tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-78369227328909955232024-03-05T00:46:52.372-08:00A Dad's LifeMy off kilter look at the joys, challenges, and absurdities of singledadhood. Hey....its cheaper than therapy.Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02975570451737912217noreply@blogger.comBlogger177125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7836922732890995523.post-4957234090795551742010-12-23T14:48:00.000-08:002010-12-23T15:27:06.630-08:00Bitten By Christmas<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiI5Z6M1X_RjhJxnVWKBD5ZsrkIvGVmY23KhVaPQm9Rg6b0idajVY-fhWJ1_nMcnrhVIBgtvqonFxuLlD7immS9CGSaQyYttfIBBxgmMblhKAmlII99xHX3Rw9XaFk73aLG6I7GMI8v3ki/s1600/christmas+monster.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 143px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiI5Z6M1X_RjhJxnVWKBD5ZsrkIvGVmY23KhVaPQm9Rg6b0idajVY-fhWJ1_nMcnrhVIBgtvqonFxuLlD7immS9CGSaQyYttfIBBxgmMblhKAmlII99xHX3Rw9XaFk73aLG6I7GMI8v3ki/s200/christmas+monster.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554022863041761970" border="0" /></a><br />I thought I was going to escape Christmas this year.<br /><br />Silly, silly, silly man.<br /><br />This morning I was optimistic...I thought that with only two days to go I could successfully elude Christmas and would not have to worry about December 25 until next year. But Christmas is a patient hunter and it always gets its prey. While I did look over my shoulder a few times, I really didn't feel Christmas was stalking me and that I could get away from Christmas without getting bitten...because you see...Christmas comes with teeth.<br /><br />I had a few close calls. In November, while with my best friend in Boston's Downtown Crossing, I felt a bit of the holiday spirit breathing down on me...but I successfully avoided getting caught. And again, earlier this month, I successfully resisted getting pulled into the holiday doldrums by deciding that Christmas, like Hannakah, is a holiday celebrated by other people but not me. As I said...I am a silly, silly, silly man.<br /><br />Christmas and I do not get along. We have had our moments to be sure but for the most part we fight and I almost always end up getting mauled and bitten. Christmas is a monster that cannot be tamed or pacified...and as I said Christmas comes with teeth. But this year would be different...I would escape.<br /><br />On Monday my dear friend warned me that Christmas would hunt me down...I assured her that I would escape and live to tell the tale. But a horrific Tuesday and a shaky Wednesday wore me down, leaving me weak and unable to resist today's visit by the Christmas beast. I would like to tell you that I put up a great fight but I have to tell you that it was over before it really began...<br /><br />So...there is no escaping the Christmas beast. The best that one in my position can do is arrive at a plan of defense...which after I see my kids...for me includes hiding behind a mound of reheated Thai food armed with a vodka martini. Hopefully these will allow me to fend off Christmas as best as I can...Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02975570451737912217noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7836922732890995523.post-31176679036905500792010-12-10T16:03:00.000-08:002010-12-10T16:37:19.481-08:00So....here we are<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm7wj2BHjU36hZu-JldOB7ehcy-rCh1pbQB4nDZSpq39JMeZAl5Y3XkF_ML3nEmkSxa2wJferW6STtWW-oFU6QrT13h7y6g-07QgD1nBw19FTraHDBBRIrc0S2SMRGqysJnJAQNTFnQHLD/s1600/maparium2.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 259px; height: 194px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm7wj2BHjU36hZu-JldOB7ehcy-rCh1pbQB4nDZSpq39JMeZAl5Y3XkF_ML3nEmkSxa2wJferW6STtWW-oFU6QrT13h7y6g-07QgD1nBw19FTraHDBBRIrc0S2SMRGqysJnJAQNTFnQHLD/s320/maparium2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5549210990139965522" border="0" /></a><br />Everybody has to be be somewhere...and tonight I am here...writing. Its been almost two months since I last visited this place. While I have been writing elsewhere, I have spent much of the last two months unplugged, offline and disconnected...letting my Facebook profile lie dormant, going without cable TV, and allowing a bit of dust gather gather on my favorite blog.<br /><br />That is not to say I have not been busy...I embarked on a project with my oldest son...I tried Tibetan food...I had the best fried clams in the world...fell in love with pumpkin soup...dipped my feet in the ocean in October...and I stood inside a stained glass globe.<br /><br />I learned that you can make "milk" from almonds and water, that one can indeed go without steak for two months, that my 11 year old daughter is no longer a little girl and that my 11 year old son is still a little boy, and that molten plastic is very, very hot. I learned that Pokemon is still very big amongst the 6 to 8 year old set, that China Wok's Kung Pao Chicken is still very good, and I have a rediscovered appreciation for PBS.<br /><br />I gave up a new career to return to an old one.<br /><br />I also learned that the very best of times can stand alongside the very worst of times.<br /><br />To be honest...I didn't mind at all this little sabbatical from things online as after all, the Internet is one of the greatest distractions yet devised by man and cable TV is...well...cable TV. I enjoyed exploring the world and bringing my discoveries back to my kids as they too...or at least my boys...like pumpkin soup and want to try Tibetan food.<br /><br />So my Internet sabbath is over...and...here we are...together again...and it looks like we will be here for a while.Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02975570451737912217noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7836922732890995523.post-30983895809201280582010-09-20T16:18:00.000-07:002010-09-20T16:34:11.208-07:00Walking Wounded Dad<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRNJ5gb_BrOTfS_pNRMytEO6UJhbWKDaiBhDaayo1hQ_Eb5QO4XTJgPUWPNn8nZDjo4oUx9zAve6PAzNFVKHyg66KLacJoyWAg3ojj7JbMZGqa5Dmd_0UzfmO6BE00FlYtJuW0dErQ9gBm/s1600/walking+wounded+dad.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRNJ5gb_BrOTfS_pNRMytEO6UJhbWKDaiBhDaayo1hQ_Eb5QO4XTJgPUWPNn8nZDjo4oUx9zAve6PAzNFVKHyg66KLacJoyWAg3ojj7JbMZGqa5Dmd_0UzfmO6BE00FlYtJuW0dErQ9gBm/s200/walking+wounded+dad.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519142960804202098" border="0" /></a><br />Playing with my kids is one of my favorite things about being a Dad...and recently when my kids come over we have gotten into the habit of playing basketball or bocce …and for the near future it looks like I will be playing more bocce than basketball…<br /><br />Like most forty something year old men I think of myself as a fourteen year old who can drive and drink martinis (although not at the same time). We often forget that the needs and capacities of forty something year old bodies are different than those of a fourteen year old. However, nature has a way of reminding us that we are not fourteen…its called pain…excruciating, yell out loud pain…<br /><br />My boys and I were playing basketball last week when nature reminded me that I am not fourteen. My boys and I have an ongoing game with Aidan and me are pitted against my oldest son, Oliver. These games are competitive affairs…however…Aidan and I are toast once Oliver figures out that we are really playing chess and not basketball.<br /><br />So…back to the reminder that I am not fourteen…during what proved to be my last basketball game for a while…I passed the ball to Aidan on the wing and then moved to receive his return pass…Aidan threw the ball over Oliver’s outstretched arms, I caught it, moved to make a left handed layup, pushing off on my right leg as I did….and then I felt like I was shot in the leg…and as I landed in a heap I thought…so…I am not fourteen after all…<br /><br />My boys helped me into the house and into my chair…meanwhile I was telling myself that I was way too young to need my boys help to get into a chair…For the next month or so I am going to be playing bocce with my kids after school…how do I know this? I have had this injury before…suffered last year…while playing wiffle ball.Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02975570451737912217noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7836922732890995523.post-31737197688997656822010-09-16T06:17:00.000-07:002010-09-18T16:15:21.990-07:00Goodbye<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-QMAi9HEj7nShUc0A2nmzzeessbnB86lGUR8HfWotnezn-_CsRJTYCytq2lYMZEcM_dx01FEfkCfDp75qi0DhPsJgsIXvGoH3BvjQdc_fdJt5ivz6UfXUoIusIoLbpkNT1jZOP676TLqA/s1600/IMG_20100907_083440.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-QMAi9HEj7nShUc0A2nmzzeessbnB86lGUR8HfWotnezn-_CsRJTYCytq2lYMZEcM_dx01FEfkCfDp75qi0DhPsJgsIXvGoH3BvjQdc_fdJt5ivz6UfXUoIusIoLbpkNT1jZOP676TLqA/s320/IMG_20100907_083440.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5517503350289428770" border="0" /></a>As much as we wish this were not so...even the best of friends eventually part ways.<br /><br />Last Friday I had to let my friend Joey go. I knew in March that we had turned a corner and were entering the home stretch of our run together. It was then when I promised him that when he was ready I would let him go. With this in mind, we had spent as much time as we could together. Sometimes he went with me to work or to run errands, but most of our time with each other was spent outside, sitting in the sun, and at night listening to the radio.<br /><br />During the course of the summer my friend’s health continued to decline yet his puppy spirit continued to shine through, that is, until about a week and a half ago…when it was clear that it was time to let him go…he was ready for us to part ways.<br /><br />Our last week together was a good one. I worked from home and as I did, Joey dozed at my feet, much as he had done for the last several years. My kids, knowing what was coming, paid more attention to him than usual…as for the first time they were about to lose someone whom they have known their entire lives.…Joey also received much love and support from many dear friends, old and new, who had shared in our journey.<br /><br />My ex wife and I got Joey in 1995 from the Dedham Animal Rescue League. In those early days it was apparent that he was going to be a handful. While talking to her about Joey last week, she told me that she wanted to remember him as the out of control puppy she loved and who drove her crazy. I remember him, however, as an older dog who shared his life with me and who was my companion through good and through bad.<br /><br />Thursday night I grilled a couple of steaks for us, served his on a plate, placed it next to him, and watched him devour an entire porterhouse in about three minutes. As he gnawed on the steak bone, I chatted with my dear friend who knew Joey well. A long time ago it she who gently told me that when the time came it really didn’t matter if I was ready to let him go… instead...I would need to let him go when he was ready.<br /><br />Joey and I sat in the sun on our last morning together, ran a few errands, and then made one last stop at our favorite place. As we sat together on the Common, in the sun, as we did many times before. I thanked him for being my truest friend and for sharing his life with me. I told him that he was a good boy…<br /><br />Finally…as he faded, I whispered to him our language’s saddest word….goodbye….<br /><br /><o:p></o:p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02975570451737912217noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7836922732890995523.post-23165648742445921672010-08-22T11:15:00.000-07:002010-08-22T11:20:00.242-07:00Silent Places<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh02NU-kR3fm6j2mb95LDrVXaM4eChHN0ZXJIt3EnEYrqyfbRwPAmXUsq592L6laMRF4_6KpXBO_5qpPOh_nyIxQIMMgornYlFaf7ODLaXmPdnhsPmP-xh9IJnZCXt95YckEGr_5Sq_3W9Y/s1600/parking+lot+and+hills+010.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh02NU-kR3fm6j2mb95LDrVXaM4eChHN0ZXJIt3EnEYrqyfbRwPAmXUsq592L6laMRF4_6KpXBO_5qpPOh_nyIxQIMMgornYlFaf7ODLaXmPdnhsPmP-xh9IJnZCXt95YckEGr_5Sq_3W9Y/s200/parking+lot+and+hills+010.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508300623701973394" border="0" /></a><br />This space has not seen much action this past month. Not because of anything out of the ordinary happened or because I have been otherwise preoccupied…but simply because given the choice between writing and silence I took the novel approach and chose silence.<o:p></o:p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">People often feel the need to fill in silent places with some sort of chatter…bloggers are no different. There were any numbers of things about which I could have written these last few weeks…I simply didn’t. Instead…I chose silence.<o:p></o:p><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">If you think about it…it can be a challenge to keep the TV off, the radio silent, and to allow the iPod to quietly remain in its dock. It is even a greater challenge to convince your children to do the same…to convince them that wisdom can be found in the silent places.<o:p> </o:p><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">I have learned the most from quiet people and from them I have learned that it is in the silent places, those spaces between the chatter and noise are where you can learn much and hear the most…all you need to do is listen. </p>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02975570451737912217noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7836922732890995523.post-75070409205139175422010-08-09T05:38:00.000-07:002010-08-09T06:07:03.682-07:00VacationSunday morning, while heating up coffee in a frying pan, in my boxers, standing in my kitchen, at 6:15 in the morning, my phone rang....<br /><br />It was my ex wife...<br /><br />Sunday was not off to a good start...<br /><br />I had realized the previous night that I had forgotten to pick up coffee at the local warehouse store and that if I wanted hot coffee the next day I would have to dip into my reserve of chilled coffee I keep in the fridge. Anyone who knows anything about coffee will tell you that hot coffee and iced coffee are two entirely coffee experiences and one cannot be substituted for the other.<br /><br />So...inadequately caffeinated I was compelled to converse with my ex wife...<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Ex Wife</span> (who is already wide awake): "Hi Tom...can we borrow your tent?"<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Tom:</span> "grumble grumble...hmmmm...yeah..."<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Ex Wife:</span> "Thanks...when can you bring it over?"<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Tom: </span>"hmmmm...grumble...10:00?"<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Ex Wife:</span> "can you be over at 9:30...we are leaving at 10:00..thanks...bye..."<br /><br />That exchanges such as these don't go well is usually my fault as I usually don't feel fully human until 11:30...but...I decided to keep my answers short thereby reducing the chances of verbal conflict...largely because my ex wife was leaving with out kids for a camping trip...<br /><br />I arrived at the house at 9:45....handed her the tent...and my camera...and watched the four of them load the minivan as I held the kids' puppy by her leash...<br /><br />The kids said their goodbyes...and off they went with their mom...with me...still standing in the front yard...holding the kids' puppy by her leash.<br /><br />After buying coffee...I intend to fully enjoy my vacation...Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02975570451737912217noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7836922732890995523.post-8520644137177568822010-08-01T07:55:00.000-07:002010-08-03T06:08:56.381-07:00Out For A PaddleOn his porch, last weekend, in one of the rare moments in the last twenty five years where we have been alone together, my brother asked me..."so...what do you do with yourself on the weekends?"<br /><br />"I paddle" I told him.<br /><br />I have a kayak...its 12 feet long, its fire engine red, and it represents the best $250.00 I have spent in a very, very long time.<br /><br />Its not a toy however, and its not an indulgence.<br /><br />My red kayak is my Prozac, my evening cocktail, my consolation, and my escape.<br /><br />The elegant combination of water, boat, and paddle helps me effortlessly pass hours and to see myself and the world from a different perspective. And so far I like the view.Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02975570451737912217noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7836922732890995523.post-4630451402992262072010-07-29T07:18:00.000-07:002010-07-29T07:21:51.311-07:00Tell Me A Story She Whispered; A Story RetoldThere were certain quiet, intimate times, usually at an hour when only insomniacs and lovers are awake, while half asleep, I would be asked to share bits of myself that no one else knew. Feeling safe with no need to keep my guard up, I would have shared the secrets of the universe had I known them. Fortunately, I was wise enough to recognize those moments and remember them. I wish I had shared this story during one of those times.<br /><br />This is one of my earliest memories, I must have been 3 or 4. It was a warm, humid, cloudy morning in September. Thinking about it now, a tropical storm must have been making its way up the New England coast. My father put me in the front seat of his truck and off we went. The cab of his pick-up truck smelled vaguely of engine grease and motor oil with hints of coffee and White Owl cigars. Rattling behind the vinyl bench seat were the tools in his tool box. My father is the sort of man who takes tools wherever he goes and he knows how to use them.<br /><br />As we headed up Rhode Island Route 3 (these were the days before the Rhode Island stretch of I 95 was completed) it started to pour. I remember the rain coming down in sheets, the windshield wipers struggled to keep up with the torrential downpour. I remember not quite understanding why we were out and not knowing where we were going. We turned off the main road and headed up a gravel road. As we made our way down the road, I remember the sound of tree branches gently brushing against the side of the truck. As the end of the road stood a barn and a farm house. We were at an apple orchard.<br /><br />Unlike today where orchards are agricultural Disneylands to which families take their annual rural excursions, this place was really a farm whose primary crop were apples. My father took these things very seriously. For my father, as was the case for generations in our family, September was a time to put away food for the winter. The apples we got each fall became preserves and apple sauce that were to last for the coming year. With more than 300 years of farming history in my family, my father was following an instinctual drive to prepare for winter. He took this seriously and I was expected to as well.<br /><br />I remember standing under an apple tree, my father scrambling to fill up our bushel baskets, the rain coming down in torrents. I did my best to help him as he explained to me what constituted an apple worth picking and one that was better left behind.<br /><br />My next memory of that day was sitting in his pick-up, wet, drinking hot chocolate that we had brought with us. I remember my dad sitting next to me and I remember being happy. I am glad for that day, when I was so young, where I felt protected, loved, and happy to be my father's son. I am also sad that we had so few days like that one.<br /><br />This story should have been told at a late hour, in soft whispers, while feeling safe and warm and unguarded.Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02975570451737912217noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7836922732890995523.post-80341906396440976292010-07-25T07:36:00.000-07:002010-07-25T08:08:23.996-07:00Fathers and SonsToday is my father's birthday. He is now 77. I am writing with one eye on the clock as I need to gather up my kids and make the hour and thirty minute drive down to my brother's to be on time for my father's birthday party.<br /><br />I wish I could say that my father and I have a warm and close relationship. We do not. I do my best to fulfill the responsibilities a son has to his father but I confess that I do little more. This is the way that it has always been and I am afraid that this is the way that it will continue to be. However, there are times when I feel closer to him than others. This past week was one of those times.<br /><br />In the life of a very close friend, something happened last week, that at least temporarily, brought me closer to my father, and brought me back to a pivotal time in the life of our family. When I was 9 my father had his first heart attack. He was 43. He had his first triple bypass two years later when I was 11. Needless to say it was a time of uncertainty, anxiety, and fear.<br /><br />My father responded to his health difficulties in a way that I suspect that is not all that unusual; he believed that his time was short and that he needed to get done as much as he could as quickly as he could. My father, brother, and I embarked on a series of projects that my father felt needed to get done quickly. In the span of two years we restored a truck, finished a basement, and built an addition to the house. My brother and I dug ditches, poured cement, broke rocks, sandblasted truck parts, shingled roofs, and pounded many, many nails. Work conditions were not optimal.<br /><br />Now, with the passage of thirty years coupled with my own experiences topped off by what happened in my friend's life, I think I better understand what my father faced. As the sole provider for a family of five words such as fulfillment, satisfaction, and happiness were not a part of my father's vocabulary. He did his best, even during those difficult times, to ensure that his wife and children were provided for, even if the worst should happen.<br /><br />At 43 I can see that my own father did what he thought was his best and muddled through. Realizing this will make today's drive down to Rhode Island a bit easier and makes me aware that someday my own children will be driving to my home to celebrate my birthday. I hope as the do it will be with kind and happy thoughts about their dad.Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02975570451737912217noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7836922732890995523.post-80243431731381364412010-07-22T06:53:00.000-07:002010-07-22T07:59:37.058-07:00Summer CampThis is camp week for the Pierce family. Oliver is at an overnight camp with the Boy Scouts, Fiona is at a day camp, and Aidan is at mom and dad camp...<br /><br />As Oliver's and Fiona's camp schedule rounded into form, both I and the kid's mom asked Aidan about what he wanted to do for camp. We are fortunate in that there are a number of camp opportunities in town and any of them had the potential to capture Aidan's interest. Aidan, however, would have none of it, instead telling us that having the house, the TV, the computer, and us to himself would be like going to camp.<br /><br />A quiet soul, I also think that Aidan also relished the idea of being away from his brother and sister, who, like their dad, have some hard edges to their personalities. At the tender age of ten, Aidan is already an expert in conflict resolution and conflict avoidance. As proficient as he is...I am sure he gets worn out from navigating between his brother and sister.<br /><br />So this week Aidan has played hours of basketball, drunk gallons of root beer, and explored two rivers. Yesterday he rode shotgun with me as I made my appointments and we were able to fit in a trip to a coffee house and to a national park. His favorite part of the day, he told me, was the grilled hot dog I bought him at Jimmies in New Bedford. Today his mom is taking him to the zoo and tomorrow I am taking him to Cambridge...<br /><br />While Oliver and Fiona are having a good week...I suspect that Aidan...who can get hours of entertainment out of wading in a river or from a fist full of coffee beans...is having the best camp week.Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02975570451737912217noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7836922732890995523.post-10787017450660585492010-07-16T18:02:00.000-07:002010-07-17T05:30:32.996-07:00A MomentIt was a moment with one of my kids that I thought I would not have for many years.<br /><br />It was just the two of us, Aidan and I, sitting in the early evening twilight at my patio table, nibbling on fruit and cheese, each engrossed in our respective books; Aidan's, a book about World War One and mine a book about the 1964 major league baseball season. Each of us, quietly enjoying each others company, communing with one another without saying a word.<br /><br />Such quiet moments are rare. The last such moment I had was in March, the day after my return home from a brief stay in the hospital and prior to that, during a particular day last July. To quietly sit with someone, dozing or reading, without speaking and yet be completely comfortable in that silence is a unusual sort of intimacy that is seldom recognized as such. Such moments, by their very nature are shared with someone special, are rare and are to be prized and treasured, especially when spent with one's child.<br /><br />So nibbling on cheese, munching on fruit, and drinking bubbly water, Aidan and I quietly read. After about forty five minutes Aidan put down his book, stood up and said "well...that was nice..." and jogged off to shoot baskets.Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02975570451737912217noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7836922732890995523.post-74252736774212392052010-07-10T08:04:00.000-07:002010-07-10T10:09:51.669-07:00Basketball LessonsIn my<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3oGdOp803_GwURH97VGUBu3Met_yug4dKtBL1Qds1ikJwHCQGkD3pjB4RtRctC48G__w_XhL-Tsf2Hqbb4KJubSQyg2ggmUiYa4erC_X3M81jpYbbrOhlhMQVhO25G1VpqYJPCi6D9hvv/s1600/basketball+hoop.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 84px; height: 126px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3oGdOp803_GwURH97VGUBu3Met_yug4dKtBL1Qds1ikJwHCQGkD3pjB4RtRctC48G__w_XhL-Tsf2Hqbb4KJubSQyg2ggmUiYa4erC_X3M81jpYbbrOhlhMQVhO25G1VpqYJPCi6D9hvv/s400/basketball+hoop.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492324904471306290" border="0" /></a> backyard, my boys and I have an ongoing basketball game where, much to my surprise, basketball has replaced baseball as our game of choice.<br /><br />Baseball teaches many things, among them the virtues of practice and repetition, cooperation between teammates, eye hand coordination, and is a great way for middle age men to commune with their sons as a game of catch does not usually tax forty something year old bodies. Over the years I have taken a particular pleasure in watching my boys develop their baseball skills, going from barely able to catch the ball when they were four to being able to deftly handle the most difficult of plays.<br /><br />That there happens to be a basketball hoop in my backyard is a feature of my new home my boys find most appealing. They spend hours shooting baskets and more often than not, I am right out there with them. Which brings me to our ongoing game.<br /><br />Actually there are two ongoing games...one where its ten year old Aidan and me against thirteen year old Oliver...and another of me against Oliver. Whereas I am slightly taller and a bit heavier than Oliver, he is in better shape, has greater endurance, and is faster than I. On the other hand...Aidan is quicker than both of us, has better eye hand coordination, however he is a foot shorter than Oliver and only half as heavy. I can safely say that both boys are better than I am at basketball.<br /><br />During these games I encourage the boys to develop strategies and tactics that allow them to maximize their strengths and advantages while exploiting their opponent's weaknesses. Aidan is particularly adept at this as over the years he has found ways to compete athletically and intellectually with his much larger older brother. For an example, Aidan and I encourage Oliver to expend as much energy as possible by allowing him to run and dribble as much as he wants while the two of us lie in wait. I am waiting for Oliver to realize that it makes far less sense for him to dribble about simply because he can than for him to devise a way to break down our defense and take quality shots each time he has the ball.<br /><br />Despite what we see on ESPN, basketball is a game of quickness and angles, of strategy and tactics. Aidan and I have a strategy of wearing out Oliver and we employ tactics towards that end...we run him ragged. My strategy against Oliver is to not get worn out and to play games that end quickly...and I play accordingly.<br /><br />So...basketball has become this summer's teaching tool where I am trying to teach my boys to assess situations, maximize their advantages, minimize their weaknesses, and above all else, think and plan before acting. Hopefully they will also learn when and how to land the well placed elbow as well.Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02975570451737912217noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7836922732890995523.post-62224869140205415852010-07-08T06:11:00.000-07:002010-07-08T07:03:04.652-07:00Sun BlockedIts hot...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxEDRlDEvUJFHpeL6L4OPQ_AKbPSNtkW2lcJt2uzR2038V0OuCQdxX8ywQ3IA55JWHDAVQjEdDTMwww6wmUcX0ovW0V7pAvBzEbXlC7uVSGam3CinjJ-CL9LJWDFOiYGJCgXJcgkr8fea3/s1600/nantasket+beach.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 137px; height: 103px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxEDRlDEvUJFHpeL6L4OPQ_AKbPSNtkW2lcJt2uzR2038V0OuCQdxX8ywQ3IA55JWHDAVQjEdDTMwww6wmUcX0ovW0V7pAvBzEbXlC7uVSGam3CinjJ-CL9LJWDFOiYGJCgXJcgkr8fea3/s400/nantasket+beach.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491532139448755394" border="0" /></a>damn hot...too damn hot...<br /><br />Lacking air conditioning, on Tuesday the boys and I set out for Nantasket Beach in Hull, Massachusetts. According to the state beach website, Nantasket is located 45 minutes south of Boston (although I defy anyone to make it to Nantasket from Boston in anything less than an hour and a half) and is very much an urban beach.<br /><br />At Nantasket you can hear Spanish, French Creole, Russian, Irish brogues, Vietnamese, Chinese, and any number of other languages along with the distinctive Bahhhhston accent. Its a place where soccer moms from affluent Boston suburbs settle down in their beach chairs next to single moms from Dorchester and Roxbury. Believe me when I tell you that there are few other places on earth where this would happen.<br /><br />So the boys and I found our place at the beach and had a great time. We went for a walk, we swam, and I read for a while as my oldest son did his best to drown his younger brother...just because I went to the beach with two kids in no way means that I need to return from the beach with two kids.<br /><br />On the way home, Aidan, age 10, shared with us some of his observations;<br /><ul><li>I was the only man under 50 on the beach without a tattoo</li><li>Speedos should be outlawed...especially white speedos (he learned that bananas and grapes belong in a grocery bag...not a swim suit).<br /></li><li>That he wants to go back to the beach earlier in the day because he can't throw rocks into the water at a crowded beach. </li><li>That there are times when he really, really, really hates his older brother.</li><li>Sunblock is always a good idea and, looking at his scarlet skinned brother, that he was glad he wore some.<br /></li></ul>Oliver also learned that sunblock is always a good idea but he learned it the hard way. Displaying a foolhardiness that only a teenager can demonstrate, Oliver ventured out into the July sun without sunblock...and when it comes to a showdown between our fiery friend the sun and fair Irish skin...the sun always wins. He also learned that avoiding agonizing pain is better than having a nice tan...<br /><br />Oliver learns from his mistakes...Aidan learns from his brother's mistakes.Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02975570451737912217noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7836922732890995523.post-13078539268660722922010-07-02T18:19:00.000-07:002010-07-02T19:34:20.799-07:00Three Day Weekend Eve; The Virtues of Plan B<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzus_cn0mE6pVxuGRwtGRVw7jGZOSOzy03tIXp0KgrI2m3sZp9wgFZUPZZyUmlBTpZCOaaH0-8r8vd4k3npgy06I1uzUIGsVTsG7OdmKasa4EQ3uUaS7vrESRazTTLygoen2jmf8SKVRam/s1600/three+day+weekend.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 135px; height: 111px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzus_cn0mE6pVxuGRwtGRVw7jGZOSOzy03tIXp0KgrI2m3sZp9wgFZUPZZyUmlBTpZCOaaH0-8r8vd4k3npgy06I1uzUIGsVTsG7OdmKasa4EQ3uUaS7vrESRazTTLygoen2jmf8SKVRam/s400/three+day+weekend.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489502082310414834" border="0" /></a><br />I belong to a particular subset of the fatherhood fraternity...I am a divorced dad...among other things this means that while I am always an active member of the aforementioned fraternity, there are times when I have my kids with me...and then there are times I don't. On this three day weekend I don't.<br /><br />The solo three day weekend can be the fuzzy end of the divorce, single in your forties, ex boyfriend lolly pop (not that the candy end of this particular lolly pop is all that great either). Seventy two hours provides ample time to pull apart every life decision, wallow, and eat too many half gallon boxes of ice cream. So...when entering a three day weekend its always advisable to have a game plan...and once you have a game plan...make sure you have a Plan B.<br /><br />A few weeks ago I had come up with a pretty damn good game plan for this weekend...but...plans changed and the game plan had to be scrapped. And I confess...it took an early morning email today from the person who taught me the virtues of having a Plan B to spur me into action. So...as I told her...my plans for the weekend included bicycling on Friday, kayaking on Saturday, and an arrhythmia on Sunday which should also cover me for Monday as well.<br /><br />Too many divorced parents spend their child free weekends wandering around wondering what to do with themselves...and it ought to go without saying that this does neither the parent nor their kids any good. We remain parents whether our kids are with us or not and its our responsibility to make sure that we take care of ourselves...and wallowing is a lousy way to treat oneself. Besides if Daddy ain't doing well ain't nobody going to be doing well....<br /><br />So...while the original game plan would have been a winner...and frankly my first choice...Plan B will work just fine...I just hope to skip the arrhythmia part.Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02975570451737912217noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7836922732890995523.post-67550582067203271912010-06-30T08:51:00.000-07:002010-06-30T09:40:45.646-07:00FriendsYest<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfit_XZjAVw4DtB3gn9slJKZP5VnBZvM01Hv1xBTl_-cT68om21hHHRGhJB8Mac6IwSdi2kTeAdEI1hbj-qE-_u4rdSxx8WpanLvfq7MbXVoKFxTLSx21e6L0zVTZByOTZUYBIhL-bw3ZO/s1600/friendship.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 98px; height: 130px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfit_XZjAVw4DtB3gn9slJKZP5VnBZvM01Hv1xBTl_-cT68om21hHHRGhJB8Mac6IwSdi2kTeAdEI1hbj-qE-_u4rdSxx8WpanLvfq7MbXVoKFxTLSx21e6L0zVTZByOTZUYBIhL-bw3ZO/s400/friendship.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488606026766699106" border="0" /></a>erday 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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...<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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...Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02975570451737912217noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7836922732890995523.post-85379331655500550352010-06-30T06:55:00.001-07:002010-06-30T06:55:39.781-07:00<p></p><div style='clear: both; text-align: center; font-size: xx-small;'>Published with Blogger-droid v1.3.8</div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02975570451737912217noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7836922732890995523.post-29873597343040885312010-06-28T05:37:00.001-07:002010-06-28T06:14:04.750-07:00Dog DaysThe a<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd-iOwBGmsUyhV-e03qeYnMVrv4nxMylQ6p36XchMX-8tGCYeRVOChtiQZ9n5__-OqpF7OiAfG2eAiqR9qgoCBPtTnPw7lzFov6k4L-_gmFPwtRX6IlzmLLVeAnCfTVjqOWsSzjYIENXkV/s1600/swimming+hole.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 101px; height: 135px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd-iOwBGmsUyhV-e03qeYnMVrv4nxMylQ6p36XchMX-8tGCYeRVOChtiQZ9n5__-OqpF7OiAfG2eAiqR9qgoCBPtTnPw7lzFov6k4L-_gmFPwtRX6IlzmLLVeAnCfTVjqOWsSzjYIENXkV/s400/swimming+hole.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487811628651362146" border="0" /></a>larm 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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...<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02975570451737912217noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7836922732890995523.post-14337917390471948132010-06-27T06:15:00.001-07:002010-06-27T06:16:19.522-07:00Yard Work<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnqZWALlU4dRNT8rGyZOh5fhiiNpcF-_Y-Y8U9ohCY5K326_WYZBZ8ByP2cZQKYpKgKlrHc2YR_7DbIxTn45_UH9koUK-PFQ3Xcilq6vzN2mbBvVFIDX1bRXGN88KL5ygWNfu-dA5bQgy4/s1600/yard+work.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 99px; height: 116px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnqZWALlU4dRNT8rGyZOh5fhiiNpcF-_Y-Y8U9ohCY5K326_WYZBZ8ByP2cZQKYpKgKlrHc2YR_7DbIxTn45_UH9koUK-PFQ3Xcilq6vzN2mbBvVFIDX1bRXGN88KL5ygWNfu-dA5bQgy4/s320/yard+work.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487441607981044274" border="0" /></a><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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....<br /><br />My son cuts the grass...and hopefully now he will know better than to block my shots...Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02975570451737912217noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7836922732890995523.post-12025156732740248482010-06-26T08:08:00.000-07:002010-06-27T06:14:54.185-07:00Yard Work<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwm_Y-vpbriwt0WM_UAVceFvTZCNQKDuF2N9Wvf0VizJmkzX1hY-aqPeJ9BuJxzxHdJL2Nvv_DMbECGaF_Nf6BYGObP7U6L9u8fL4QlYK2G7Ws187m6S1-zCB_iYwc4Cr8Bk1tCdfvyujN/s1600/yard+work.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 99px; height: 116px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwm_Y-vpbriwt0WM_UAVceFvTZCNQKDuF2N9Wvf0VizJmkzX1hY-aqPeJ9BuJxzxHdJL2Nvv_DMbECGaF_Nf6BYGObP7U6L9u8fL4QlYK2G7Ws187m6S1-zCB_iYwc4Cr8Bk1tCdfvyujN/s320/yard+work.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487440022714302210" border="0" /></a><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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....<br /><br />My son cuts the grass...and hopefully now he will know better than to block my shots...Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02975570451737912217noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7836922732890995523.post-33459537277732461872010-06-26T05:03:00.000-07:002010-06-26T05:04:51.092-07:00Extended Family<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdhM6BD32l5dW1nOaDDPC9ts8Kw0teO75f1BYPBp1ht2PCC_CvIuabOSxdHCfeLvH2MAxDG5V5KZ1MZHFzPNosPFaI1f2k8g9ZmrM9MBKT6cmiU37ikLuYcRiGZTCUTWlmncM53mo6z6yq/s1600/parking+lot+and+hills+010.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdhM6BD32l5dW1nOaDDPC9ts8Kw0teO75f1BYPBp1ht2PCC_CvIuabOSxdHCfeLvH2MAxDG5V5KZ1MZHFzPNosPFaI1f2k8g9ZmrM9MBKT6cmiU37ikLuYcRiGZTCUTWlmncM53mo6z6yq/s200/parking+lot+and+hills+010.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487052058279182498" border="0" /></a><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02975570451737912217noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7836922732890995523.post-53790266083571185922010-06-25T06:23:00.000-07:002010-06-25T07:15:55.940-07:00Bacon Roasted Chicken...thank you Julia Child<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh822x-VQOhVbjFcuWAJPjxoOi7hsTISMG-6kMKPiw1IX93cfgexJD_F_pmKg0eI1fUX_KxcH-37DN0jSeaUeUqyowaZPmLywwc2nIhhR_6klDNtvuyWq3Rbt5aNWUKHbw1waO_pE8fJT50/s1600/bacon+roasted+chicken.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 93px; height: 93px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh822x-VQOhVbjFcuWAJPjxoOi7hsTISMG-6kMKPiw1IX93cfgexJD_F_pmKg0eI1fUX_KxcH-37DN0jSeaUeUqyowaZPmLywwc2nIhhR_6klDNtvuyWq3Rbt5aNWUKHbw1waO_pE8fJT50/s400/bacon+roasted+chicken.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486714303971617090" border="0" /></a><br />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.<br /><br />So...last night I was bored...climb the walls, pace back and forth bored. Bored. Bored. Bored. Bored.<br /><br />Bored.<br /><br />I did not know what to do with myself. So I did the obvious thing...I roasted a chicken.<br /><br />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....<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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...Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02975570451737912217noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7836922732890995523.post-16670631110987886622010-06-20T05:42:00.000-07:002010-06-20T07:18:26.858-07:00For Father's DayMy 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..."<br /><br />She rolled her eyes and walked away....<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Today... I want to be the dad I want to be.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02975570451737912217noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7836922732890995523.post-2051734916431157862010-06-19T08:43:00.001-07:002010-06-19T16:16:06.689-07:00Tell Me A Story She WhisperedI usual<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIEIBOoYZAs0v67osR1xqnFx4BfGO9Sn-jywk7x1oov-MtmbaygR4D_TmhTqxYlCDcvjP-8t6wHD9etZhxgKtH57jeiUrDxJCrbF3M5qYf5BE-dky18PvfvCTjF1tXYLGLl2DQpgMXEud1/s1600/buddhist+nun.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 123px; height: 107px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIEIBOoYZAs0v67osR1xqnFx4BfGO9Sn-jywk7x1oov-MtmbaygR4D_TmhTqxYlCDcvjP-8t6wHD9etZhxgKtH57jeiUrDxJCrbF3M5qYf5BE-dky18PvfvCTjF1tXYLGLl2DQpgMXEud1/s320/buddhist+nun.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484626997747759426" border="0" /></a>ly 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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....<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02975570451737912217noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7836922732890995523.post-43067582297536842682010-06-18T04:47:00.000-07:002010-06-18T05:32:34.040-07:00I'm Bored<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMUvwQHImOvZe_Roy7DRZh3AqyYk5XO3ovOGo9PPQWNoBdnr0DBcFj49Q63OuWIpfNWosd5_sO75IRt83GSkFYY0VEE-0JW6vLq44l92muQuEST12EFExEOIiAKBfnq-3QEOO0h97Go20Y/s1600/bored.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 116px; height: 116px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMUvwQHImOvZe_Roy7DRZh3AqyYk5XO3ovOGo9PPQWNoBdnr0DBcFj49Q63OuWIpfNWosd5_sO75IRt83GSkFYY0VEE-0JW6vLq44l92muQuEST12EFExEOIiAKBfnq-3QEOO0h97Go20Y/s320/bored.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484090202169961362" border="0" /></a><br />At 7:15 this morning my phone rang...never a good thing....but since this was my kid's mom's number I answered...<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Dad:</span> What?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Voice on the other end:</span> Hi Daddy....(it was Fiona)...<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Dad:</span> (suppressing urge to ask Fiona if she knew what time it was)...hi princess...whats going on?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Fiona:</span> I'm bored....<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />I am not a cruise director...this is what I told my daughter and her less than thrilled mom.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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."Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02975570451737912217noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7836922732890995523.post-84481343662478415832010-06-16T11:20:00.000-07:002010-06-17T06:28:53.327-07:00School's Out<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2TtLwYRcMjebmIk7ijffAP0N2cMqsrsFyquomIAD4Y3289Sgmd-xZoUXtuv5NZ96SE-BMkMFbpAtNURcM_TzKvxbD7fE41tMA5ZVcYZMo2RgYnt2KVTj2Hg07rhlq79CVVMQKH5L6X_uY/s1600/schools+out.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 113px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2TtLwYRcMjebmIk7ijffAP0N2cMqsrsFyquomIAD4Y3289Sgmd-xZoUXtuv5NZ96SE-BMkMFbpAtNURcM_TzKvxbD7fE41tMA5ZVcYZMo2RgYnt2KVTj2Hg07rhlq79CVVMQKH5L6X_uY/s320/schools+out.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483733872362506690" border="0" /></a><br />At around 11:30 today my kids will be out for summer vacation...I will see you in September.<br /><br />Just kidding.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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).<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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 <span style="font-style: italic;">your</span> problem...let them become <span style="font-style: italic;">other</span> people's problem...and this meshes well with what my kids really want to do this summer;<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Dad:</span> "Oliver what would you like to do this summer?"<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Oliver:</span> "Dad....trust me...you will NOT see a lot of me...I am going to be hanging out at my friends..."<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Dad:</span> "Don't forget to send your mother a postcard otherwise she will be calling me asking why she has not heard from you..."<br /><br />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...<br /><br />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?Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02975570451737912217noreply@blogger.com1