and he seems to enjoy it.

How can it be easier to have a child than to buy a dog? This world is seriously fugged up!

Parental Failings...

I am a total failure as a parent this week.
We had a small party for Mr. Mans 3rd birthday. As guests are showing up, I dropped and broke my camera.

I didn't get a single photo of his Thomas the Tank Engine cake, or him blowing out candles or the excitement of his gifts...

Being only three, he will never remember any of this. I will most likely never forget. I pride myself in being overly obsessive with me camera. I can't believe I broke it, and worse, I didn't have a back up.

I am actually thinking of making a reenactment so I can shoot photos. Too OCD?

Watching What I Say...part 1

I am in my studio painting. Mr. Man is at his easel painting beside me.

"Crud", I said, as I messed something up.

"What's matter Daddy?" he says.

I tell him, "Daddy made a mistake"

"Aw, that's a bummer, I paint, I fix it for you!"


I have not laughed so hard in a long while. Where do kids pick up stuff like that? I'm sure he most likely heard it from me at one point, I just don't remember saying it.

*****

Precious and I joined a co-ed volley ball team. So far we are 1 and 7. That's one win, seven losses. This week after our game. We are walking out of the gym.

Mr. Man says, "Daddy, know what?"

"What's that Buddy?' I ask.

"You guys suck!"


I was speechless. Trying very hard not to laugh. Precious did not see the humor. I am pretty sure I have never said anything like that in front of him. We quickly told him why that was not something you told people. He listened intently and said "OK Daddy, chase me."

The funniest part is that he said it like it was a compliment. He was so proud.

*****

Yesterday we are all driving to the pool for a swim. As I am cutting through the lot I mention that none of the cars are in parking spaces. From the back seat comes this gem from Mr. Man...

"You guys park like morons."

This time I giggled, but quickly caught myself. Again with the talk about why this is not something nice to say. Again we get, "OK".

This I am sure he heard from me while driving around. I really need to work harder about watching what I say.

Mr. Man will be 3 in April. Everything he hears is remembered and repeated.

It is quite frightening at times.

Someone I Am Now...

How many of you have children?
Did you ever think about your age or mortality before you had kids? Did you get much more sentimental and emotional about amazingly silly things? Like Disney movies?

We waited longer than most to have a child. I was near 38 when Mr. Man was born.
For 37 years, it never really dawned on me that I was 37.

I was with Precious for her C-section. It was the most amazing thing I have ever seen. The doctor said it was the first time a father had given a play by play to the mother. I was fascinated. The first four hours of his life he spent in my hands. I wouldn't let go. The first instant our eyes met, the me I had been, disappeared, and I became the someone I am now.

*****

I will catch myself calculating my age when Mr. Man is 10, 20, 30...
"I will be 68 when he's 30". I'll say. "That's too old to have kids. What were we thinking?"

Precious will laugh at me. "He will be 30..."
"You're not 68 yet."

*****

I see the world very differently now.
Pre-child I could take the most gruesome things. I had seen blood, guts and dead bodies without so much as flinching.

Now, I can't help but think about what would happen to my son If anything bad happened to me. Or what I would do if something happened to him.

Even seeing an animal dead on the side of the road can bring me to tears. Was that animal some ones parent? Was it some ones child?

I can't watch TV. I never really noticed how many shows are about missing or exploited children. Or how many shows kill children and animals.

Last week reading Heather Anne's story about J.K. Rowling and what she is doing for children around the world. I was sobbing. Three years ago I would have thought, "Good for her", and went about my day. I haven't stopped thinking about those poor kids living in cages. I can't get that vision out of my head. I keep seeing my son in one of them. Wondering why. Wondering what happened to me. Why I would leave him there.

How can people mistreat children? How do you look at a small, fragile, innocent human being and hurt them? Physically or verbally. How do you do that?

*****

I read about a 29 year old(Sex offender)man who was posing as a 12 year old. He had fooled two convicted child molesters into believing him. They went from school to school trying to recruit kids into some fake club they started. The two older men were mad when they found out this guy wasn't a child. They were afraid people might think they were gay. It was ok that they were having sex with an under age boy, but God forbid they have sex with an adult male.

I thought about the parents at the schools where this happened. I was outraged for them. I thought about what I would do. I hoped that this man would be let go. And that the parents would get a hold of him. I thought about what I could and would do to some one who hurt my son.

On television shows when things like this happen. When the victims get hold of some one like this. A person who has committed the most horrible acts of cruelty. They always beg for mercy. As if they deserve some kind of special treatment for being cruel to others.

I would want them to beg the entire time I was making them suffer. I would want to hear them scream until the last bit of life slipped from their lips.

Three years ago I would never have thought such things.