She had to say it again. Her tone sounded … well, it sounded like she thought I was an imbecile: “Yes! TOMORROW is the last day of kindergarten.” OK, I am sort of an imbecile. We men don’t compute things until they’re laid out in front of us with neon and barbecue sauce slathered all over. We should pay better attention. We should listen once in a while, but that requires more brain cells than we have in the bank.
Searching for greatness … or just surviving Orlando in the summer
Muhammad Ali once said, “I hated every minute of training, but I said, ‘Don’t quit. Suffer now and live the rest of your life as a champion.’” I’ve been spending a lot of time thinking about quotes like that. Thinking about how great champions — heroes of the sports world! — pushed themselves to the limits … overcame obstacles … undertook grueling training to climb high atop pedestals of glory. I am on a similar quest. A similar training program that I hope will bring me greatness. It will push my body to the limits. Finely tune me so I’m ready for anything. No, not just anything. Just one thing — my single-minded focus — my Mt. Everest — my championship — MY glory!!!!
The tick, tick, tick of the summertime countdown clock
There are countdown clocks in my house. Lots of them. All over the place. They are a constant reminder that for two of the three members of the family, school is quickly coming to a close. My daughter’s first year of elementary school — she’s in kindergarten. My wife’s first year of school — she’s a pre-school assistant teacher. Soon they go into summer-time bliss. Semi-retirement. Partial shutdown. Or whatever it is you do when you have months at a time without school or work or anything imperative to do. Summer camps. Jobs around the house. Counting spider webs.
Injured fingers and trips to the hospital
Put a Band-Aid on it. It’s about as typical an injury response as you’ll ever get from a father. Kid is missing three layers of skin? Put a Band-Aid on it. Bone is protruding at a 90-degree angle? Grab a stick from the yard as a splint and put a Band-Aid on it. Major gastrointestinal problems? Crush up a Band-Aid, add to boiling water with a pinch of lemon and drink it. Soothes the savage beast.
Marching in … I mean through … the St. Patty’s Day Parade for Pepper
I never thought I would march in New York’s St. Patrick’s Day Parade. Yet, there I was among the blaring bagpipes that echoed across 5th Avenue’s skyscraper canyon. The high school bands. The kilts. That undulating sea of green that swarmed like ants through the city. For a brief moment — a break in the swarm — I was part of it. The pomp and circumstance. The Irish pride. The cop yelling, “Let’s go, people! Get across that street!” Run! Run! Run!
All I want for Christmas? For everyone to stop asking
What do I want for Christmas? Peace on Earth and good will toward men. Now stop asking! It’s that time of year when family starts calling. Starts emailing. Starts prodding. Starts employing ESP on us. All in order to spirit away gift ideas, mainly for the resident 5-year-old.
Chubby pencils, freshmen parents and going to kindergarten
I don’t know what was worse this week … the threat of a category 3 hurricane remodeling the house … or my daughter going off to kindergarten. Which is exactly what she’s doing this week. Just like all the other little ones across the county. Done with pre-school, and now graduated into the big leagues. Elementary school. ELEMENTARY school. ELEMENTARY SCHOOL!!!
Believing in Grandmom Evie
“Believe in her, dad. Believe in Grandma Evie.” My daughter — just 5 years old — was pleading with me. Sounded like a line from a bad baseball movie. It was 86+ degrees in my mother’s house. After a rainstorm. A temperature she would dispute using complex physics and something about the silver in the China cabinet causing things to heat up by the thermostat. “That thing isn’t right,” she said. I had been complaining about how hot it was inside. Had walked over to the digital thermostat to read it. To prove that it was hot. Which would explain the sweat on my kid’s brow and why she was fanning herself. My mother doesn’t use her air conditioning. Thinks it’s a scourge. Calls once a quarter to tell me that I need to get used to life without it myself. Because the economy is crap, the energy is in crisis and soon we’ll all be AC-less. Her words not mine. She’s been saying it my whole life.
Dreaming of summer camp … for adults
I am thrilled the debt ceiling fight is finally over. Now the country can move on to bigger issues. Like summer camp for all adults. Congress, you want to get behind something every American can support? Then make it a requirement — shoot, maybe even a law! — that all of us big kids get to go to summer camp again. Talk about non-partisan. Something that will bring the country together.
Playing hero to a daughter … if only briefly
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.