Santa's Watching

The joy of Christmas.
The joy of the "Santa Claus" mystique.
The childhood illusion of what we come to expect this time of year annually has been passed from generation to generation to generation.
It's not just a part of our childhood (and later parenthood), it's one hell of an effective behavior modification tool.
Our three-year-old daughter is really into Christmas this year.  So much so that she understands the whole "Santa's watching" concept.
And we do exploit that.
My wife Margie recently bought one of those "Elf on a Shelf" dolls.  You put them in a different place each day and out of the child's reach.  So they know that Santa (in this case, his designee) is always watching.
Always.
ALWAYS.
ALWAYS.
To encourage Savannah that she had an important role in this elf's existence in the house, we asked her to pick a name for the elf.
"Rachel".
We were a little surprised by that one.  But hey, who said elves have to be male, right?
So our elf became Rachel.
Not that our daughter is a problem child by any means, but at any time she would act out of the boundaries we set for her, we would tell her "Rachel's watching".
It worked.  To her, Rachel was a papal bull.
The presence of presents is all contingent on her good behavior.
Of course, we try to emphasize to her the real reason behind the season.
The season of giving.
The generosity of spirit, not just material possessions.
And may we all learn a lesson from it this time of year.
And year-round.



"Old School Dad" will be on hiatus until Sunday, January 6th.

Silent Night

As last week's column might have suggested, I had planned to write about the mystique of Santa and the importance of being good...for goodness' sake.
But those plans were quickly shoved to the back burner as I read with horror at the tragedy that happened at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut this past Friday.
Simply put, it made Columbine almost seem like a playground fight, as a lone gunman opened fire on twenty students...twelve girls and eight boys, all of whom were either six or seven years of age.  Six adults also died in the massacre before the suspected gunman, a twenty-year-old man named Adam Lanza, turned the gun on himself.
For me personally, it's heartbreaking to know that not only were these young innocent lives taken, but those of whom were protecting them.  If the protectors are removed, then there's nothing more to protect the child.
No one takes my life without me fighting for it first, and I would have used every ounce of my strength to try and disarm this sick individual.
This massacre is being touted as the second-deadliest school shooting in American history, right behind the 2007 shooting spree that left 32 people dead at Virginia Tech.
Since then, the questions have been non-stop.  Why?  And how could it have been allowed to happen?
As for the why, that's a question that must remain unanswered, for Lanza removed any possible answer when he pulled the trigger that took his own life after his rampage had stopped.
Yet as I plunged further into the depths of this case, there's many signs of what may have not sparked, but certainly didn't help, in what had happened here.
Nancy Lanza, who was a victim to her younger son's actions, was an avid gun collector, and among her 'collectibles' was a semiautomatic .223 Bushmaster rifle.  That and two pistols were found next to Adam's body after he turned the gun on himself.  All three weapons belonged to his mother.
One of the pistols was a Glock.  For those of you not familiar, a Glock is a semi-automatic pistol that is the premier brand choice for law enforcement sidearms.
I am a Second Amendment advocate and a member of the National Rifle Association.  I am a firm believer in firearms and your right to defend your home, family and property against others.
Outside of game hunting and self-defense in the home, I see no real reason to own a gun.  I own a 20-gauge pump action shotgun that is intended to be used for deer hunting.  Although I don't have time for hunting like I used to, it's still there, and it's ready to be used in the event someone breaks into my home and threatens my family.
That's the only gun I own.
My three-year-old daughter doesn't know I have it.  That's how often I handle it.  If she has to, my wife knows how to fire it and where the bullets are kept.  The gun is always unloaded and the ammunition stored separately from it.
Unless you live or work in a notoriously bad neighborhood, or work in law enforcement, I see no need to conceal and carry.
I don't go looking for trouble.  I don't frequent establishments that are breeding grounds for conflict.  And I certainly don't pull a weapon out of hammerspace because I don't agree with someone.  If I don't agree with someone, I walk away.  I don't try to hurt them.
Except if you're unwelcome and in my house.  Then your backside is mine and you can kiss it goodbye.
So my question is, why did Nancy Lanza need this cache of guns?  Especially a semi-automatic rifle?  And around a young man who frequently exhibited signs of social awkardness and possibly a deeper-rooted problem such as a behavioral disorder?
And did Nancy Lanza explain to her son why she had the need for these weapons?  Did she pay attention to the possibility that he might be capable of doing something like this?  Did she try to get him help?
We still don't have all the answers and likely will not for some time.
But you can be vigilant against acts like these.  You don't have to be a parent, teacher, or relative.
All you have do is this:
SOMETHING.
Look at the signs.  Do you see an individual mentioning anything about killing or hurting someone, or many someones, for that matter?
Don't ignore them.
And if you have a kid, don't ignore the signs.  If they won't talk to you, make them talk.  You do this by searching their bedrooms.  Monitor their online activities including emails and social media.  Yes, it's invading their privacy.  But they need to know that privacy is a privilege, not a right.
And if they get confrontational with you, don't be afraid to resort to getting physical with them.
You can put them through college or put them through a wall.  Leave that choice up to them.  After a few times, they'll choose the former.
My kudos to the producers of Saturday Night Live, who last night, opened the show with the New York Children's Chorus singing "Silent Night".  After their performance ended, the screen silently faded to black.  Then the fade reversed with the kids saying in unison "Live from New York, it's Saturday Night!"  The show went on business-as-usual from there.
Thank you, Lorne Michaels.  Above and beyond the call of duty on this one.
Please pause for a moment to think of the families affected by this senseless tragedy this holiday season, as it will not be a Merry Christmas for them.  They will never see this holiday in the same light again and their lives will forever be changed.
And think of yourselves.  How we can be better people and be more proactive in recognizing 'the signs' so that future events like this can be prevented from ever happening again.



NEXT WEEK:  Back on Track

One and Fun

It never ceases to amaze me.
No matter how much our society has progressed, there's still the very vocal minority that insists that it's their way or the highway, because they're the world's foremost authority on everything.
Get Professor Irwin Corey on the phone.  I think he'd have a strong argument for copyright infringement.
I was reading an article in Parenting Magazine a couple weeks ago called "One and Done", taking a closer look at why an increasing number of parents are opting to have an only child.
According to the National Center for Health Statistics, single child families have almost doubled since the 1960s, to about one in five.
One in five.  That's 20 percent.
And I'm proud to say I'm one of them.
But nonetheless, some feel that they have to offer input insofar as having more.
They run the gamut.
"You don't want them growing up spoiled, do you?"  "They need a playmate."  "They'll grow up to be selfish", "They won't be socially adept."
I can disprove every one of these.
Why?  Because I grew up with a brother two and a half years younger than me.  So here's how I can refute all of those claims.
"I know plenty of only children who were not spoiled", "Our daughter has playmates at daycare and goes on playdates".  As for the last two, those were my own handicaps growing up with another sibling in the house, so your so-called theories are bunk.
You can have a house full of kids and they'll grow tired of each other after awhile and want you to play with them.  Even if you adopted their best friend as one of your own, this would still hold true.
My wife and I have had our daughter in daycare since she was about 14 weeks old.  And we haven't regretted it one bit.
I applaud those who have only children.  Because they're most likely letting common sense guide them into a charted path for their child's future and a desire to help them be the most they can be.
Don't get me wrong.  I don't condemn those who choose to have bigger families.  However, I do condemn those who have them for the wrong reasons.
Like sheer vanity.  "I came from a big family, so I want one too."  Ability to financially sustain them be damned...so public assistance (funded by our tax dollars) comes into play here.
Or, if you've had two girls already, "I'm not stopping until I get a son."
I like that one...where it's all about the family name and nothing else.
If you're able to financially (and independently) provide for a large number of children, God bless you for having the talents and the means at hand to do it.  Not everyone has this luxury.
But if you have the means, I hope you have all the love needed for such a large brood.
And a strong eye for the future.
We're facing a crisis in this country.
A broken pension system.  Not enough jobs for those who want them.  Enormous bankruptcy filings by parents who lose their jobs and then their overpriced and underwater homes.  And as technology progresses, those without a strong educational foundation will be left far behind.
No Child Left Behind is one thing.  No Adult Left Behind is another matter altogether.
And speaking of which, take a closer look at that.  What does this country have to offer those we leave behind after we've gone?
Only as much as they themselves have to offer.
And it don't come cheap.
According to the U.S. Department of Agriculture, a middle-class family can expect to pay more than a quarter of million dollars to raise a child to 17 years of age.
We didn't pay that much for our house.
Yeah, it's a lot of money, isn't it?
Now multiply that by the number of children you expect to have.
While, at the same time, planning your own retirement.
Gets tricky, doesn't it?
Did I mention that quarter-million-dollar figure does NOT, repeat, NOT, include a college education?
Your child will need one.  Or at least a substantial trade.
Big families need advance planning.  Lots of it.  Employers don't often pay more money to a prospective employee because they have a lot of kids.  In virtually every case, it has no bearing whatsoever.
It can even be a handicap to some.  Employers may be reluctant to hire someone with a lot of kids because of their obligations to their families.
Oh, and you're probably wondering...what is defined as a 'lot' of kids?
I see it as four or more.
Anyway, some questions to ask yourself when planning for your family:
What kind of house do you want to live in?  Small one or a big one?  More importantly, what kind of house can you afford to live in?  What kind of car will you need?  How much do you plan to spend on groceries each month?  How much will you need for clothes?  Baby needs?  Will you be able to plan your retirement? Is there room for 'little extras'?
It means sacrifice.  Pure and simple.  Giving up for yourself for the sake of your child.  Not everybody can do it...at least willingly.
And the more kids you have, the greater the sacrifices you will need to make.
Putting aside your own needs for theirs.  It takes a lot.  If you can't do this, you're not ready.
My wife and I have one child.  Call us selfish.  Think less of us.  I don't care.
Don't be quick to judge only-child parents as self-indulgent materialists.  It is so not the case.
We prefer to use our resources to give our child the means to a better future.  Being able to afford extracurricular activities such as athletics, music lessons, (and college, that's a given) or the like to help her grow into a successful adult far outweighs a detached emotional need to procreate.
One and Done?
No...I don't think so.
I can still come home from work each night and have just enough energy left to spend on the little moppet clinging to my leg and yelling "DADDY!!!" just before giving her a bath, reading her two stories, and tucking her into bed.
One and Done...or One and FUN?
Definitely the latter.


NEXT WEEK:  So be Good...for Goodness' Sake

The Lighter Side

Our daughter will be four in July.  Since just before her third birthday, she's been afraid of the dark.
The baby monitor, which sufficed while she was still...well, a baby...is no longer doing the job.
It's one of those kind with a built-in night light, by the way.
This isn't doing the job not because it's broken, but something more simple, yet so complex.
It doesn't throw enough light.
She began to insist on sleeping with the lights on.
We ruled out the ceiling fan in her room.  There was no way she was going to get to sleep with that much light being thrown all about.
The compromise was her little lamp on the bookshelf.
I begrudgingly allowed it.
Very begrudgingly, I might add.
I can't force my daughter to sleep in total darkness.  That's just fodder for her to go on a tabloid talk show and talk about her new book that she wrote on how a cruel parent I was.
But I can do this.
Change the size of the light bulb.
I noticed that the lamp had a 40-watt incandescent bulb in it.
So I went to the store the next day and got a 25-watt bulb.
Not too bright, but not too dim, either.
And she didn't appear to notice.
After a couple months of this, I decided to take it a step further.
We went down to a 15-watt bulb.  The dimmest one I was able to find.
This is the kind you usually find in refrigerators and conventional ovens.
Now she did notice this one.
"It's not bright", she complained.
Mmmm...how does one handle this?
Then I remembered what Fred Rogers (yes, THAT Fred Rogers) had to say on the matter many years ago.  Why I remembered it at that precise moment, I'll never know.
I patiently explained to her that a light that was too bright might make it hard for her to sleep at night, and the importance of a good night's sleep.  So that we'd have enough energy to do all the things we want the next day.
"You want to play with the other kids at daycare, don't you?" I said.
She did seem to understand this, albeit with some reluctance.
So she still sleeps with the lamp on, but at 15 watts, we can live with it.
I know many adults who, even in their advancing years, still sleep with a night-light on.
There's no shame in that.
As a parent, I've learned over the past couple years that no matter how 'old school' you are, in many ways, you learn the benefits of compromise.
And the benefits of watching Mister Rogers' Neighborhood as a child.
Though he's been gone for several years now, he won't be forgotten anytime soon.
Because you never know when the spirit of Fred is nearby to help you.
But he was there with me that night.
Thanks, Fred.


NEXT WEEK:  One and Done

Four Decades

It's amazing...how much time you put in on this planet really makes a difference.
My wife turned 40 today.
What a difference a year makes.
It makes me reflect on how much of a difference it can make in your parenting style.
At 40, you learn not to sweat the 'small stuff'.  At 20, you go completely ballistic if your kid spills milk on the carpet.
But at 20, you have enough energy to spend on your kid to tire THEM out.  At 40, when they're ready for bed, so are you.
I'm glad I had a girl.  Because I would have had to hit the gym if my wife gave birth to a son.
Not to keep up physically so I could play with him...so I could kick his backside if he got sassy with me.
Hey, I often wondered what kept me alive all those years when my mouth overrode my sensibilities as far as my Dad was concerned.
There is some modicum of truth in the phrase 'age is just a number'.  You're only as old as you feel.
And granted, we haven't aged as quickly as we did in years past.  We learned the dangers of smoking.  We choose a glass of red wine over a six-pack.  We pick up poultry or seafood over beef in the meat department at the supermarket.
And...we've even managed to find time to exercise.  All in the name of keeping our good numbers up and our bad numbers down.
Because, as parents, we have to set a good example for our kids.
That's important.
With more children becoming afflicted with heart disease, obesity, diabetes, and other maladies, we need to show them the merits of getting and staying healthy.
We want our kids to make to milestone birthdays like these.
And beyond.
Perhaps they'll live long enough to find out that medical science has progressed to the point where living to 100 is like living to 80 today.
And that they make the most of those years.
Because this is the one shot we have on this globe.
No more.


NEXT WEEK:  Lights Out

Thanksgiving

Sometimes, we just forget to say 'thank you'.
Or maybe we've just evolved into a society where everything, and everyone, is taken for granted.
There are no random acts of kindness anymore, everything is expected of you, without regard of its benefit to you, if any.
We take many things in this life for granted.
As a child, you have to expect this to some degree.  They're small and don't know the difference between needs and wants, but yet they understand that much of their little lives are in the control of someone else, and that 'someone else' is required to do what it takes to make them happy.
Our three-year-old makes an attempt to get what she wants by making a statement, as opposed to asking.  Case in point.
Scene...the kitchen on a Friday morning, one where we're both off work at the same time.  We're sitting at the kitchen table having our coffee.  Savannah walks in.
"I want yogurt."
Simple enough request, right?
That's just it.  It's not phrased as a request, but rather, an order.
And we nip it in the bud.
"That's nice, honey."
That's when she remembers her manners.
"Please".
And maybe I'm being petty on this one, but it's not enough.
"Ask."
Sometimes I get a huff with it, but she does get it done.
"Daddy, may I please have some yogurt?"
Much better.
The answer might not always be in her favor, but we make sure to thank her for her politeness.
So many parents forget to do this for their own children.
Especially when the parents don't practice this simple act to each other.
Are we this thankless for all we have that we've ceased to practice this simple act?
On this upcoming Thanksgiving Day holiday, stop for a moment to reflect.
"It's not having what you want, it's wanting what you've got."
Everyone has something to be thankful for.
Even those who don't have much in the way of material possessions.
I know many people who are poor in the material sense, but very wealthy in all the ways that count.
Now once again:
What are you thankful for this year?


NEXT WEEK:  Four Decades

Water Sports

I had remembered reading something in a parenting magazine that children are natural born swimmers.
The article I read concerned women who gave birth in a bathtub, with the newborn swimming to the surface after coming out of Mommy.
A little far-fetched?  I wonder.
As a child, I was fearful of the water.  But at the same time, I wasn't encouraged at an early enough age to embrace it and truly give it a chance.
My wife on the other hand, is an excellent swimmer.  Having been participating on athletic teams all through her childhood, and even into adulthood, she's been conditioned to stay in shape throughout the years.
Not to mention the fact that she grew up in a sports-loving household.  It's all about survival.
Our daughter, now three years old, has been all too eager to show us her prowess in the swimming pool this past summer.
Using water-wings, she has been able to work her arms to the point where she can navigate fairly well in the pool, when we took our annual vacation down South.
And she takes advantages to sharpen her skills in the bathtub.
I've been filling it with more water than the usual in recent weeks, just to see her practice putting her face in the water so she can swim easier.
And she loves it.
"Daddy, watch me!" she says, as she enthusiastically plunges her tiny face into the water surface.
She's good.
She gets it from her mom.
We had taken her to a 'tumbling' class (precursor to gymnastics) at our local YMCA weeks ago, but she began to show a lack of interest.  So we asked if she wanted to take swimming lessons instead.
She embraced it with all aplomb.
We emphasized that it was important for her to stay focused and pay attention, because to not do so, would mean someone getting seriously hurt.
We also emphasized that she was going to learn how to be a better swimmer, and not to play.  And it was important for her to understand that she was there to learn and listen.
She learned.  And listened.
My wife takes her to swimming lessons each Wednesday.
And I stay informed of her progress.  Each week she gets better and better.
Before long, she'll be on the school diving team, I'm sure.
And even if she isn't, that's fine too.
Learning to swim never hurt anyone.
It can actually save one's life.
Your own or perhaps another's.
And that ain't bad.


NEXT WEEK:  Giving thanks

Reading is Fundamental

You might remember the public service announcements on TV featuring the likes of Edward Asner and Carol Burnett in the 1970s promoting childhood literacy.
"Reading is thinking, learning, and growing," said Burnett.  "But a child won't read if he doesn't want to."
"Give a kid a book and you'll give a kid a break," said Asner.
One of my regular nighttime rituals is to read my three-year-old daughter two bedtime stories each night.  It has, by far, become one of her favorite pastimes.
And sometimes she wants a story, even if it's not bedtime or even close to it.
Since before she was born, my wife Margie and I began to build our collection of children's books for Savannah.
The Berenstain Bears, Peanuts, Alice in Bibleland, Sesame Street, and even a couple locally published children's books take up a cabinet in our entertainment center for Savannah's enjoyment.
We lay four books out on the Ottoman for her to choose which two she would like me to read to her.
She picks out two, and then during or after the first one, she decides to migrate from the hearth next to my recliner to my lap and snuggle.
And I don't mind that at all.
Having a Sunday through Thursday work schedule, Fridays afford me the opportunity to bond with my daughter.  This is a challenge, especially when there's work around the house that needs to be done.
But I never am too busy to read a book when she wants me to read to her.
And if I am busy, I ask her to wait a few minutes until I finish what I'm doing.
Then I go to the family room and sit in my recliner.  She sometimes keeps the chair warm for me.
Then we read together.
Sometimes we go through two or three books.
"I like it when you read to me," is what Savannah says.
Why more parents don't do this is beyond me.
It doesn't require much time or effort.  Just sitting in a comfortable chair with your child in your lap, with your words taking them to places their imaginations shape into places of fantasy.
And imagination is key.
It makes you wonder how their little minds work the way they do.
I read her one Peanuts book where Linus gives up his security blanket and goes door-to-door trying to solicit other kids with insecurity issues into accepting his method of cure.
One, a little girl, snaps Linus with her own blanket, knocking him over.
In doing so, the illustration shows the girl snapping the blanket at Linus, who falls with his feet in the air and his backside to the reader.
But this is lost on my daughter.
"He doesn't have a head," she says in her sweet little voice.
I can't help but burst into laughter.  The things they say.
I manage to compose myself long enough to explain that Linus has his head...you just can't see it in the picture because his butt's in the way.
"Oh," she says.
Then I re-test her the next time she reads it by saying "He doesn't have a head".
"He has a head," she says.  "You just can't see it cuz his butt's in the way."
A plus.
Spend time with your kid.  If you're not someone who'll get down on the floor and play with your child, you'll find that reading still fills the bill just fine.
Because they know they have your undivided attention for a few minutes.
And you'll have memories that last a lifetime.


NEXT WEEK:  Water Sports

Getting them to Eat Right

One of the most challenging things about raising a child can be what they put into their mouths.
Obviously, when they're babies, we don't want them putting things like flowers, dirt, window cleaner, laundry  detergent or other non-food items in their little cakeholes.  And we're pretty vigilant about it.
As they grow, they learn about how good food can taste.
And how it compares with other food items.
Our three-year-old daughter is all too well familiar with this.
And how to work it.
"My belly's all filled up", she says, often after only a couple of bites from her meal.
But then she'll say she wants a snack less than a half hour later.
"Hungwy" she says in her little voice.
My wife I would never feed our daughter anything that we wouldn't eat ourselves.  We made this a solemn vow to her.
Having grown up in a somewhat "economically challenged" household in the 70s and 80s, I had to suffer through the occasional dinner fare of liver, squash, zucchini and eggplant, despite my mother's best culinary efforts to disguise it.
I had no problem with spaghetti or grilled cheese with the key ingredient from a food bank.
But I particularly hated liver.  It was the most disgusting meal on the planet.  I would have preferred to go to bed hungry, but that was an option I was not afforded.
My dad feighned surprise when he learned after I was an adult, how much I hated it?
"Really?" he'd say.  "I like it...it's good."
Uh, Dad...not once did I ever see you at the dinner table when liver was served.  You conveniently had someplace else to be that night.  Probably in the parking lot of McDonald's, laughing it up.
Margie plans the meals in our house, with the exception of three days out of the week.  Either I bring it home, I take the family out, or I put the apron on.  Whatever the case, it's my worry.
But when I do cook, I do try to follow my wife's example and keep things as healthy as possible.
We very rarely eat red meat anymore.  Most of our dishes are chicken-based, breads are either wheat or whole-grain, milk is lowfat, pasta is wholegrain when we can get it, and we buy veggies from farmers' markets.
If I get overly creative in the kitchen, where I want to make more adult dishes like coq au vin, beef stroganoff, or shrimp fettucine alfredo (my wife's favorite), I'll defer to my daughter and prepare her a hot dog or some chicken nuggets.
But despite our best efforts, our daughter affords little room in her belly for the good stuff, but for treats and sweeter stuff like yogurt, applesauce, or cheese or breads.  Though we sometimes succeed in getting her to try new things, she will occasionally decide to spit out onto her plate what she ate without a problem just a few days ago, and proclaim "I don't like it."
"You ate it fine last week."
Doesn't matter.
But lately, we've been cracking down.
What she has in front of her is what she gets for dinner, period.
And sometimes she needs her fork reloaded after each bite to remind her she's not done.
It often takes time, but eventually it gets done.
Most of the time, it's outside distractions that hamper her eating habits.
Those often result in time-outs or her spending her meal strapped in her baby booster seat, which she's come to hate.
And it has been getting better.
She's come to realize the family kitchen is not an open-all-night restaurant, and that "hungwy" uttered right before bedtime has been formally recognized as a Savannah Stall Tactic.
Never in a million years did I ever realize what an effort staying ahead of your child is.
And that it never seems to cease.


NEXT WEEK:  Remembering RIF

Network Affiliation

In the broadcasting business, most radio and television stations are affiliated with major networks.
CBS, ABC, NBC, CNN, AP, just to name a few.
At the radio station where I work, we're proud affiliates of CBS and MSNBC.
People can also be affiliated as well.
You may often hear this associated with religion.
According to The Pew Research Center, the number of people in this country who call themselves 'non-religious' has been estimated at 20 percent.
That statistic is alarming.
Religious is classified as a belief in a Supreme being and attending church on a regular basis, though not a "Bible-beater" per se.
Pew took the time to break this 20 percent figure down into subgroups, with only a third of them identifying as 'atheist' or 'agnostic' with the remaining holding some kind of belief in God, yet don't identify as being part of any organized religion in particular, and don't attend church regularly, if at all.
Even more alarming is the survey revealed that that statistic was only at 15 percent five years ago.  At that rate, the number could climb even higher.
I self-identify as a Christian when asked, but don't wear it on my sleeve.  I like to keep my relationship with God an intimate one.  We as a family belong to Glade Run Presbyterian Church, but I myself have been a Roman Catholic since baptism.
For a time, I renounced my Catholic faith, but came back to it as I got older.
It's not something you can easily walk away from, as I've found out.
I never became a confirmed Catholic in my early teens because my parents were going through a divorce at the time, and my Catechism studies were interrupted.
Over the years, I always regretted not getting confirmed.  So at the age of 38, I finally asked the religious education director at my church what I would have to do in order to make it happen.  There was a problem, though...I couldn't attend Sunday morning classes due to my work obligations.
They gave me a book and told me to study it.
I did.  A few months later, I took the name 'Michael' in honor of my paternal grandfather as I received the blessing from the Bishop of the Catholic Diocese of Pittsburgh.
Don't get me wrong.  I have friends who are atheist and agnostic who are fine people.  A couple even send their kids to Sunday school.
Yes, they're aware of the irony.
They say it's because they want their child to learn the value system often found in Christian teaching, and then once their child comes of age, they can decide whether or not they want to believe.
If you don't think it can happen, don't forget about Kirk Cameron.
The 80's teen heartthrob from ABC's "Growing Pains" was raised in a non-Christian household, even claiming to be an atheist in his early teens, but underwent a spiritual conversion that eventually affected his relationships with his fellow cast members on the show, as well as the show's writers.
While Kirk was a bit overzealous in his beliefs, I still find it impressive for someone to find faith where there had once been none.
But I am concerned that our country will one day be led by the faithless, and it will have an negative impact on our society in a bigger way than we're experiencing now.
My former boss, Stuart W. Epperson of Salem Communications (licensee of WORD-FM and WPIT-AM in the Pittsburgh area, plus many other stations) said it best in an interview with Mother Jones magazine:
"When you secularize a culture, you lose your moral compass."
Secularizing an individual or group is one thing.  An entire culture is another.
Atheism has been around forever.  However, groups and individuals advocating it have been becoming more and more vocal about it.
The point of this is, whether you are a Christian or non-Christian, teach your children the values you would want them to learn, regardless of your belief structure.  Because they still hold true today.
It doesn't have to be about going to Heaven.  But it can be about contributing something positive to the world all of us will one day leave behind.


NEXT WEEK:  Cook's choice

Get the Potty Started

One of the most frustrating things a parent can ever experience is the potty-training of their child.
Some don't take long at all, while others take longer.
It can be especially frustrating if you're a 'newbie' parent still getting the hang of things with an only child.
My wife and I are certainly no exception.
Our potty training efforts with our daughter began before she turned two.  We incentivized it with treats, and even a return trip to Splash Lagoon, an indoor water park about an hour and a half away in Erie, Pennsylvania.
The Splash Lagoon trip was especially fun.  With every successful attempt, she earned her way towards a letter that, with others, would ultimately spell out "SPLASH LAGOON".
We got about as far as "SPLASH LAG".
While it helped her get "Number One" down pat, and ultimately moving her from Pull-Ups to big-girl undies, we were still struggling with "Number Two".
Despite our best efforts, we could not get her to go "on time".  That is, getting her to tell us she had to go before she "went".
"Savannah, do you have to go potty?"
"No, I just went (in my pants)."
Makes the blood boil.
I once read in a Calvin and Hobbes book that being a parent makes you want to hug and strangle your kid at the same time.
Sometimes a change in venue might do the trick.
Our annual vacation to Hilton Head Island was the perfect opportunity.
We had warned her before that if she pooped in the pool at our condo, that she would not be able to go swimming again.
She wasn't too happy with that.
Especially in a place where she could swim any day she wanted, for as long as she wanted.
After we made it to the condo, we took her to the pool.
Then it came.
"I GOTTA GO POTTY!"
With the speed of Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson to the Bat-poles, Margie yanked Savannah from the pool and towards the bath house.  I kept an eye on them both.
Almost made it.  Down her leg and onto the sidewalk.
After Margie and Savannah failed to emerge from the bath house after a few minutes, I went up to investigate.
And after I made a visual confirmation, I knocked on the women's lavatory door.
Margie poked her head out.
"Did she go?" I asked.
Margie shook her head.
"She says she did, but I couldn't see anything."
After I relayed what had happened, Margie apologized to Savannah for doubting her.
From that point on, it was all downhill.
When she says she's gotta go, she's gotta go.
And now, every day when she does go, she reminds us of our promise.
"I get to go to Splash Lagoon!"
Lest we forget.



NEXT WEEK:  Affiliations

A Griswold Vacation

2012...the year of the Griswold.
Just recently I had addressed a local vacation effort with possible Griswold potential, but eventually it worked itself out.
Then, on our recent trip to the sunbelt, we had a few Griswold-like episodes.
I'll at this point preface by saying no one died, lost their job, got robbed, wrecked their car, took someone hostage, blew $22,000 and some change at the casino, or got into some kind of misadventure with a black sheep member of the family.
Nonetheless, I did wonder at one point if I was setting myself up for a fall.
Like Chevy Chase's signature movie role, I want my family to have a fun, old-fashioned family vacation, but I'm not overzealous about it.  That trait alone, as I've come to learn, is the key ingredient in a recipe for disaster.
We planned to leave a little earlier than our usual this year.  We decided to leave the afternoon of Thursday, September 20th, after we both left work early, so we could make a couple stops along the way and see some sights before reaching our zenith...Hilton Head Island, South Carolina.
My wife's parents own a condo there, and rent it out to tourists.  And they're kind enough to give us free use of it one week out of the year.
We decided to leave in the late afternoon and stay in southern West Virginia that first night.
Our departure turned out to be a little later than anticipated, but we got on the road a little after 6pm.
No sooner did we pull out of the driveway than the front end of the Jeep began to shimmy and a dragging sound was heard.
The shimmy was nothing new.  I had discovered a broken belt in one of the tires a month ago and after a quick tire rotation, the problem was solved.
But what now?
We pulled the Jeep over to a safe area.  I saw one end of the steering stabilizer on the ground.
For those of you who don't speak motorhead, that's the shock-absorber thingy that stretches from one wheel to another along the front axle that you find on most light-duty trucks and SUV's.
I noticed that the bolt supporting the stabilizer in its proper place was missing the nut.
Get it back home, I told my wife.  I can fix it quickly.
She was ready to pack it in and wait until the morning.
But I'm a little more stubborn than that.
We limped the Jeep back home a mile away.  I jumped in my truck and headed to our local hardware store about five miles down the road.  The clock was ticking, as it was approaching closing time.
There was a reason I had done business there for years.  They immediately helped me.
Eighty-five cents and less than five minutes later, I was on my way home.
Strange how such a small part can wreak so much havoc.
Margie kept our daughter busy with a movie in her portable DVD player we set up for her in the back seat.
Ten minutes later, I had the stabilizer repaired and we were back on the road.
No more debacles until we reached Hilton Head.
The first came when I took my family to the Wild Wing Cafe for dinner Sunday night.
Amid some confusion with a drippy A/C unit above our table, my debit card somehow got left behind.  I did not discover it until the following morning, when we got ready to take our bike ride to breakfast.
Fortunately, I did have some cash, which saved us from having to wash dishes.
After a fruitless search, I called the restaurant to see if anyone had turned it in.  It had.  They still had it.  No problem.
Then on Thursday, the keys to the bicycle cable lock somehow got lost.
Calls to Bell and a trip to Wal-Mart and a bike dealer proved fruitless after a frantic search turned up nothing.
There was only one other option.  A trip to Lowe's...about 20 minutes away.
I held my breath as I took the pair of Kobalt bolt-cutters I had bought and cut through the lock's cable, as much as I hated to have to do it.
No more debacles for the rest of the trip, which officially ended Saturday, September 29th, when we pulled into the driveway.
If this is the closest I ever came to having a Griswold experience, I will die a happy man.


NEXT WEEK:   Potty Party

Again...and Again

"Do it again!"
That's usually my daughter's reply to when I do literally anything to make her laugh.
From spinning her around off the ground by her hands, to blowing 'zerberts' on her belly.
Or it could be playing a new song on my iPhone (which runs through the radio in my pickup truck) that she's never heard of before, and now finds herself a fan of.
Latest additions include The Osmonds, Hamilton, Joe Frank & Reynolds, Neil Young, Chris Rea, Elton John, Tavares, and Sister Sledge.
Yeah, can you tell I like 70's music?
One of my faves.  What can I say?
But there's more to it than that.
My parents were Top 40 Rock 'n Roll people.  On their own, my mother drifted more towards folkish sounds, while my dad drifted towards the psychedelic harder sound.  So I grew up accustomed to a steady diet of a variety of music tastes.
Though I did have the baby Einstein classical music playing in her nursery as a baby, the time came to upgrade her tastes once the MP3 player bit the dust one day and I did not have the music on a master file anywhere.
So...what to do for an 18-month-old?
Chick Corea.  Anthony Burger.  George Winston.
If you're not familiar with any of these artists, they're not 'kids music'.
They're very much for adults.
While I don't hold anything against parents who are content with cranking up Laurie Berkner and 'learning to love it', I prefer to keep my kid on the adult side of things.
My first experience with jazz was not in a club as an adult, but rather, in front of a television screen at the age of three.
The show was "Mister Rogers' Neighborhood".
If you go back and watch one of those old episodes, listen to the music played under the closing credits.  It's probably one of the most sophisticated jazz pieces you'll ever listen to.  When children are in the stage of their lives when they're doing the most listening (albeit selectively), this over-the-top music sets the stage of what can be learned and adapted, and often at an early age depending on motor skill progression.
And my first known experience with soul music was at the age of three as well.  A different show this time.
Sesame Street.
Stevie Wonder performed his 1973 chart-topper "Superstition" live on the show, complete with clavinet and horn action.
The clavinet's the big one.
I have Stevie Wonder's music on my iPhone.   Three tracks are clavinet-based pieces.  The song I just mentioned, "You Haven't Done Nothin', and "Higher Ground".
I solicit feedback afterwards when I introduce one.
"What do you think of that one?"
The answer's almost always the same:
"Very good."
Kids know what they like.  Most of them want to be grown up.  What Mom and Dad have, they want access to.  I don't have to remind anyone of this.
Music is no exception.
When Johnny Costa was first named music director for "Mister Rogers' Neighborhood", PBS officials were somewhat skeptical of his complex piano arrangements, believing that young children would not be receptive to it.  Costa maintained his ground, with Fred Rogers' support, and the music remained his way.
While it didn't make him rich, this work ultimately made him a household name.
Good thing.
Classical and jazz music have long been relegated to the non-commercial broadcast outlets, due to their lack of advertiser appeal, and relying instead on listener or corporate support that can be deducted next year at the tax preparer's office.
Long before the Eagles, Maroon 5, Nirvana, the Beatles and Elvis, there were other names.
Mozart.  Bach.  Beethoven.  Schubert.
Bach could have been a country music artist of his time, according to the late Harry Chapin, who described him like this:
"wrote gorgeous music all day, then came home, drank beer and screwed his wife".
Bach had 20 children...half of whom survived into adulthood.
When you think about it, that could very well be a country song.



NEXT WEEK:  Vacation

No Longer a Vacation

We've all seen it.
"National Lampoon's Vacation," the 1983 comedy smash that spawned a franchise of further misadventures of the Clark W. Griswold family.
For the very few of you who have not seen it, do it.
And those of you who have, you can pretty much recite much, if not all, of the dialogue in the film.
Especially the expletive-laced tirade from the aforementioned paterfamilias when his long-suffering family urges him to take them home less than ten hours from their cross-country destination, having had enough of one disaster after another.
Then came the reply:
"This is no longer a vacation!  It's a quest!  It's a quest for fun!"
You know the rest.
Friday, August 31st was just that.
I work for a radio station in Pittsburgh's suburbs.  A perk of my job is receiving free tickets to ball games, concerts, and even amusement parks upon request from our general manager.
Our summers are generally busy.  Between other recreational opportunities and things that need to get done outside, some things fall by the wayside.  I wasn't about to let this happen with the tickets.
But the clock was ticking.  I had until Labor Day to use them.
That Friday, I checked the forecast.  The high for the day was expected to reach 92 degrees with no precipitation in sight.
My wife was out of town on business.  I text-messaged her the forecast and asked if she wanted to go to Sandcastle.  I didn't have to twist her arm for this.
For those of you outside this area, Sandcastle is an outdoor water park just outside of Pittsburgh.  Complete with water slides, a wave pool and other such niceties.
Our daughter had successfully conquered Idlewild and Kennywood Parks earlier this summer, and we had just enough tickets left for Sandcastle.
We set out late Friday morning.  We were not prepared for the 'CLOSED' sign at the gate.
I felt like the Griswolds at Walley World.
But I wasn't about to go nuts over it and buy a BB gun.
The benefit of the tickets is that Sandcastle, Kennywood and Idlewild are all owned by the same concern, and the tickets are interchangeable.
Try Kennywood?
That suggestion came from my wife.  Why not?  It was only another ten minutes away.
Remembering that the ownership was the same, I checked their website via my smartphone to see if they were open.
Closed.
You've got to be kidding me.  Why on earth would these places turn away business on a day like today?
After we took our tremendously disappointed three-year-old home (who thankfully slept more than halfway through the return trip), and put her upstairs for a nap, my wife arrived at the conclusion of why this happened.
School.
We were so gung-ho about the trip, that since school was back in session, we'd have practically no lines at any of the slides.
It didn't occur to us that the park is STAFFED by mostly high school and college students.  Once school is back in session, there is no staff to run everything.
However, Saturday, Sunday and Monday, we would be in the clear.
We gave it another try the following day.
Success.
Our daughter had the time of her life, despite being a foot under the height requirement.  We had to confine ourselves to the kiddie pool, but so what.
Just watching her have fun and make friends with a couple of girls there was enough.
Plus going out for pizza afterwards.
Then us opening a bottle of wine after getting her off to bed.
Mission accomplished.


NEXT WEEK:  Do it Again

Big Little Girl

I have a daughter that just turned three.
At just slightly over three feet tall and 33 pounds, it never ceases to amaze me how fast my child is growing.
And she should.  We feed her healthy meals and limit her junk food intake, much to the chagrin of my parents, who ply her with treats at virtually any given moment.
The point is, she's a healthy child.  Very healthy.
And she continues to be a head-turner everywhere she goes.
Not just with adults, either.
My wife and I were in a home improvement store just days ago, pricing fixtures for the half-bath remodeling job we're doing.
We ran into a colleague of mine who works at the NBC-TV affiliate in Pittsburgh, and with whom I interact frequently.  She was immediately smitten with Savannah, who was just eating it up.
But that's not the story here.
A few minutes later, a little girl, who looked to be about Savannah's age, walked up to her.
Savannah usually wears her trademark waist-length brown/blonde hair up.  Mostly in a ponytail, as it was that day.
The little girl told Savannah how much she liked her ponytail.  She herself had shoulder-length hair at best.
Savannah thanked her and the pair immediately struck up a conversation, as the little girl's mother came walking up.
We learned the little girl's name was Deanna, and that she was almost four years old.
As we all stood at the paint counter, we noticed the two new-found friends leaning on the counter as we were waiting for service.
The physical differences between the pair were very noticeable.
Standing next to each other, Savannah had a good two or even three inches of height over Deanna, and a much more solid bone structure, probably outweighing her by five pounds, maybe more.
And Savannah's almost a year younger than Deanna.
It makes me wonder just how big my little girl is going to grow up to be.
Even taking Savannah for bike rides in her wheeled carrier is getting to be a lot these days.
Margie found this out the hard way during a bike ride this past spring.
Though she never stated it directly to me, she could never understand why I lagged behind on bike rides while towing the carrier.  She can't be that heavy, right?
Wrong.
One day, she offered to tow the carrier behind her own bike.
After repeated denials, stating that I was all right, I finally gave in and let her do it.
I would be lying through my teeth if I said I didn't stifle a slight grin at what was to come.
My wife does work hard at staying active and physically fit.  But even for the best of us, to do this is a bit of a challenge.
She never offered to do it again.
This is a good example of how apathy gives way to sympathy.
Usually when our children 'grow up so fast', it's usually referring to intellect first, physically second.
I have both going on here.
And hopefully I can keep her in line before she gets bigger than me.


NEXT WEEK:  Quest for Fun

Old School, New School

I'm an 'old-school' guy.
One can tell...I haven't had as much as some kids today.
And I AM a high school graduate.
I'm talking about the schooling kids get today.
Now more than ever.
We were lucky to count to five, never mind to 100 like what's mandated now, by the time we started kindergarten.  Don't even get me started on this "new math" thing.
Pre-school, or pre-K, wasn't around back then.  At least not to my knowledge.  We were at home until age five, and then hopefully we were ready by the time we were off to Kindergarten.
But this is the real world we live in today.
With most parents today working outside the home just to make ends meet, daycare has gone from being a luxury to a necessity.
Some real 'old-schoolers' still think they have all the answers, though.
They say a woman's place is in the home.  Yeah, right.  If I tell my wife to get in the kitchen and make me a sandwich, she might comply...but afterwards, I would most likely never want (or be able) to eat again.
Even I know better than that.
They say it can be done on one paycheck.  Sure it can.  If the single paycheck comes from a high-paying job or profession, yes.  Otherwise, it's shopping at thrift stores, discount department stores, discount grocery stores or membership clubs, patching up a jalopy bearing a "don't laugh...it's paid for" sticker on the bumper.
There's nothing wrong with that.  Don't get me wrong.
But you as a parent, owe it to yourself, and your child, to ensure that they have a successful future.
Computer literacy has gone from being an asset to a requirement.  It's become almost as necessary as having to know basic mathematics skills (it was my worst subject in school).
Everything your child is involved in as a youngster are things that employers look at today.
From instrumental/vocal music to athletics.  Not just a place in Who's Who or the National Honor Society.
Kid raising money for band?  Yep, employers look at that.  Community service is a must.  City councils, school boards, and advisory non-profit boards don't come out of thin air, ya know.  Seats on those boards reflect positively on companies.
Because community goodwill is the best form of free advertising there is.  I should know...I've been in the advertising business for the past 25 years now.
My daughter is entering pre-school at the end of this month.
We recently attended an open house at the private Christian school that's located just down the hall from where our daughter's daycare facility is.
I looked around "Mrs. Yam's" (she goes by a nickname to make things easier for kids not used to saying a VERY ethnic-sounding name) classroom at all the small "Savannah-sized" tables and wondered about how she would be in this setting.
It didn't seem that long ago when she took a few naps during the day, snuggled in a little pack-n-play in the infant section of the daycare center.  Then transitioned to the toddler's room once she was able to walk.  Then as potty training progressed, up with the older toddlers.
Time for this Old School Dad to get back in the classroom.
Because I have to learn how to deal with how fast my child is growing up.
And how I can temper my desire to protect her with her desire for independence.
Continuing education, if you will.


NEXT WEEK:  Little Big Girl

Ready for the World

Being fearless is not always a good thing.
Unless you're in any branch of the armed forces, where fear is not an option.
When you have a very active three-year-old daughter, who is not afraid to take chances, and still is trying to figure out just why gravity chooses to be her enemy, you kind of wish she'd show some modicum of fear.
But that's not her job.  It's ours.
We have to teach her the ramifications of what a poor decision could cost her.  She could become seriously hurt, or worse.
In last week's column, I talked about how we took her to her first amusement park, and how well she took to the rides.  Then this past weekend, we stepped it up and took her to Kennywood, the granddaddy of it all (according to her, anyway).
Whatever ride she met the minimum height limit on, we put her on.  She conquered them all.
And just about every one she put forth the statement afterwards..."I wanna do it again!"
And most of the time, we did do it a second time.  Except for the stomach-rippers that I can only handle in moderation in my advancing years.
It pleases me no end to see Savannah having this much fun.  Because it's not just about a day out and about, it's about making memories.
And what a memory she has.
Just yesterday, the three of us took a day trip to Erie to take a bike ride on Presque Isle and visit a few wineries near the Penn-New York border.  One of them special to us, as the owners are like friends.
After the wineries, we went to dinner.  It's long been a habit for us to end our day at Quaker Steak and Lube when we travel to Erie.
We have a QSL closer to our home.  We know that.
The QSL in Erie is just down the road from Splash Lagoon, the indoor water park that we took Savannah to this past winter.
And she still remembers it like it happened yesterday.
"I wanna go there again!"
She knows what fun she had there.
And I believe she knows that we know.
And as much as we love our daughter, she knows that while we love to indulge her, she's expected to give some in return.
Asking instead of telling when she wants something.  Potty training is not a request.  Disobedience will not be tolerated.  Same with lying.
Not that these are real problems with her at this point.  But as she has had a fairly trouble-free 'terrible twos',  she is entering her stage of independence and assertiveness in her third year.  And again, while not a problem at this juncture, she does need to be reminded of it.
Because mom and dad will always be forgiving no matter what.  The rest of society is another story.


NEXT WEEK:  School Daze

Wild Thing

We won't be talking about the songs from Tone-Loc or The Troggs that share the title of this week's column.
But rather, my three-year-old daughter.
She's not wild, though.  Not much anyway.
The "Wild" comes from a park that my wife and I were well-acquainted with in our youth that we wanted our daughter to experience.
Growing up, my paternal grandparents began taking the extended family on summer Sundays to Idlewild Park in Ligonier, about an hour's drive due east of Pittsburgh.  Grandma would spend the day before making  an enormous amount of food, and anyone could eat anytime they got hungry.  There was no organized sit-down time.
Idlewild, an amusement park conjoined with Story Book Forest and Timber Link golf course, is something for everyone, regardless of age.  Even after all these years.
Since then, they've added the "Soak Zone" water park, "Jumpin' Jungle", and "Mr. Rogers Neighborhood (the show's host is from the area)".
We took Savannah on her first visit this summer.  We were not prepared for just how much fun this kid was going to have.
We took her on the kiddie rides, as a precaution to get her warmed up for the real thing.  She was ready to go right to the 'big kid' rides right out of the gate.
I never believed in dragging a kid to a ride scared out of his wits trying to break him of his fear.  If anything, it's counterproductive.
But after Savannah conquered a few nausea-inducing rides that once would not faze me even if I had stuffed myself with food just five minutes ago (not the case now), I felt it was time to tell her the best was yet to come.
Idlewild has only one roller-coaster, and it does the job fairly for thrill-seekers.  But for a three-year-old, it can be a bit much.  So I gave Savannah the opportunity to back out.
"Now Savannah, this ride is pretty fast," I began.  "If you think it's going to scare you, we don't have to get on it."
"I want to!"
So we did.  Margie was going to get in line behind us.  In the front row of the car, I glanced at Savannah.  Even with the wind blowing in her face and her long light brown hair blowing behind us, she was clearly having the time of her life.
As we got off the coaster she said it:
"I wanna do it again!"
I handed her over the rail to Margie.  We would come to do it a couple more times.
Once she conquered the roller coaster, everything else was gravy to her.
Our biggest fear was her not making the height requirement.  But fortunately, she just barely made it at 36 inches.  And she's enough of a charmer to the attendants that they asked her to move her head up slightly to make sure they wouldn't get it in trouble.
And true to form among her peers, she was not ready to leave when the time came.  No sir.
But she'll be back.
Or maybe she'll be ready for Kennywood.



NEXT WEEK:  She's Ready

Crib Notes

No, this is not a column dedicated to teach your child to cheat without getting caught.
Rather, the rite of passage your little one goes through.
The one where you cease to call the nursery by that name and refer to it as simply a bedroom.
As my wife reminded me one day when we were discussing ideas on how to decorate the half-bath in our house.
We were discussing what color of paint to use.  She referred to "that leftover green paint" that we had in the basement.
"The stuff we used in the nursery?" I asked her.
"Well, it's her bedroom now," she said.
Just the week before, we transitioned our three-year-old from her crib to a 'big-girl' bed, concurrent with her third birthday.
While Margie was pregnant, I pretty much left the details to her as to how she wanted to furnish the nursery for our impending arrival.  She selected a convertible style crib, one that could go from a crib to a day bed and then finally as a full-size double bed.  It would be something our daughter would be able to use all through her childhood, and beyond.
It was a solid hardwood, so it was definitely something that would last if properly taken care of.
Putting it together as a crib shortly before Savannah's birth was sheer Hell.  I'd personally like to shoot whomever was responsible for inventing those so-called "barrel nuts".
Snapping at my wife, throwing tools and yelling four-letter words so loud that Savannah would likely have heard them in the womb, was enough to make me wonder "would it really be a bad thing if she slept between us in our bed until she's out of the crib?"
Yeah, right.
Then I found my cordless power screwdriver that my wife had given me two Christmases ago and that I had completely forgotten about.
Salvation at last.  The crib went together with ease after that.
Then Margie rescued the instructions for the crib that she had safely hidden away for when the time came to dismantle the crib and put together the full-size bed.
As she looked at the directions, she informed me of something I was unaware of.
"We weren't supposed to use a cordless screwdriver," she said.
I raised my eyebrows.  "What?"
"They say not to use power tools."
I think that to be more of a liability issue.  You can't put this dadburn thing together any other way.             So guess what...that's how this job is getting done.
And that's how it did.
Carefully QC'd afterwards, of course.
And when we presented the finished product to Savannah, she was overjoyed.  It was as if she had grown a foot overnight and could reach everything in sight.
Ironically, we found she needed a stepstool just to climb into the bed.  A gift from her aunt and uncle some time ago fitted the bill nicely.
Our biggest fear was her getting up in the middle of the night and waking us up, wanting to play.
It has yet to be realized, because she doesn't know she can climb out of bed at her leisure.  She thinks she still needs us to help her out.
And we're going to ride that one out.  For as long as it takes.


NEXT WEEK:  Wild Thing

D-I-V-O-R-C-E...Part II

They say the kids suffer the most when it happens.
That's no lie.
Despite any parent's best efforts to shield their offspring from such a horrible societal reality, it always damages the children in one way or another.
The happy union of husband and wife has been divided into two very separate and distinct camps, with kids acting as 'double agents' for divorced parents of the following types:
There's the 'candyman', who lavishes the kids with money or presents to retain their love and affection and to camouflage their own guilt for poor choices that may have led to the dissolution of the union.
The psychologist...the one who 'guilts' the kids out of their feelings of affection for the other parent with phrases like 'he/she only wants you around when it's convenient', or other words to strengthen their defense.
The accountant...the one who asks the kids to peek in the checkbook, to see what they're spending money for.
The terrorist...the one who threatens the other parent by disclosing details, sometimes explicit, of the circumstances surrounding the dissolution of the union to the kids.
The investigator...the one who demands a complete start-to-finish recap from the kids of what all was said and done during a weekend visit, and if there were any 'third parties' present.
The attorney...this goes hand-in-hand with The Investigator.  That's the one where the parent demands the recap from the child in writing, and ready to present to a real lawyer for leverage in demanding more money in child support or reduced visitation rights.
Any parent who uses a child as leverage to hurt a former spouse/partner needs to have his or her head examined.  Unless of course, a parent commits acts that are criminal in nature or dangerous to their child.
But in most cases, this is not the case.  Nonetheless, the two bickering parents cease to see each other anymore as partners and determine each other to be capital criminals.
Nothing will effectively cheat a kid out of his or her childhood more than a judgement of divorce.  Why exacerbate it by tearing the child in half?
If you have a Bible handy, refer to 1 Kings 3:25.  This will put it in greater perspective.
And for those of you who are 'unaffiliated', here's yours...no human being has been personal property of another in this country since December 6, 1865.
Melodramatic?  Maybe.
But it's food for thought.
When I see my daughter running, jumping, playing, or even acting up to the point where I have to discipline her, I never lose sight of the fact that these are the best years of her life.
Years containing days of making friends, drawing pictures, reading her books, playing with the stuffed Minnie Mouse she's had since a baby, watching Dora the Explorer, and those giving way to the desires of a school-age child, then an adolescent, are all she should be concerned with.  That, and schoolwork plus the occasional chore.
Anything more than that is simply unfair.
Fortunately, age and experience has taught me over the years that with very few exceptions, no one parent is entirely at fault for a marriage's end.
Even my own have come to accept accountability to some degree for their own failure.  In an ironic twist, it has had its benefits.
It's taught me to be a better husband and father.
And every little thing I do, and don't do, affects my family.



NEXT WEEK:   You Made Your Bed, now...

D-I-V-O-R-C-E...Part I

We all do it.
We spell out words we don't want our young children to understand.
From C-A-N-D-Y to B-A-T-H.
Hence the title you see above.
Country queen Tammy Wynette even had a chart-topper of the title of this week's column back in 1968...at a time when divorce still had yet to be fashionable.
As a child of divorce, I know the pain of it all.
Divorce is never easy.  It shouldn't be perceived as such.
Yet marriages are cast aside in such a careless manner, and with no regard to the offspring created by said union.
For such a sacred union, marriage isn't easy.  Yet state laws undermine it by making no-fault divorce sound as easy as a simple phone call.  Then once the papers are served, it's all but that.
"The number one reason why couples don't stay together is selfishness."
That's from the pastor who performed our marriage ceremony on September 16, 2006.
Yes, I remember my anniversary.
I have short-term memory issues.  Yet my wife has a near-eidetic memory.  Despite my challenges to remember to take out the garbage on Monday nights, I do remember that.
And her birthday.  November 25th.
Why do I remember these things?
Because it's important to her.  And me.
Her happiness is my happiness.
"A happy wife is a happy life."  Words of wisdom from the guy who remodeled my bathroom.
Even after six years of marriage and three years of parenthood.
Can I do better as a parent?
Absolutely.  And as a husband.
And I've heard it all.
"It won't affect the kids...we're going to share custody...unlimited visitation rights, etc."
You're not fooling anyone but yourself.
It DOES affect the kids.
The little things you take for granted, a little one takes to heart.
While I was single and child-free, living in Detroit while in my mid-20s, I spotted a series of billboards dotting the interstates throughout the Metro Detroit area.
The billboards are designed to represent a small child's crayon-and-paper artwork, with a little girl's crying face, and next to it, this caption:
"I need BOTH parents".
Though marriage and family were the furthest things from my mind at that point in my life, I couldn't help but feel tears well up in my eyes and a lump form in my throat as I sped down I-696 at 80 miles an hour, trying to forget that image.
I didn't.  Because I couldn't.
My own personal experience and the numerous billboards throughout the area saw to that.
I made a promise to myself soon after that I was not going to marry just to get married, because of societal or familial pressure.  Even if it meant never finding 'the one'.
I wasn't going to 'settle' for just anyone, and then have it all come undone a few years and a couple kids later.
And once I did, I wasn't going to take my wife for granted.  I was going to do everything I knew how to keep my marriage and family strong.
Because that little crying face on that billboard could be my own little girl.
And it could be yours.
Be better today than you were yesterday.  Then perpetuate it.


NEXT WEEK:  Part II

Your Turn, Ladies

In last week's column, I mentioned my perspective of dating a single mom, including a Top Ten list.
Hey, the Top Ten list is NOT trademarked!  Besides, Letterman's not going to be around forever.
But here goes:

YOU KNOW YOU'RE DATING A 'DAD' WHEN:

10.  He offers to fix EVERYTHING...whether you ask him to or not.
9.    He gravitates towards 'cheap' dates.
8.    He either spends too little or too much...no middle of the road.
7.    He tries to be 'hip', but is greatly uncomfortable doing so.
6.    His wardrobe mostly consists of jeans, sweats, flannel shirts, and ball caps.
5.    He drives a 'buy here pay here' vehicle.
4.    You look around his home and realize how much of a 'woman's touch' it needs, and that you need C4 to make that happen.
3.    His idea of an 'outdoor date' usually involves fishing.
2.    You ask him about his kids and after a few minutes of that, he changes the subject.
1.    He may never say it, but his kids come first and he is not afraid to DIE for them.

It's too bad, but dads often get a bad rap.  Fortunately, the societal winds have shifted and lessened the liabilities upon the family patriarch.
Despite a growing number of couples living together out of wedlock, the divorce rate in this country still remains high.  Attorneys specializing in divorce are able nowadays able to extract child support from the mother (and in some cases even alimony), especially with more professional women in the workforce these days.
Men won't express their feelings or bare their souls easily for their spouses, never mind dates or girlfriends.  No matter how much society has progressed, we're still taught from a very early age that 'boys don't cry'.  And those among the strongest of us who have entrusted our vulnerability to another, may have had that trust betrayed by getting divorce papers served to him at work while the locks are being changed at the house.
Don't get me wrong.  In cases of abuse where the spouse or children are endangered, this is the only recourse, and I would support that.
But this happens even in cases where the wife is just tired of her husband, bored with the role of wife, and wants out.
Ladies, if you choose to date a dad, you will face having to deal with his baggage.  You may have issues of your own, but you have to tackle his as well.
Men too are vulnerable human beings.  The difference is we internalize.  Women may turn to their friends or extended family for support.  We're expected to suck it up and move on...no questions asked.
We can't let you in until you earn that trust from us.  And it may take a very long while.
If it takes a long while to earn yours, it takes longer to earn ours.
So the question you need to ask yourself is this:
Can you wait that long?


NEXT WEEK:  Children of Divorce

Are You Ready?

This one's for all you single guys who have never been married nor have had any children.  But you're about to take that giant leap.
Marriage.  Then kids.
And then there's some of you who might decide that you don't mind dating someone who already has kids.
You might not get serious about it, but it will open your eyes.
Dating single moms is unlike any other dating experience you will ever have.
Spontaneous, are ya?  Better rid yourself of that right off the bat. And here's a Top Ten list to get you started.

YOU KNOW YOU'RE DATING A 'MOM' WHEN...

10.  She is either constantly texting or on a cell phone throughout the date...with her kids or their caregiver.
9.    She brings a gym bag full of extra clothing on an "outdoors" date, for herself AND you.
8.    Your plans take a backseat to whatever happens in her kids' lives at any given moment...sometimes at the very last minute.
7.    She does not know (or care) that she's wearing 'mom jeans'.
6.    Most of her footwear is made up of flip-flops and 'backless' shoes.
5.    She flat-out asks you if you expect sex on an 'overnight' date.  
4.    She could care less of what you think of her 'practical' family car.
3.    If you're stuck in a traffic jam and in danger of missing your dinner reservation, she offers you crackers she keeps in her purse and, if you do lose the reservation, it's not the end of the world.
2.    She doesn't mind where the date is, as long as it's 'out' and with adult company.
1.    She hints to you that her kids come first...and means it.

Personally, I didn't avail myself to single moms until about a decade ago, once I noticed how much the dating pool had shrunk for childless single men my age (I was 32 going on 33) or near it.  And after going out with a few single moms, it did open my eyes.
Though I ultimately married a single woman close to my own age who had no children, I began to appreciate the single mom and how much different she is compared to the single childless woman.
A single mom is incapable of B.S.  She's heard the stupid pick-up lines.  After all, she had kids with a man who didn't measure up in the end.  She sees the world with different eyes than she did when she first married.
And if you've dated single childless women with high standards, prepare to go higher...way WAY higher.
There are no games here.  Don't even bother trying to fool her...you won't succeed.
She doesn't 'date' if she can avoid it.  You may go out on a date with her, and you should consider it a privilege to be on one with her.
You most likely will have been 'fixed up' by a mutual friend or met online.  She will have done her homework on you first.  And if you've met her in a bar, she will likely want to get to know you there, and then decide from there if she wants to go on a date with you.
If you're fortunate enough to get that date, it's one thing.  For her to accept another one is another.
Because you will likely be the only one from that point on.
And she will expect it of you in kind, though she might not say it outright.
You will have to live in the shadow of her previous mate.  You will have to accept the fact that you are second to her children and always will be.
That means being a man and sucking it up.
That's right...get over your ego.  Now.
It also means letting her take the lead in raising them.  Provide support.  Nothing more unless she tells you and her kids otherwise.  Don't try to crack the whip...that blood bond does not exist.  It will only cause resentment.
With many more special-needs kids being diagnosed these days, you will inherit all of the challenges that come with them.  Be prepared.
But you have to get all your cards on the table.  She has no problem with you being direct.  She most likely ended her first marriage in a face-to-face.  If she can survive that (and she has), she can handle anything.
Yes, even if you want to talk about having a child of your own, even though she may say she's done having babies, though the door is physically still open.
Contrary to myth, they're not the weaker sex.  They outlive us by a good five years, minimum.
You have to tell someone what you want or you don't get it.  You be direct with her, she will be direct with you.
She will not change to please you.  Nor will she expect you to change to please her...well, at least not within reason.
If you can deal with ALL of this, then you're ready.
Not some...ALL.
There's no 'halfway' on this one.  So use your head.



NEXT WEEK:  The Other Side

Father's Day

My wife says to me...'if Savannah were to ask you what you wanted for Father's Day, what would you say'.
I know my wife means 'what gift would you like to receive', but for me, the gifts I get each day are more than enough.
As a parent, I have the responsibility of growing a young child into a successful, mature and productive adult.  But at the same time, even when she gets into mischief, I want to shake my head and smile.
Unfortunately, effective parenting sometimes requires being the 'bad guy'.
My daughter, while she does have her 'daddy days' where she clings to me, ultimately knows that Daddy's word is law.
She knows that when it comes time to run her bath, it's only a matter of time before I come to fetch and subject her to this horrid ritual of removing in mere minutes what took her all day to accomplish.
That's when she runs to her mother, and I have to pry her off Margie to get her in the tub.
Then comes 'school days', when we take her to daycare (and pre-school in the fall).  Because my wife leaves before me for work, my duties are waking Savannah up, and getting her dressed and ready for the day.
I walk in and she turns and says 'mommy'.
Nope kid, sorry to disappoint you.
The whining continues until I remind her that her mother will come to pick her up from daycare.  This usually perks her up.
Fortunately for me, my daughter hasn't relegated me to her bad-guy list.  Thanks to my wife, The Informer.
When she picks up Savannah, the little Munchkin asks for me, so says Margie.
The same when Margie gets her up Sunday morning when I'm working at the radio station.
She wants us together.
And that ain't bad.
The gifts that my family gives me each day can't be bought with money.
I don't see myself as Father of the Year or World's Greatest Dad.
If my own family thinks I'm doing a good job, that'll be enough for me.
Many times, Dads are taken for granted.
In most cases, they're the primary wage earner outside the home.  They provide the means for the family to survive.
Yet pop culture doesn't always put Dads in a positive light.
Check the music charts..."Papa Was a Rolling Stone" by the Temptations.  "Cat's in the Cradle" by Harry Chapin.
The only one I remember hearing that sounded positive is "Watching Scotty Grow," the Mac Davis-penned tune made a hit by Bobby Goldsboro.
"Isn't She Lovely," by Stevie Wonder, gives a first-person view.  In fact, this is the same tune backing a video collage my wife made me that she presented me with today, showing our daughter in various stages of growth, from the ultrasound to now.
Thank you, Stevie.
Now I'm only talking about pop music here.  There are some on the country music charts, but that's a niche audience, and for the purposes of discussion here, we're staying on the mainstream Top 40.
But I'll digress for the benefit of my country-lovin' readers for a moment.
My all-time favorite best "Dad" song...
"Love Without End, Amen" by George Strait.



IN TWO WEEKS:  Not Dad Yet

You Are What You Eat

"I'm gonna eat you up!"
This is a regular ritual in our house.
It started with me and my wife.  Now it's transcended to our daughter.
At first, we kinda scared her.  She really believed that her own parents were these heartless cannibals that would make a meal of their own offspring.
But as she got older, she realized the statements were about as effective as a paper tiger.
God love her, though, she tried wit to counter our 'attacks'.
"Don't eat me, Dad."
"Why not?"
"Because...I said don't do it!"
Or..."We eat food, not people".
Sometimes followed up by "Don't eat people again...OK?"
By the way, this kid isn't even three yet.  The logic at that age perplexes even me.
We do pay attention to her diet, though...not because we worry about her fat intake should we ever decide to rescind on our promise and let our animalistic desires take hold, but because we do want her to be healthy, but stay that way.
She's not terribly fond of meat, but we have little effort to put forth to get her to eat fruit.
One of them is watermelon.
She will gobble up an entire slice in one sitting and ask for more.
Watermelons are now in season, so Margie's been bringing them home from the grocery store.
A couple weeks ago, she ate a lot of it.
Then we noticed a rash that formed about half of the distance between her lower lip and chin.
Where did it come from, we wondered.
She's still in the stage where she's putting her fingers in her mouth.  And you know how kids are when it comes to picking up every germ known to man.  Something from daycare maybe?
Then two Saturdays ago, it seemed to be clearing up a bit.
At least until breakfast, anyway.
Margie sliced up some watermelon for herself just before we were about to leave for a day trip to Elk and Jefferson Counties in northwestern Pennsylvania.  Savannah reached for some, and we let her have it.
Then after we were on our way, I noticed something.
The rash appeared to be flaring up again.  I told my wife about it.
Now we were curious.  It had to be something she ate.  But what?
My wife has the memory of an elephant.  The epiphany happened on our way back home, as we were driving through Clarion County.
"Wasn't she allergic to watermelon?"  my wife turned to me out of the blue.
We didn't go to a doctor or allergist to confirm this.  But it had happened before...and we stopped giving it to her.
And the rash cleared right up.


NEXT WEEK:  Father's Day

Outdoor Life

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  "Old School Dad" and "Ken's Korner" will be on hiatus the week of June 24th.


And I don't mean the magazine.
Nor the breakfast cereal eaten al fresco.
And not even hunting, fishing or other 'guy stuff'.
I mean getting your kids away from video games, TV screens, computer monitors, etc.
And getting them out of the house.
One of the things I love this time of year is that our daughter can get outside and not just run herself (and us) ragged, but get some fresh air in the process.
Fresh air makes a lot of difference in our health.
In my mid to late twenties, I was living in Detroit, the eighteenth-largest city in the U.S., according to 2010 U.S. Census figures.  Much bigger when I was living there, though.
Very industrial city, with lots of pollution.  Though it wasn't as bad as Pittsburgh was in the days of the steel mills (remember those Pittsburgh jokes?), it still had an effect on you.
Little did I realize that on the occasions when I would go 'up north' to the farmhouse my mother owned at the time just outside of Houghton Lake, just how valuable fresh air could be.
Mom at that time lived on what had once been known as Maple Grove Farm, in the tiny hamlet of Merritt, about 20 minutes from 'the lake'.  Sitting on a twenty-acre knuckle of land, it had been a working farm and many years ago had been the town's original post office.  The farmer's wife was the town's postmaster who sorted the mail by stacking it between her sugar and flour canisters.
By the time my mother bought it, the barn had fallen into disuse, and the post office had moved to its own facility on the other side of Michigan 55.  The house itself had fallen into a state of neglect.
Until Mom got a hold of it, though.
New windows, paint, resurfacing of hardwood floors, and mowing years-old weeds, and it didn't take long for that old house to resonate old country charm once again.
I often suggested to my mother that she should open a Bed and Breakfast in that house, since she often entertained friends (she has many) and family members alike certain weekends.
When I would go up there, the place had an effect on me.
Physically.
I would sleep.  And sleep.  And sleep some more.
Sleep like I hadn't slept in ages.
I would sleep a full eight hours and still need a nap in the afternoon.
"The fresh air will fix you right up," Mom said.
She wasn't kidding.  Sunday afternoon, when it came back to go downstate, I felt invigorated.
And I see the same thing with my daughter, who turns three in July.
My wife Margie and I take her outside as often as we can.  She plays on her swing, engages us in a game of 'you can't catch me' (with either side as the catcher or catchee), blows bubbles or whatever.
Then we bring her in for the night.
After bath time, it's just what she needs for a good night's sleep.
Physical activity for her little body.  Fresh air for her still-developing little lungs.  A warm bath after it's all over.
Laying her down for the night becomes rather trouble-free.  Usually a 'goodnight daddy...' before quickly fading off to sleep.
And she gets to do it all over again the next day.


NEXT WEEK:   You Are What You Eat

Partners for Life

This one's for the guys.
I love my wife.
So much in fact, that I try to lighten her workload whenever I can.
As a two-paycheck family, Margie comes home and still somehow manages to muster up the strength to spend time with our very active almost-three-year-old, and get dinner ready in the process.
I'm on dinner duty three days a week.  Whether it involves going out or preparing something at home, it gives her a break on the weekends.
I work a rather odd week, from Sunday to Thursday.  Margie works Monday through Friday, with every other Friday off.  It allows us to only have to send our daughter to daycare four, rather than five, days a week.
And on those Fridays when Margie's working, that's time for me to play catch-up on the housework and other "Mr. Mom" related duties.
Becoming a Child of Divorce at 13, I learned at a fairly young age to be self-sufficient.  This included, but was certainly not limited to, laundry, dusting, vacuuming, cleaning, cooking, you name it.
This also served me particularly well during my 'bachelor' years, when I had my own apartment (and my first house six years before my marriage.  The stereotypes that P.J. O'Rourke immortalized in "The Bachelor Home Companion" did not exist in my home.
That's not to say I didn't try to take shortcuts along the way.
I am a guy after all.
I'll also point out that P.J. didn't get married until he was 43.  Too many women had already read his book.
It never ceases to amaze me how many men still, yet today, expect their partners to work outside the home, then come home and still run a household with the men offering little to no help in doing so.
And then they still wonder why they're already having to call a divorce lawyer a few years into the marriage.
You owe it not just your partner, but yourself to make every effort to help make a household go.
Your partner is not your mother.  She may become the mother of your children, if she hasn't already done so, but she is not duty-bound to be your household servant or sex slave.
It doesn't work that way.  You're fooling no one but yourself if you think otherwise.
And because you may have grown up in a home where Mom submitted to Dad's every demand, doesn't mean that's the way everywhere.  It does not excuse you.
You do not make the most of your family time by doing outside activities like going to the bar after work, volunteering for charity/community activities and more or less filling up your calendar with everything but family time.
When I come home from work and sit down to dinner, we have a policy in place.  At dinner time, we do not have cell phones, iPods, or other electronic devices at the table at any time and for any reason.
And I've said it to my daughter many times:
"Dinner time is family time."
No phones are answered.  We have voice mail for a reason.  If it's that important, whomever is calling will leave a message.  Then we can decide whether to pick up or not.
We spend time talking about our day.  Our days at work, and Savannah's day at daycare.
Paraphrasing a quote from Dora the Explorer, we always ask her, "What was your favorite part of the day?"
The answer is often without exception, "when Mommy came to pick me up at school."
She reciprocates the question to us.
Our answers don't often vary from this:
"Coming home and having dinner with my family".
As career-focused as I have been over the past 25 years, I somehow have managed to shelve my overly zealous career goals long enough to enjoy the time I have with them.
Because as I get older, I realize that with every passing day, my daughter grows a little more, I age a little more, and I find myself reminiscing of the days when she was a tiny jet-black-haired bundle of babbling baby fat.
They won't last forever, as my wife had reminded me some time ago before my work hours were adjusted to fit a more family-friendly schedule.  Had I not been blessed as I have been to work for such understanding people, my marriage might have been in trouble.
But I'm also underestimating the power of my wife.
So what's the point of all this?
Don't take anything for granted.
Nothing.
Most importantly, don't wait until it's too late or near it to realize that you should take nothing in life for granted.
It took my former boss (also one of the toughest friends I've ever had) a cardiac near-miss at 44 to realize this.  While it took some time for that self-admitted workaholic to adjust to it, he eventually did.
As did I.
And the day I stop, is the day I'm in trouble.


NEXT WEEK:   The Great Outdoors

The Promise of the Prom

Make no mistake, these are the best years of your child's life.
"What exactly are the halcyon days of my youth," asks the first namesake in the Calvin and Hobbes comic strip of his father.  "Is Saturday one?"
"I believe they're awarded retroactively when you grow up," is Calvin's dad's reply.
And one is definitely the prom.
Despite the changing of the generations, this little aspect of high school life has changed little over the years.
Long lines at the tuxedo rental shop and at the florist.  Those with tickets getting out of school for half the day in order to get ready.
Washing and waxing the family car, or a nicer vehicle if an extended family member was willing to provide one.
There was the prom...and if your school was fortunate enough, there was the after-prom party that lasted all night and into the early morning hours.
This was the school's way of ensuring that kids didn't continue the fun with an all-night beer blast afterwards, keeping the fun in a relatively controlled environment.
When the chaperones opened the doors and the bleary-eyed couples, with ties undone and high heels in hand, yawned their ways towards the parking lot and to their waiting cars.  Or limos to the more fortunate ones.
Then came breakfast and then taking your date back to their home.
For some, the fun didn't end.
After a quick nap, barely enough time to recharge, many friends regrouped later in the day for a picnic, party or  day at the lake.
The point of all this is, reflect on yours as a time of happiness that you will fail to forget.  And, share it with your son or daughter.
And that fact that you did it without alcohol.
Lie about it if you have to.
Yes, you heard that correctly.
According to the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration, between 2006 and 2010, the month of May had the most alcohol-related traffic fatalities for 16-to-19 year-old during the school year.
And let your child know that you understand how easily kids are led by peer pressure.  Even those who grow up in households with the most solid moral foundations are susceptible.
Yes, even yours.  Don't even think for a minute that they aren't.
Avoid the 'not my kid' approach.  Regardless of what you think, your child is making much of his or her own decisions now.  And without you.
Tell your child that you respect him or her enough to make the right decisions, but that you'll still be there for them.
If they run into trouble, such as drinking alcohol, or saying to 'friends' who boot them from their car to the side of the road, they can still call home.
And when they do, tell them you'll be right there.
And then shut up...for the time being.
That's what I said.
No questions asked.
If you want to talk about it, do it later.  Like when you've had time to wrap your brain around it and offer your child a chance to explain it later.
And do so in a calm, rational manner.  Don't just talk.  Listen as well.
Your child already knows what pushes your buttons.  After all, they've known you their entire lives.  And you should know what pushes theirs in kind.
If you don't, you need to get to understand your child better.
The day will come when they will transcend the parent-child relationship in adulthood, when you both will be peers.
Scary thought, isn't it?
Adolescence is a time when those who are a part of it are caught between boy and man and girl and woman.  How many times have you said to your own child "if you want to be treated like a grownup, act like one!"
And how many times have you, as an adult, gotten behind the wheel of a car after drinking, having second thoughts about doing so, yet did it anyway?
Is that acting like a responsible adult?
Yeah, the pot just called the kettle black now, didn't it?



NEXT WEEK:  Partnership in Parenting

Driven to Succeed

In the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, you cannot receive a learner's permit to drive until you are 16 years of age.
However, you can apply for the permit 60 days before you turn 16.
Growing up in the 1980s, me and my friends champed at the bit in the final weeks of our time as fifteen-year-olds.  Literally checking off days on the calendar until the sixty-day window opened.
We thumbed through the book and had it memorized by heart.  We were ready.
We took the test, and we passed.  Now the time was to practice for the road test.
I think my dad kept a cardiologist on retainer during this period.
And within a couple months (or several) after our birthdays, we had the coveted prize that we proudly displayed in our wallets.
Most everyone among my peers had a driver's license by this time.  The ones who didn't were usually girls.
Lately, the trend has been reversing.
A growing number of boys have been lax in getting their driver's licenses.  Not because they can't pass the tests, but for whatever reason, haven't prioritized it.
They're content to be chauffeured.
Most girls now get their driver's license right at 16 or soon after.  And...they're hauling their boyfriends around from place to place.
In other words, if the boy asks the girl out on a date, she has to do the driving.
Indulge me while I adorn my Grumpy Old Man hat for a moment.
After all, I AM an Old School Dad.
In my day, every girl in school would run a guy out of town on a rail if he asked her out on a date and then said she had to drive!
It was social suicide.  But today, many girls are perfectly content to pick up their guy and do the driving.
I do find one benefit of this...the chances of going 'parking' are much less if a girl's in charge of the steering wheel.
Having a daughter, this makes me sleep a little better at night.
At least for now.
I actually learned to drive at the age of 14.  When I got my first car.
Yeah, you heard that right.
"By the time you get it fixed up," my dad said, "You'll be 16."
He wasn't kidding.
Fifty years ago, most people owned one car.  Dad usually walked to the office, or mill, or whatever.  Or he took the bus.
But he still had a driver's license and regularly kept it up.
The car was used sparingly if Mom had to run to the market or when Dad took the family on a Sunday drive.
This explains why most homes built in the 1950s had only single-car garages.
If you don't live in a major metropolitan city, you need a car.  It's a part of adult life.
Yet some kids don't get this...and neither do their parents.
Parents may think they have the upper hand because they know where their kid is at all times.
Guess what...you're setting yourself up for trouble.
By not encouraging your child to have this level of independence, they can't be expected to develop further independence later on in life.
Do you really want your child, soon to be a 30-year-old, still living at home and not working?
And with no prospects?
Me neither.


NEXT WEEK:   Prom Promise