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