Friends

Yesterday morning, as I was getting ready for a visit by my mother (a blog posting in and of itself) I got a phone call...it was my daughter...in tears...asking if she could come over and have lunch with me and her grandmother. I asked her what was wrong and she said me that she would tell me later.

Not having much to say, she managed to make it through lunch, however, as soon as her grandmother pulled out of the driveway Fiona burst into tears.

She had planned to go off with her best friend to the mall. There was much discussion and much planning, even down to what she was going to wear and where they were going for lunch. However, yesterday morning Fiona's friend called at the last minute to cancel. Minutes later, Fiona saw the friend in question pass by in her grandmother's car, with another friend. To have her friend cancel at the last minute was upsetting enough, to see her blithely move forward with other plans was devastating...

Fiona is much like me when it comes to friends...while she does not have many she is fiercely loyal to the ones she has. One indication of this was a few months ago when I made an off handed comment about one of her friends which Fiona interpreted as being unkind...she did not speak to me for three days. While holding her friends to a high standard, Fiona gives all of herself in return.

We talked about what it means to be a friend and what it means to be hurt and disappointed and let down. I also tried to discuss forgiveness with her...but yesterday afternoon was clearly not the time for that discussion. Fiona was pissed off...and frankly I didn't blame her.

So today I will try to help Fiona come up with a way to tell her friend that she is hurt and angry and will also try to have that discussion about forgiveness. I guess what I will do is tell her that those people who are special enough to be our friends are also special enough for our forgiveness...

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Dog Days

The alarm went off, I stumbled to the kitchen, turned on the radio and the smooth, soothing voice characteristic of an NPR newsreader announced that it was 78 degrees in Boston...at 6:20 in the morning.

Its going to be a hot one...making a day spent in an unairconditioned car more unappealing than usual...so I am going to that part of my territory where the weather is typically the mildest, where the roads are shaded and reminds me of where I grew up. Rochester, a place populated by part time artists and cranberry growers is, at least from this visitors' point of view, idyllic.

My kids are with their mom today and I am battling the temptation to call her and try to solve the inevitable problem of what to do with the kids in such hot weather. She does not have a pool, there are few ponds to go to, and my kids have few friends within an easy bike ride. She...my ex wife...is going to have a fun day...

In thinking about Rochester and what suggestions I can offer my ex wife I find myself thinking about what we did when we were kids on days like this. I am not one to idealize where I grew up but if I am honest...where I grew up was...gulp...in some ways almost idyllic.

One place...one special spot...in particular comes to mind...a place that you could only find in a small town. On a back road, about five miles from my house, was a swimming hole, complete with a rope hanging from a tree from where we would swing out over the brook and drop into the cold water below. My brother Keith, my friend Mark, my friend Jimmy, and his brother George were frequent companions to this special place.

There, free from meddling adults, we swam, talked about baseball, and debated the merits of certain girls who shall remain nameless. There we found relief from the heat, escaped our parents, and were able to indulge in those pursuits which preoccupy boys of a certain age.

I wish I could whisper in Oliver's and Aidan's ear of the whereabouts of such a place near where they live. I suspect that there are none to be had...where kids can go and indulge in such summertime pleasures as I did many years ago. We live in a different time and such places exist only in our memories and our imaginations...and perhaps in Rochester.

Yard Work

The baton has been passed, the rite of passage reached, the goal has been obtained; my oldest son is now mowing the lawn and God willing...will be raking the leaves when Fall comes.

Fathers do not have sons in order for the family name to continue (I have four nephews who can handle that)...they have sons so someone take over the yard work.

Over the last year Oliver and I have had a number of "Great Santini" moments where he his athletic prowess has developed to the point where it exceeds mine. He can throw farther and harder, run faster, jump higher, and when we play basketball I have to resort to cheating in order to win...actually...I have always had to resort to cheating in order to win at basketball...anyway...I thought that if he was tall enough to block my shot he was big enough to push a mower.

So this year Oliver took over mowing the lawn. His mother fought long and hard at this...I think she wanted me to remain her yard boy and she did not want to see our son old enough to assume an adult responsibility. That I was riding a tractor, taking apart trucks, and digging ditches before the age of 12 was not a persuasive argument.

I showed Oliver where to add oil and gasoline and how to start the mower. I took him where there were tricky spots and how to reach them. I told him to leave the mower and call me if it stalled because the blade was clogged with grass. I also told him that the only reason I had children was so they could do yard work.

So...Oliver now cuts the grass. As attention to detail is not a characteristic common to 13 year olds he does not do the best job...but its good enough...And on last Thursday I showed his mom how to trim the hedges while not cutting the extension cord...lets see how that works....

My son cuts the grass...and hopefully now he will know better than to block my shots...

Yard Work

The baton has been passed, the rite of passage reached, the goal has been obtained; my oldest son is now mowing the lawn and God willing...will be raking the leaves when Fall comes.

Fathers do not have sons in order for the family name to continue (I have four nephews who can handle that)...they have sons so someone take over the yard work.

Over the last year Oliver and I have had a number of "Great Santini" moments where he his athletic prowess has developed to the point where it exceeds mine. He can throw farther and harder, run faster, jump higher, and when we play basketball I have to resort to cheating in order to win...actually...I have always had to resort to cheating in order to win at basketball...anyway...I thought that if he was tall enough to block my shot he was big enough to push a mower.

So this year Oliver took over mowing the lawn. His mother fought long and hard at this...I think she wanted me to remain her yard boy and she did not want to see our son old enough to assume an adult responsibility. That I was riding a tractor, taking apart trucks, and digging ditches before the age of 12 was not a persuasive argument.

I showed Oliver where to add oil and gasoline and how to start the mower. I took him where there were tricky spots and how to reach them. I told him to leave the mower and call me if it stalled because the blade was clogged with grass. I also told him that the only reason I had children was so they could do yard work.

So...Oliver now cuts the grass. As attention to detail is not a characteristic common to 13 year olds he does not do the best job...but its good enough...And on last Thursday I showed his mom how to trim the hedges while not cutting the extension cord...lets see how that works....

My son cuts the grass...and hopefully now he will know better than to block my shots...

Extended Family

It's time...to paraphrase the very wise words of one former girlfriend... "to put on my big boy boots" for today...I am attending a family event.

Attending is probably not the best word to describe what I will be doing later on today...chauffeuring and observing are more like it. In each family everyone has their roles. In my family of origin, my brother's role is to help my father, my sister's is to be best friend to my mother, and mine is to deliver my children to family events, find a quiet corner, observe, and do my best to keep my mouth shut.

As someone with more than his fair share of experience with complicated relationships...I can safely say that my relationship with my family of origin...is...well...complicated. But again, whose isn't? The tricky part, however, is to isolate my kids from the complexity of my own relationship with my family.

Extended family brings a richness and fullness to a kid's family life. When I was growing up I enjoyed my own cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents and frankly cannot imagine my childhood without them. I am sure that my own parents had to put aside their own familial issues so that the three of us could have a relationship with the extended family. And to their credit, they put aside whatever issues they may have had to make this possible.

So...today...I am putting on my big boy boots, driving my kids to Rhode Island, and hope that somewhere in my brother's house there is a quiet corner from where I can watch my kids enjoy their cousins, aunts, uncles, and their grandparents. Hopefully I will be able to keep my mouth shut.

Bacon Roasted Chicken...thank you Julia Child

The trick, I have found, to making sure the kids and I eat decent, well balanced meals, is to cook in advance and have food ready to serve at dinner time....besides...in 90 degree heat I have no desire, in the heat of the day, to stand in front of the blast furnace that is my oven.

So...last night I was bored...climb the walls, pace back and forth bored. Bored. Bored. Bored. Bored.

Bored.

I did not know what to do with myself. So I did the obvious thing...I roasted a chicken.

The other day, while channel surfing, I stumbled across Julia Child on the local PBS affiliate...now...watching Julia Child nowadays, for me anyway, takes a supreme act of courage to undertake...however...I was able to overcome my cowardice and watch. Why? Because she was preparing a meal involving two of my favorite things...bacon and chicken....

One of the few challenges when roasting a chicken is to keep in moist. My solution to the problem is to drown the bird in as much butter as I can spare. But I like Julia's solution better. With twine, she tied pieces of blanched bacon (blanch - to boil briefly and then immediately chill in ice water) to the chicken before roasting.

At 375 degrees and an hour and 15 minutes later my 4 lbs chicken was done....Now by this time my kitchen felt like the inside of a steel mill in July...but it was worth it....standing in my kitchen at 11:30 at night gnawing on a chicken leg worth it. So worth it that I had chicken for breakfast this morning.

So...if I can resist the siren call of bacon roasted chicken my kids and I will have a ready made meal this afternoon allowing me to spend my time with them playing basketball and drawing on the sidewalk. All it took was an idea stolen from Julia Child and an act of courage...

For Father's Day

My ex wife...God Love her...in I think was an attempt to help my kids devise a Father's Day plan...asked me the other day what I wanted to do for Father's Day...and I told her..."for Father's Day I want to be the dad I want to be..."

She rolled her eyes and walked away....

I suppose I could have made something up to provide her with a more satisfactory answer...but my enigmatic reply had two virtues...it annoyed my ex...and it was true.

Today... I want to be the dad I want to be.

I was fortunate...even when I was very little my own father provided me with numerous examples that helped me early on to figure out what kind of dad I wanted to be. And while I continue to apply many of those lessons from my early childhood I have learned that parenting is a one day at a time, step by step affair, and that what "works" today may not work tomorrow.

So today...in about an hour I will pick up my kids, we will go out for breakfast, and then back here...to my place for an afternoon which I am sure will include food, basketball, sidewalk chalk, and petty squabbling. In other words, a typical afternoon at Dad's. And during this time with my kids I hope to be the dad I want to be...active, engaged, tolerant, watchful, appreciative and thankful for the individuals my children are becoming.

Tell Me A Story She Whispered

I usually do not see my kids on Friday nights...but I always call to say good night. When I speak with my daughter she always asks what the favorite part of my day was. I did not share with her my favorite part of yesterday (Friday) as it was a sort of moment, that at the age of ten, she would be unable to understand how it could be special, let alone be the favorite part of my day.

At around mid-day I had decided to rearrange my work schedule and go into town to take care of some business. As I left my place at about 1:30 I thought I would beat rush hour traffic and that my errand would take about two hours to complete. I am such a silly man.

There is one constant concerning Boston traffic...its unpredictable. There have been times, when at 11:45 at night, I have sat in the Southeast Expressway's southbound lane for 45 minutes...such are the things we do for love...Anyway...yesterday's traffic took me by surprise...it took more than two hours to get into town and after such an ordeal...I decided to stay in town for a few hours, kill some time, and avoid rush hour traffic on the way home.

I was not at a loss for things to do...there are plenty of bookstores and cafes in which to while away an afternoon and lots of interesting people to watch...and in Harvard Square one is reminded that it takes all sorts of people to make up a world....However...I was hot, tired, annoyed, and in an all around lousy mood.

While walking from Harvard Square, there was a section of sidewalk that narrowed due to some construction. Approaching from the other direction was a Buddhist nun...her shaved head and her saffron robe gave her away. We could have both navigated the narrowed sidewalk...but instead...why I have no idea...I yielded the sidewalk to her to let her pass...she looked at me, smiled faintly, pressed her palms together, and softly bowed her head. I returned the gesture....

In the midst of the late June heat, my sticky clothes, my day that was blown to hell, and the less than kind thoughts that were swirling around my head...this passing nun afforded me a moment of gentle serenity.

By any measure yesterday was a lousy day...however...this silent exchange between the nun and myself is something I will remember and will take with me...and with it the hope that my little girl will someday grow into the sort of woman who can appreciate such small moments.

I'm Bored

At 7:15 this morning my phone rang...never a good thing....but since this was my kid's mom's number I answered...

Dad: What?

Voice on the other end: Hi Daddy....(it was Fiona)...

Dad: (suppressing urge to ask Fiona if she knew what time it was)...hi princess...whats going on?

Fiona: I'm bored....

And so it begins...21 hours into school vacation and one of my children has already declared themselves board. I give my kids another 4 hours before they declare me boring. I know of one mom who is already poised to declare her kids boring.

We parents arrange play dates, vacations, send our kids to summer camp, buy swimming pools, erect basketball hoops, juggle our schedules all so our kids can be entertained during the summer. We behave as though we are legally obligated to provide food, clothing, shelter, and entertainment.

I am not a cruise director...this is what I told my daughter and her less than thrilled mom.

So my daughter is bored...I am sure her brothers will soon follow suit. Everybody gets bored...I get bored...last night I was bored silly. It happens. But expecting to be constantly entertained is...well...not good...and certainly not an expectation we should create for our kids. However, our behavior fuels that expectation.

So I told Fiona two things...that for some people 7:15 is the middle of the night and that its OK for her to be bored and that if she looked around there were plenty of things for her to do. I will need to keep this in mind as surely there will come a time this weekend when I will say to myself..."I'm bored."

School's Out

At around 11:30 today my kids will be out for summer vacation...I will see you in September.

Just kidding.

Over the last few weeks I have been asked a number of times about what I was "going to do" with the kids for the summer. On those few occasions when I was able to muster more than a deer in the headlights stare I blithely replied to such queries by saying that I was all set as I have arranged for the kids to be put into storage for the summer.

Based upon the look of shock and horror one parent gave me at least one person took me seriously... (God...there are times I truly love the parking lot at Holy Family School).

However...I am facing the very real prospect of having...for the first time...to deal with the issue of what to do with the kids for the summer. Fortunately (or unfortunately) this is an issue that I have not had to worry about as I since I have been a dad as either I worked from home or my kids' mom was around to mind the little ones during summer vacation.

So...last night...at a ball game...surrounded by children left to me to manage by parents who apparently trusted me enough with their little cherubs to go off and swill watered down ballpark beer all night...I discovered that the trick to parenting is to not let your children become your problem...let them become other people's problem...and this meshes well with what my kids really want to do this summer;

Dad: "Oliver what would you like to do this summer?"

Oliver: "Dad....trust me...you will NOT see a lot of me...I am going to be hanging out at my friends..."

Dad: "Don't forget to send your mother a postcard otherwise she will be calling me asking why she has not heard from you..."

Fiona has similar plans...that is to hang out with friends. As for Aidan...he would be content to play XBox all summer...This is a kid who could live on Goldfish. As for his other bodily needs, I know a nurse and she has experience with catheters...

So my solution to my summertime childcare problem is to make my problem other people's problem. Either that...or I could open a Daddy Day Care and charge other parents for me to watch their problems...I mean...their children...but nobody would want that...would they?

Fatherhood

It started innocuously enough...I wished someone with whom I went to high school a safe journey home from an extended business trip to east Asia...in our brief exchange of messages I thanked him for the kind things he said about my efforts in this space...in reply he suggested that I write more about fatherhood....

Apparently its not that apparent that writing about fatherhood was what I have been attempting to do in the previous 299 posts. Actually...Joe did me a favor in that he caused me to pause and give some though to what have been doing as a dad and in this space. He always had this way of challenging you in ways you might not want to be challenged.

Fatherhood is who you are and what you do...I am trying and failing to make the word "fatherhood" into a verb but fatherhood is an action or at least a series of actions that determine whether you are a good father or something less and whether you are a father or a dad. I have a father and perhaps I needed one...but my kids need a dad and I have been struggling ever since they were born to be a good one.

As a dad I am in the business of raising future adults and in doing so its my job to raise them with a certain set of values and priorities which will help them be strong, kind, and loving people. Additionally, its also my job to equip them with the skills they will need to thrive and make sense of the wider world. I want my children to be happy and moral individuals who lead lives that make sense to them and who will be able to contribute to the greater good.

In this space I have written about a series of experiences and observations; about me personally, about the people in my life, about the world in which we live, and about my kids. As I think about it, it has also been a chronicle of my own efforts to decompartmentalize my own life and to live a life that makes sense. I have no idea if my efforts will succeed, but I can say that I have learned that attempts to wall off parts of one's life will ultimately lead to chaos and will eventually fail. We are the sum total of the parts of our lives and these parts need to fit together or they will fall into rubble.

So writing about food, playing catch, about a book my girlfriend gave me, about illegal immigration, or about my own struggles is writing about fatherhood. As is writing, not so obliquely, about the people, mostly women, who have influenced me most in how I "dad" today. These experiences, the influences in my life, and the people I know, make up who I am. And being a dad is who I am and what I do.

Moved

I am...now that I have Internet access...ensconced in my new home.

Finally.

The last week has been one taken up by sifting, sorting, packing, hauling, lugging, shoving, arranging, tossing, swearing, and moving. And through much of the sifting, sorting, packing, hauling, lugging, shoving, arranging, tossing, swearing, and moving my son Oliver was with me and not merely for company...he helped.

My son and I moved down three flights of stairs and onto a truck and into my new place one sofa, three chairs, a kitchen table, four kitchen chairs, four mattresses...and on and on it went. Doing this together was fun...well...almost fun. However, it was a gratifying experience to have my boy help me not because he had to...but because he wanted to be my partner in this...and at 5 feet 6 inches and the strength of a horse he was able to...and with more smarts and maturity than I sometimes give him credit for, he was able to see the wisdom in my decision to move. Besides...where I now live has a basketball hoop.

That my kids played a role in choosing where I live and that they helped me move I think will help them with the transition through which all four of us are going. Together, as a family, we discussed what moving meant and how our lives would change, we celebrated the end of this period in our lives, and together we are starting a new chapter.

In my last night at the old place, sitting in my camp chair, listening to my old radio much like I had that first night away from my kids almost four years ago, it very much felt like that I was at the end of a chapter. I am deeply grateful to the people who helped me write this chapter in the life of my family. They...and you...have helped me and my children through what was often a difficult and challenging time. Additionally, they...and...you have helped prepare me to be ready to find our future and to look forward to that future with much enthusiasm and with great hope.