Manual Focus

Funny, this post was started well over a decade ago...thank you for safeguarding my thoughts, cloud robot...

This might have been left unpublished because it illuminates the very tender connection I’ve had with Annie ever since we met for the first time…but reading some powerfully beautiful stories a good friend recently shared about their parenting experiences—including the fight to find joy in the face of heartbreaking tragedy—made me take stock of the miracle of my own, and I thought that if something I shared might make even the smallest difference in someone else’s day or outlook or relationship, then I really don’t have anything to lose. So, here we go…again.

(Circa 2012) 

Parenting is a unique adventure.  The journey is uncharted (or vaguely charted, at best), and, from an experimental point of view, highly unrepeatable because the subjects are so vastly different in temperament and in response to the same type of input.  I know what is going to happen every time I heat water on the stove.  I know what is going to happen with a similar level of certainty when I plant seeds in the ground.  I even have a pretty good idea what is going to happen every time I leave my dirty socks on the bedroom floor...(I should add here that this type of experiment is dangerous and should not be repeated.  I should also add that I really need to take my own advice).  Boiling water, bean sprouts and loose laundry give me hope that there is some order to the universe.  This is essential after having been a parent of small children, especially when a little girl comes along after two…ummm…typically unique boys. 

Cooper, a boy who enjoys play and loves art, writing and research is a stark contrast to his little brother Aaron, who lives for the outdoors and any type of sport or activity that takes him there (Update: ten years has changed practically nothing with these two). 

And then, she came along...

She walks on sunshine and each breath is a song...I've spent weeks of nights on the floor next to her bed, having fallen asleep during the process of settling her in after an exasperating day. She has been my source of hope when I'm a flailing and bewildered mess of a parent.  When she was three or four, on an especially overwhelming day, bedtime was a direct order, and not the usual invitation to giggle and read and sing.  After an abruptly abbreviated send-off, I stopped just outside her door, just to catch my breath. In that nano-moment of my own silence, I heard her soft sniffle.  I just about missed it. I know her well enough that it wasn't just a ploy—a Hail Mary play for my attention—it was a genuine expression of heartache. I could almost hear her train of thought, "Daddy is mad. Is he mad at me? I hope he'll be happy again."  It was as though our thoughts had connected through the air, and I found myself unable to move any further down the hallway.  Turning back into her room, I knelt down by her bed, and as she threw her arms around my neck, she tearfully whispered “It’s okay Daddy, we’re getting there.” We just stayed there like that for a while until, inspired by her reassurance, I started to sing.  It wasn't a song we’d ever heard before...it was just for her. And me.  

In the years since, on more than one occasion, we have sensed the need in each other to hear it again.  Without ever writing down a single word, she sings it to me or I sing it to her and it is peace...it means I'm sorry or I know you're being a jerk but I love you anyway. I love you. And you love me..so let's just hug and cry and get over it.

After a long night,
After a long day,
I wonder to myself, am I doin okay?
After a long day,
After a long night,
I ask myself will I ever get it right?
And just when my hope starts to fade away
You wrap your arms around me and you say:
It's okay, Daddy, we're getting there,
Someday, Daddy, we'll make it there,
It's okay, Daddy, I love you...today.

And that, my friends, is all you really need.

Don't be silly (Summer 2011)

Another from the Draft Vault…thank you for patiently waiting 😂

I love instructions.  I let them guide me through any technological or mechanical endeavor whenever possible.  I wouldn't say that I'm lost without them, but I do miss them fiercely when they are not there.  I also love rules.  My fellow fathers have noted this about me,and I'm even known to one of them as "Safety Guy."  Whether it's a hot dog roast around the fire pit, or friends on the trampoline, or the speed limit through the kitchen (man that room is unsafe—who puts a giant fire box inside somebody's house and surrounds it with knives?), I have regulations for nearly any circumstance.  Any infraction leads to a serious talking to—I wouldn't say "lecture" (but my wife would)—and possibly harsher consequences.  These times, as well as when I'm instructing my children on the facts of our magnificent universe, are times when I start to take myself a little too seriously.  Those who know me best understand that underneath my jovial exterior lies a broody introvert just waiting to clam up—I wouldn't say "pout" (but my siblings would)—but I try to be positive and happy. For those of you following my sporadic diatribe, you know just how darn funny I am...anyway, I love when my kids snap me out of my seriosity with their sweetness or their own brand of humour (which usually garners more acclaim than mine).  For example, when he was just four or five, I had sufficienly addicted Cooper to Slurpees, which he would ask for every time we drove past our neigbourhood convenience store.  One such request was made mid-January, which was easily deflected with an explanation that cold drinks are for when it's hot outside. This effectively stopped the requests for a couple of weeks. Then, having all but forgotten about the issue, we were in the car and my science-minded Cooper asked me something about the composition or temperature of the sun. As usual, I engaged in an overzealous explanation of every solar fact I could recollect. 

"Wow, the sun sure is hot, right Dad?"

"Yes, it sure is, buddy." 

"Yeah, then we should probably get a Slurpee." 

He had me there.

More recently (but now anciently), I was explaining to Annie—in far too great detail for a then three-year-old—that if she didn't wear socks with her shoes, she would get sores on her feet, and that these sores would hurt.  Of course, I used the word "blisters", and, upon hearing this word for the first time, she looked at me and burst out laughing, repeating the world through her chuckles..you know, like, "Come on dad, at least use a real word—now you're just being silly...blisters."  It's at this point I realize that 'sores' or 'owies' would have been sufficient and I go on to wonder how often I confuse my children because I am explaining things so over-extensively that they roll their eyes and shut their ears.  Or, I spend so much time explaining the 'what' of a principle and gloss over the 'why.'  The trouble with this is that the 'why' is where all of the love and understanding and connection are found. In the realm of parent-child relationships, Silly is the universal language.

Update: Fast-forward a decade or so and I now have to use Google Translate to understand just about anything that comes out of their mouths…I suppose I asked for that. 

Our Favorite Books

Ok, I was asked about this as a response to one of my first posts, and since it has been over a year since my last published post (3 more drafts left unfinished--a holiday project??), here is an updated-but-far-from-comprehensive list of our favourite family literature from August 2010 to November 2011.
Cooper:
Magic Tree House by Mary Pope Osborne
Magic School Bus by Joanna Cole
Harry Potter 1-6 (we tried number seven, but it is a little heavy for the little ones)
The Chronicles of Narnia (thanks Auntie Jaana, this has been so much fun!)
Anything to do with animals, weather or science, and since it has been a year since this list was made, I can add various comic books to the list...chip off the old geek, that one...
Aaron:
Berenstain Bears
Curious George
Eric Carle
He also enjoys short adaptatons of movies, you know, the classics of the theatre like Star Wars and Toy Story 3...yet another proof of the whole acorn-tree-proximity aphorism.

Annie also loves Eric Carle, and we have dug out The Little Mouse, the Red Ripe Strawberry and the Big Hungry Bear by Don and Audrey Wood and she loves it (I actually told it to her from memory last summer because it used to be Cooper's favorite as a toddler...we were camping and it was the only thing that would calm her down at bedtime...do it again, daddy..and now she loves just about anything that gives her time with mommy or daddy. Out of all the favourites, nothing gets me more hugs than sitting down with all three of them and taking out "Reading with Dad" by Richard Jorgensen.
We also just happen to have the best public librarian in the children's section at our local library...she knows each of our kids and wows them with her love of and excitement over books.


Recently, we have a new development in the field. Both Cooper and Aaron have joined Speech Arts, a group that prepares and presents poetry competitively at the grade-school level.  Of course, now I have to dig out my 5-inch trophy I received as a ten-year-old for my moving oration of "When Father Carves the Duck" by E.V. Wright.  Those poor kids didn't even stand a chance...

Scent from above...

Annie loves flowers.  I know, as little girl qualities go, this is hardly unique.  But she really loves them.  She picks them wherever she sees them (sorry, Grandma, I'm sure they'll grow back) and then loves them until the petals fall off.  Of course, the flower gardens and baskets and planters are her favorites, but I've also watched her pick a lone daisy from the edge of a parking lot, and carry it around, roots and all as though they were meant for each other.  Her interest in flowers ranges from the aesthetic to the botanic, as I have watched her systematically dissect many of Kristin's floral arrangements on the kitchen table.  The academic in me wants to believe that she is cataloging all of the flower's parts and functions, but the daddy in me thinks she is really just trying to find out where all of the pretty comes from.
Costco has a massive display of flowers, the highlight of which (for Annie) is the wall of roses.  Visiting this verdant kiosk is a must for Annie, no matter how focused our purpose or urgent our pace.  As I watched her recently, taking time to smell each bouquet that she could reach from her seat in the cart, I was impressed by her enthusiastic sniffing which I openly acknowledge as standard procedure for her and other floral enthusiasts of her age group.  She reaches for the flowers, pulls herself face-first into the middle of the arrangement and breathes deeply.  This process is repeated each time she finds flowers.  Maybe it's the fragrance, or the touch of the petals on her face, or some other reason that is her very own--but as I watch her, I am reminded of the aphorism "stopping to smell the roses" and realize that it's not just the stopping that is important, but the way we do the smelling.  If our pauses in life to enjoy simple pleasures (kids, nature, sleep) are approached the same way we tackle a work or school or household project--you know, with a feeling of necessity and a tangible deadline--we remove both the "simple" and the "pleasure" from the whole equation.  How do I smell flowers?  Well, I don't mind getting close, but I definitely don't use my whole face.  And I'm a short sniffer, you know, just in case there's a bug in there--that way, it won't get very far...
Don't get me wrong--I realize that taking time to enjoy the beauties of this world often requires some scheduling and time-juggling.  But we have to be aware of our attitude; for example, spending time with the family at the lake or the park or the kitchen table should be done without the ever-present mindset that we have to "get this over with" so that we can move on to the next important task that has really been on our mind the whole time. Think--when was the last time you were able to effectively engage in and complete a task at work, home or school without constantly being distracted by thoughts of your family or your recreational pursuits?  Now, shouldn't that same attention be given to those things that balance us--physically, mentally and spiritually?  Easier said than done, I'm afraid...but the far-reaching effects are well worth the effort.

The title is always the hardest part...

Giving is not only hard to do, but even more challenging to teach; and when the giving is to get something in return...is this truly unselfish?  Maybe it depends on what you're after--altruism is in the heart of the bestow-er?  This pattern of reciprocation is evident in my relationship with our three children--from the blatantly obvious deal-making to the more subtle emotional give and take....a hug and kiss from a two year old girl is enough to soften even the stoniest of grumpy dads.  I find that as I readily give (not necessarily from the wallet or candy jar, but also of my time and attention during repeated requests for "Dad, watch me!")--I mean, if they don't have to fight for my attention, I less often have to fight for theirs.  "Why me" or "I didn't make this mess" is replaced by Cooper with a resounding "you betcha', Dad!", or Aaron's favorite "Okey dokey, artichokey", or Annie's simple, sweet "Sure, Daddy".  The more I treat my children like adults, the more they treat me like one.  Haha.
Now, I have crossed the line once or twice, because soon my expectations will start to exceed any behaviour that should reasonably be expected from children seven and under.  This load is often shouldered by the oldest because, well, he's been around long enough to function independently and contribute just as much as the adults in the family....right?  Come on, it's not like he's still potty training--why doesn't he make breakfast for us on Sunday or at least get the kids ready for church??  So I have to be careful, because sometimes in my efforts to treat them as grown-ups, or at least growner-ups, I put too much pressure on their inexperienced shoulders. Add to that my frustration when my explicit instructions are not followed, and now I'm that much further away from the loving reciprocity which was and is my perpetual goal.
It has been far easier for me to divert my simmering frustration than to repair damage done by waiting for it to boil over...and I have surprisingly been able to do this by something as simple as making up a forgotten bed or masterminding a surprise movie night.  See, when I do something for my children with the same attitude that I have when planning a date or following the correct laundry rotation parameters (I'm working on it, honey) in order to surprise their mother (you know, the attitude that I like to call the "Christmas Eve Effect," when you almost vibrate in anticipation of the look on their faces)--when I can carry any part of that excitement into re-re-re-folding clean clothes from under the bed, or surprising them with a treat after school, the love I have for them grows, leaving no room in my heart or mind for anything else.
And hugs.  Never underestimate the sublime power of those short little arms in the right configuration..."Make it squeezy, Daddy."

Reading for your kids

If you've ever been talked down to (you know, anytime since grade school), you probably remember a surge of bitterness and a whirlwind of expletives building at the base of your tongue, just waiting to launch off of the tip.  Also, if you've ever sat through a lecture--from an extremely dry (or worse, pompous) professor, a self-important vice principal (who wouldn't be so tough without that strap or the Magnum PI mustache), or even a concerned but somewhat unprepared parent on the do's and don'ts of date night (uh, if you think this is awkward, wait until you get to the "so you're getting married tomorrow" lunch conversation)--you know that there are specific triggers that make you shut down almost instantly, rendering the remainder of any such one-sided discussion utterly useless.  You mentally revert to the kid in the back of the station wagon who is either repeatedly asking "Are we there yet?" or trying to find which method of sibling torture will most effectively pass the time, exacting your revenge on the parental units that confined you and six others in the back of what can only be described as a Saskatchewan Sauna for a 13 hour trek across the burned-out prairies...whoa--that one got away from me a little bit...some undigested leftovers of my childhood...where were we?
Oh yes, tuning out that which does not please us...and we've been doing it since...well, since we could make the distinction.  I watch my kids do it when (a) it's time to clean up (b) the TV is on or (c) bed time, time for church, at the mall, in the checkout line, in the car...  So, what it comes down to is not necessarily that I need to be more entertaining than any given distraction, but I do need to be more engaging--showing the way, sharing the work, holding a hand (or ear, or tiny hairs on the back of the neck), singing a song and not just being a royal lump on the sofa throne, barking orders and scheduling the next beheading.
So what does any of this have to do with reading?  We often hear about how important reading to our children is for various developmental reasons--but it would be so much more effective in instilling a love of literature if we adopted the attitude of reading for our children, instead of just to them.  We need to be just as engaging at story time (I know, I know, it's the end of the day) as we are at chore or supper or play time. Spending time reading is, first of all, spending time...but as I get into the books, especially before my little ones have learned to read, I am the infuser of imagination, the director of fantastic delight, the bridge between home and whatever place our chosen book takes us--all the way to Hogwarts or through Narnia, or simply in a box, with a fox.  I love to give characters voices and accents, and I try to elicit some kind of response from the kids--good or bad.  They love the Merle Haggard/Dukes of Hazzard drawl for the Berenstain Bears, but Cooper cringes when Papa Bear breaks out in a lilting Irish brogue...and we've never had so much fun. I often read the simple rhymes of Dr. Seuss with increasing speed, surprising myself at my lingual dexterity and pulling the kids right along with me. And the result?  Bed time is a glorious event instead of a looming battle and books regularly cycle through favorite status; but the best part is when we can't decide on a book and begin to construct a story ourselves, our imaginings winding and weaving together into wonderful, blissful moments of the very best part of life.

By way of introduction

I suppose the best way to begin would be to act as though I know what I'm doing and just write.  Who reads this stuff anyway?  ....my wife?  Sherece said she would, so, you'd better be...

To the delight of my children (and often the exasperation of my wife) I use humor to cope with difficult nearly every situation. The hardest thing with that is knowing when to laugh at the hilarious antics of our three children...not so much in the times when laughing would be detrimental (you know, like in the middle of church)--stifling a laugh is much easier than allowing a laugh when you're otherwise out of sorts.
 Something about being a parent brings out the authoritarian in the most easy-going of us, and all of a sudden it's so easy to hang on to frustration.  Not only that, we meet the slightest offering of peace with stoic unforgiving....aside from making restitution more difficult, we also return hurt for hurt with the tender feelings of our children.  Something that has helped me stop the madness before doing more damage is the realization that in many cases, these fledgling human beings don't know any better while I, in every case, do.  So, I try to let the laughs come when warranted. Hopefully, my epistolary endeavors help others to do the same.