A hero for five minutes. But what a five minutes it was. All thanks to Elmer the Elephant. Or I should say finding Elmer. Which I did. And which made me a hero. Even if for only five short ones. I’ll take it. It had been bedlam that morning. Mother and child hurrying about the house, trying to find something. Heck if I knew what. All I knew is it looked like there had been an avalanche of stuffed animals in my daughter’s closet, and there may or may not have been one of my family members trapped below them.
As my arteries slowly weep …
I can feel it. Creeping up my sides. Slithering through my veins. In my belt, oh yes, definitely there. How my pants don’t snap the same way anymore. There’s less give. A bit more snugness. And I feel heavy. And slow. And lethargic. When I sweat I smell barbecue sauce. Thank you Fourth of July. Thank you for my grilled meat overdose. I awoke Monday to a meat hangover. A coworker asked if I had the meat sweats.
A new knee and playing nurse for dear old dad
It’s a strange and wonderful thing, helping a parent recover from surgery. “Wonderful” because you’re returning the favor after all those years he or she raised you. Wiping your bottom. Cutting up your steak. Listening to doctors’ instructions, and remembering when you’re supposed to take medicine. Not even trying to duck when you threw up. “Strange” because now it’s you asking things like: “So … uh … you don’t actually need help going to the bathroom, right?” Because I’m sure as heck not wiping any bottoms! Pop got a ride home from the hospital and I’m calling it even.
Coming to terms with a silent, dog-less house
It’s a quiet house. An empty house. You don’t hear the rat-a-tat-tat of toenails on the hardwood floors. Or feel hot breath on your kneecaps at dinner. There’s no need for spastic, acrobatic leaps when you turn around at the fridge, realizing an instant too late there’s a dog sitting at your feet. She would scramble out of the way when she saw I was about to topple on her.
Father camera units and the great preschool graduation debacle
I do declare … a kindergartner. That’s what my daughter is now. She graduated from Memorial Presbyterian Day School, a wonderful place where she learned amazing things, including how to turn washable paints into permanent ink stains. It was a terrific little ceremony the other night, filled with merriment, songs by children (some whose voices could carve names into glass) and diplomas for little tikes in blue caps and flowing gowns. Precious.
Now for some “tips” on surviving a vacation to Orlando
I have met mayhem, and it is called Orlando over Memorial Day weekend. That’s when all the people come out. When the heat turns up. When even ice cream is hot. When the only way to move about a theme park is to body surf atop the crowds. When the roads are lined with people from Wisconsin and Kansas who have forgotten their cars came pre-installed with gas pedals. (They just stop in the middle of four-lane highways!) I took the family to Orlando where we stayed in a resort, visited the Magic Kingdom and drank so much chlorinated pool water that our insides are bleached white. As with all my trips, I learned a lot. So I figured I would share some tips on how to make it back alive. Heed my advice:
‘Star Wars’ tattoos and that fanatical force
It took me a couple moments to get what I was seeing — the girl with the “Star Wars” tattoo. They’ve become so commonplace, tattoos. So expected and ubiquitous that we hardly notice them anymore. Unless one is different, unexpected and on some level connects with us. I can’t remember the last time I saw someone with a character from “Star Wars” permanently etched on their body. This was a battle droid, and I must say … different, unexpected, and totally connected with me.
A bookbag full of … digital textbooks?
We shouldn’t be shocked really. Because we all knew this was the way things were heading. It’s a digital world ruled by digital devices, so doesn’t it make sense that textbooks in school would be next? Yet, something in me was a little stunned when I read the article headlined, “Lawmakers approve move to digital textbooks.”
Happy Mother’s Day … Now here are your worms
I hope you thanked your mom on Mother’s Day. That fearless woman who brought you into the world. After carting you about in her womb. Who raised you and made sure your shoes were tied and your teeth brushed. Who made sure you grew up to be respectable and responsible and, if nothing else, somewhat civilized. You use a napkin, right? Because we all owe them that — a little thanks. Did you kiss your momma last Sunday? Actually, I didn’t. If I tried to kiss mine, she would swat me on the head. It’s not her thing.
Robin King: Remembering a teacher whose lessons continue on
It took an awful long time to write this column. Maybe too long. I don’t know why, but it’s been hard. Maybe it was too soon. Maybe I hadn’t come to terms with it, or wasn’t ready to admit he was really gone. Whatever the reason, I’ve been delaying it since December.