Absence Makes The Heart Grow Fonder?

Well, I sure hope so - I've been AWOL from this blog for almost a month now. I've got my excuses: laptop died; spent two weeks In-Country at Disneyworld and environs with the family; back to (new) school and sports try-out pressures; but, enough is enough. The break has allowed me to garner a ton of material that I plan on showering you with in the next while. But where to start?

Maybe I will start with how I am not a very good father. Some of my posts may come across as if I (think I) actually know what I am doing and am qualified to offer advice. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Perhaps my blog should be called Pop Culture: A Cautionary Tale.

I don't know about other dads out there but I recognize myself in depictions of awful dads in pop culture all the time. Dads seem always cast as dorks or villains these days. Are these our options now? I watch these depictions and cringe; is that really the way I am perceived? Is this to be my legacy - either a bitter angry guy offering bullshit advice and lessons to his kids or a dufus eunuch offering bullshit advice and lessons to his kids? How did it get from Leave it to Beaver to this state?

My kids screw around and break stuff, spill things or poke me in the eye - and I yell at them. Yes, I do. Loudly, at length and, by the end, I'm not making much sense. Why? I have told them countless times not to engage in certain behaviours for certain reasons. They don't listen and the result I predicted comes about, which costs me time, money or pain. So I yell. I know I shouldn't do it. It's of questionable utility and I am likely overreacting but I suffer from what a friend once described as Child Intolerance - similar to Lactose Intolerance, it's not so much I am allergic to my kids, it's that repeated exposure to them has caused me to quickly have an unpleasant reaction to minor doses of bone-headery. So, not Dad of the Year. But every time you see a Dad in a movie, TV show,  New Yorker short story, or in a Can Lit opus who yells at his kid, he can't just be a tired and flawed human being who might actually be a good parent otherwise - he is really an abusive, alcoholic guy who makes his kids' lives a living hell - and maybe is a pedophile, as well. Really? And if they're not yelling at their kids, Dads are apparently clueless and ineffective or remote and uninvolved in their kids' lives, at least in most media portrayals.

I went to see Boyhood, the new Richard Linklater film that is garnering critical praise and I was disappointed for a few reasons. Shot with the same actors over 12 years it charts the "boyhood' of the main character from about 5 to 17 years of age. Parts of the movie are fantastic observational pieces of film and the conceit of filming a Boy and his "parents" as they really age is brilliant. However, I found the movie to be too long, repetitive and self-indulgent. It would have benefitted immensely from being at least a half-hour shorter.

However what really disappointed me, again, is the portrayal of almost every single adult male in the film.  His absent Dad, as played by Ethan Hawke, is a feckless hipster. His redemption apparently comes later when grows a stupid moustache and buys a mini van in accordance with the needs of his second family and new born kid (The moustache is not redemptive, the minivan is supposedly; the moustache is just weird and incongruent and not even ironic.) The message in the movie is that a father is a foolish man who gives up what matters to him in order to look after his kids and openly mocks himself  for doing so, while also clearly regretting it. I call bullshit.

All the other males? Cartoons. The Boy's two stepdads rapidly go from being admirable, responsible males (unlike his dad) to embittered, self-hating alcoholics who hector the Boy for not being responsible or serious (WTF? BOTH of them?) - it was like seeing an Ann Marie MacDonald novel on the screen, absent a redeeming lesbian relationship. We very briefly meet a pompous, self-important teacher (whom we only ever see once) monologuing like a super villain about the Boy being irresponsible and lazy. Lastly, we meet an openly comic restaurant manager (one of my favourite characters but who seems more like he should be in School of Rock) who AGAIN lectures the Boy about being more responsible. All these guys are villains and/or losers.


There is an older step-grandfather whom we briefly meet and who seems to have a good bond with the Boy (of course, however, he's a devout Christian and gun lover  - it is set in Texas, don't forget.) but we never see him again. There's a LOT (too much) of the Boy with his first girlfriend. The first time you get laid is a big deal but it does not foretell your future or your life as a whole as much as your relationship with your parents. Perhaps I am expecting too much of TV, movies and books but it is just such a cliché. I get the feeling a lot of TV, film and book people had pretty lousy parents.

I am likely in a growing minority to have had my dad around for my whole life and him being a good role model - hardworking, supportive, fun and yet holding me to high standards. Further, I aspire to be that kind of dad myself (notwithstanding yelling at my kids for doing stupid stuff and telling them when they need to do better). I guess it's not as 'dramatic' as what you see in Boyhood, but that's what makes the movie so obviously (bad) fiction for me. I look around and I see a lot of dads doing their best and it gets no respect.

The last point I want to make about Boyhood is there is a reason why all those adult males are telling the Boy he is lazy and irresponsible. He is. He turns out to be a jerk-off sullen teenager "artiste" whose all-important girlfriend ends up dumping him because he is such a gloomy negative person. What does his Dad tell him? That it was her fault for dumping him for a University Varsity lacrosse player - he is an artist and she was never bright enough for him (the Boy). What? She chooses someone who is actually actively engaged in his life with goals and accomplishments over some moping proto-alcoholic/drug addict and she is the loser? The Dad should have told him years ago to get his head out of his ass, work hard to achieve some real goals or rather, he should have actually done that himself and shown his Boy what it means to be a real and admirable man. The fact is the Boy is turning into his Dad which, in this case, is dispiriting.

OK so I figured out what I a getting at (finally, eh?). It's classic writing advice: Show, Don't Tell. All of the men in this film needed to stop telling the Boy what he should be doing with his life and demonstrate it. I really would have liked Linklater to have given the Boy and the audience one  guy who did. I see them all the time in real life and it s a crock not to have one in this film. So,  that is my New (School)Year Resolution: More Show, Less Tell.

I hope that when I am no longer around, my kids look back on me fondly and have given them some sort of assistance in negotiating their own lives.

Class Act



School's almost over. I've managed to pull myself together from crying and shivering in the corner, in order to write this entry. Who knows when I'll have time again? September? This is like the moment when the Campbellian Hero is about to cross the threshold, descend into the underworld, brave the jungle, go down the river, step into the Cantina on Tatooine etc. to test himself with madness and see how he comes out the other end.


As it is almost the end of the school year, the kids are not apparently doing much learning and so I thought I'd drop by my eldest (almost 12 year's old) son's class to give a little talk. I arranged with his teacher to talk about comic books/graphic novels since I have written a few of those and the subject matter was one that had a slight chance of keeping their interest for a half hour. There was also a (not) small part of me that thought this might increase his status in his peer's eyes ("What? Your dad makes comics? Cool!), not to mention, my own in his eyes.


I prepared a rudimentary Power Point presentation and ran it by my son. He sniffed, "It's OK  - too much text." My middle son (9) looked on and suggested I add a snazzy design. My youngest one (7) talked excitedly about the one he had created in class this week (which did sound more sophisticated than the one I had just prepared) and he offered to show me how to import some clip art to jazz it up. Humpf. So far my attempts at impressing anyone were not going so well.


I showed up in the classroom yesterday while the kids were in the library and set up while chatting with the teacher. The sound of stampeding tweens let me know that they approached. As they barrelled through the door a number of them surprisingly asked/demanded:


"Can you really do a one-armed pushup?"


"Uh... I can. That's not why I'm here."


"Come on, show us!"


I looked in the teacher - WTF? He returned my look of bafflement.


At this point a number of them dropped to the floor and tried it. They ended up on their faces. I made some positional suggestions.


The teacher tried to regain control. "Alright, settle down, you guys."


"Maybe if the presentation doesn't go well, I could always drop and do one."


I didn't end up needing to do the push up as things went reasonably well. The highlight (for me) was when one of the kids asked if I have ever worked with my son (referred to as "Sweeney" by his classmate, classic) who is a gifted artist. I replied that we had talked about collaborating some day. My son grinned, pleased and embarrassed as an appreciative murmur of "cool!" circulated. That was pretty awesome.


Trying to revisit that moment later that day, when we were coming back from buying ice cream, I asked him about what he thought of the presentation.


"Yeah, it was OK, good." - Yeesh


He told me that the other kids had to research me before I showed up. Suddenly things clicked. I remembered I had mischievously put under my LinkedIn Skills profile - "Can juggle and do one-armed push-ups, but not simultaneously".


He said kids had shouted out in class, "Sweeney, can your dad really do a one-armed push-up?"


"Uh, I don't know..."


"It says here he can."


"Well, I guess you know more about my dad than I do."


I laughed. Then he asked me, deliberately in an off-hand manner, "Can you?"


"What? Yes!" I responded surprised/offended.


Shortly after we got home I proved my stuff with a respectable series of one-armed push-ups as he and my other boys gathered around (with a slight misgiving I might end up on my face in the dirt).


That impressed them a lot more than my power pint presentation, I can tell you.

Play To Win

Some days I feel like a winner and other days I feel like a loser and, while that's not seen as a healthy way to look at the world, there's not much I can do about it. I 'm no "thought leader" whose raging success demands my outlook on life should be followed for you to attain fame, riches and accomplishments. But I'm doing alright. There's this prevailing attitude that putting things in terms of winning and losing is negative and unhelpful and bad. Of course those people at the top of their chosen professions don't seem to have much of a problem with competition, winning etc.

It's just so much crap saying that things like winning and being the best at something don't matter. Somebody like my dad would say it's a typically Canadian attitude - celebrating showing up. Happy to be asked to the party. Happy to participate. Maybe that's changing somewhat with the last couple of Olympics and it certainly doesn't apply to Olympic or professional hockey but at pretty much everything else Canadians seem to be content to celebrate mediocrity or second best. I think it's more modern than strictly Canadian, though other countries do seem to be more OK with open triumph.

Kids have to be taught to accept mediocrity. In our house we were pumped to watch the summer Olympics but, after the first few days, my second son was outraged at our performance. Why weren't we doing better? Why did we not get more medals? I tried to give him the party line - small country, doing better than we have, we're a winter sport country etc. but pretty soon those explanations sounded hollow to me too. Eventually, he grew disinterested in the whole thing - why would he want to watch us lose? Fair point.

I used to teach swimming and when it was time for the badges to be handed out those kids who didn't pass and get their badges were MAD. Some of them wanted to jump back in the pool and prove they could do it. But what do we do now? We give out medals and badges for everything. It is insidiuous because it diminishes actual accomplishment. Someone just told me at a Christmas party that our school board is considering getting rid of competive sports for kids under Grade Three because of this fear of competition. It's just so wrongheaded.

 

I remember an old Charlie Brown mug when I was kid that said, "Winning May Not Be Everything But Losing Isn't Anything". The focus cannot be solely on winning, you need to develop skills and teamwork and strategy and love of playing but without a chance at winning many kids who are wired that way won't participate - it becomes some lame adult-committee-designed game that's no fun. Turn kids loose of adult supervision and the games quickly become ruthlessly cutthroat. Kids are not scared of losing - we're scared of them losing. When kids play tag, someone is it; when kids play hide and seek, there is a winner; when kids have a race, someone is last. These are the games kids naturally love to play and, sure, some kids are sucky when they lose but they need to learn how to deal with that. The solution should not be there are no losers it should be don't be the loser next time. There are lots of other activities which are cooperative or expressive - keep those, they're good - but don't get rid of those games which are competitive. Why? Because they're FUN.

We play to win in this house. We play a lot of games - sports, cards, board games, tiddlywinks, computer games etc.; I've got three boys - you keep them active or the next thing you know you've got the fire department at your house. And my guys do not want to lose. Every so often I try that on - "No you didn't come in first, second and last - you came in first second, and third." They look at me, "No, he LOST. HE was LAST. He wasn't third." They smell the stink of pollyannaism and reject it. Good for them.

It's crucial for them to lose and lose often at games - but not so that they learn to like it. No. To remind them of how much they HATE it and to work hard to make sure they don't have to feel that feeling again. Also to learn it is not the end of the world to lose and that you can always try again to win. I do not let my kids beat me at games - ever. I see what happens when dads let their kids beat them - sure the kids learn an important lesson - their dad is a loser who can't even beat a 5, 7 or 10 year old. Ever wonder why they don't respect or listen to you? You've got nothing to teach them. And you're not helping them get any better either.

Mind you I don't grind them into the ground - I keep it competitive but at the end if I can win, I do. Eventually they will beat me and they will know it means they have tried, persevered and improved. That something they couldn't do they now can. OK I do occasionally gloat a little bit when I win, maybe there's a little taunting but that sure makes them want to win all the more. And I can admit it's going to be tough for me to take. But I will take it like a man: Smiling, shaking hands and deep inside vowing to crush my opponent next time.

Now sometimes this competitive thing can have a different outcome - the kid walks away from the activity. But this is not necessarily all bad - the kid is choosing how to spend his time and ranking his interests - it's not so important to play that game and always lose because that isn't fun. Again, I try and keep it within reach, and encourage them, give them tips on how to win (and these they actually listen to sometimes because in this instance you've shown yourself to know what you're talking about - unlike most of the other advice you try and give them.) And as well making sure they find something they do enjoy competing at.

So backgammon is on the game schedule these days and I was regularly trouncing my second son resulting in tears and upset.

Sidenote: Do all dads have trouble with tears or is it only with dads of boys? Or just me? I actually don't have any problem with them when it comes to injuries but I'm impatient with those tears that spring from frustration, tantrums and not getting their way. I'm sure I'm supposed to give them a hanky and tell them to let it all out but ultimately I can't do it. It's not doing them any favours.  I hate when people try and get around things by crying - it is essentially the ploy of the subservient person begging for charity or pity. And I don't go for that. Ask for help, admit wrongdoing, make an argument but don't start crying as a way to get what you want. Tears are associated with being "girly" because historically that's the only way females could get what they wanted - out of the charity, compassion or pity of men. That was wrong and remains so today but now that women have the same opportunities as men (I know there's an argument about that) there is no excuse for them to be treated differently. Tears are not the sign of being a "girl" or a "sissy" they are the signs of being weak and not an equal worthy of respect or who has a valid claim. That's not the way I'd want any of my family to be regarded.

Your tears are most illogical.

Kids need to learn to accept defeat and frustrations with dignity and good grace - and then figure out how to overcome them. When my oldest gets teary because I point out that he's rushed his work and not done a good job, I comfort him briefly but, if the weeping continues and nothing else is happening, I ask if the tears are helping get the job done? No? Well, then it seems an illogical and ineffiecient way of spending his time. He bears down and gets it done and I praise him for his hard work, his persistence and his real achievement. And he needs to learn this mental toughness because he is a sensitive and creative kid who is naturally inclined to avoid hard work and failure. I can't blame him, I am lazy and still try and avoid doing things I'm not good at. But I wish I had learned this lesson earlier.

A couple of years ago, my middle one (likely the most nakedly competitive though the third is showing some extremely competive behaviour lately) was regularly throwing tantrums if he lost at games, kicking over the board etc. This brought back memories of my own brother who was a terrible loser. I mentioned his nephew's behaviour to my brother and asked for any insights on how to deal with it. Turns out he's still a terrible loser (actually I already knew that) and only really started getting somewhat of a handle on it late in life. He pointed out that phrases like "playing for fun" "making friends" etc. held no water for him - he wanted to win and winning was fun and he liked being friends with people who also liked to win.



Here's my brother recently winning an award for Most Promising Company.

This intel was helpful. The next time my son lost and was about to freak out, I told him that he had to learn to be a good loser because if he didn't then people wouldn't want to play with him (Visible reaction - 'Who cares? Adult talking touchy-feely garbage that bears no relation to my feelings, tune it out') and that if they didn't play with him then he would never be able to beat them (Visible reaction - 'What?' Tears stopped. Gears commenced grinding and he nodded like, 'Finally, someone is talking sense. The lies have stopped and I discover the truth'). It was like a scene out of a conspiracy film when the hero finds out what is really going on.

At last - The Truth!

I went up to my wife and told her in some excitement that I'd had this breakthrough. She was very disturbed that this is what got through to our son. But, what the hell, it worked. And I have to be honest - I don't worry about him at all. He's going to be alright.

INJURED ON THE JOB

I am currently recovering from an unexplained sprain of my middle finger. I seriously do not know how I received this injury, though those that know me suggest it may come from over use. I personally suspect it may be a driving related injury - the drivers in Toronto, honestly.

However, as an involved modern dad I am certainly no stranger to illness, injury and near death experiences - it's all part of the job.

The year my oldest started day care was the sickest year of my life. He would come home with a runny nose and I would be in bed for a week. Now after three kids I have the constitution and immune system of a Bombay sewer rat - it takes a lot to take me down. But beyond illness there is injury.

There's the time I broke my finger tobogganing with my oldest when he was about 6. There's a ravine nearby with a number of great sledding hills. He pressured me to take him on the big hill that the older kids were on and, being a macho idiot, I agreed. We hiked to the top of the hill. The various preteens there were more interested in flirting with each other than sledding and they told us to go ahead - this was the beginning (literally) of my downfall.

We hurried into place and so I didn't take a close look at the route. It was only while racing down the hill that I realized that the enterprising youth had built a sizeable jump part way down. Squeezing my son between my knees and clasping the bottom of the sled so as not to be ejected, we took flight. Terror moved swiftly to exhilaration. We had serious air and I am pretty sure I completed a five count before we landed - on my fingers still beneath the sled.

This hill I should mention was bisected by a asphalt walking path which considerately had been cleared of all snow but not a thin sheeting of ice which barely covered the metal grating that met my fingers upon impact. %$^&!!

Of course we still had half a hill to go and we rocketed off that icy ledge down to the bottom. When we eventually slid to stop we were greeted by a small group of gape-mouthed preteens, who were thoroughly impressed by our aerial manoeuvres. Awesome! Wicked! Sick! etc. I waved them off, blase, and then hurried over to my wife and showed her my bloody hand and in a pained whisper indicated it was time to go. A day later at the doctor's office I confirmed it was a minor fracture.

I have been hit in the head, poked in the eye, scratched, bitten and had things dropped on my foot. I have stepped on sharp toys in bare feet in the dark, twisted my ankle and fallen down the stairs from items left out by my wonderful children and thrown out my back  trying to get kids in or out of car seats. There should be danger pay for being a parent.

Maybe this has something to do with having three boys and the kind of things they do versus girls (maybe not - you can get pretty serious burns from hot tea at those doll parties, I hear). We go to the hospital a lot - or rather we used to. By the time you get to your third boy you develop front line medic skills and sports coach attitudes. Things you would have taken your first kid to the doctor or hospital for you now shrug off. "OK, it's blood but is it arterial blood?" Usually, you just give them a patch up, ask them how many fingers you're holding up and then send them back into the fray. Tough it out, shake it off, suck it up - these phrases roll trippingly off the tongue. Thing is that you have to live by the same credo and as a creaking old dude you lack the same springy resilience of healthy growing boys.

This was brought home to me  a few months ago in a quite painful realization mid-wrestling match.

[Sidebar: You need to understand that wrestling is a key pillar in my fathering strategy. As a kid, one of my favourite things was, when my dad came home, we would wrestle until my mum would berate my dad for working us kids up before bed. Wrestling is great because many guys are not good at expressing physical affection and certainly not once their kids are no longer babies, particularly if they're boys. Wrestling gives the dads and their kids that crucial physical contact that fosters connection, love and trust - and allows both to channel and sublimate their anger, aggression and will to dominate.

Boys are aggressive, violent little cusses and they need to learn how to deal with that in socially acceptable ways like sports and games. Also, they are very status conscious and need to know where they fall in the hierarchy - and in my house that's below me. They get a thrill out of going at me full force and having me shut them down. The major thing you hear when we wrestle is shrieks of laughter. It's a nice break for them from being constantly told not to act on their aggressive tendencies and feelings. As an added bonus, they drive me nuts so I get satisfaction from it as well.

The key of course is the rules [nothing in the 'privates' (or 'nuts' as my 7 year old takes great relish in saying at any opportunity - hell, he makes his own opportunities to say it), nothing in the eyes or throat, and if someone says stop you stop right away]. Boys are sticklers for rules and nothing gets them angrier than a rule-breaker or "cheater" or someone who is "cheap". The rules are as important to them as the violence. The rules make them feel safe - not only that they won't get hurt but also it allows them to direct their feelings in a way they know will be acceptable and not get them in trouble.

I've occasionally had friends of my boys want to join in and you can tell the ones who have never wrestled before - they are crazy freaky violent and are dangerous in the extreme. They don't know the rules and things can quickly get out of control if they injure someone through their egregious behaviour. Secondly, they can't take it if they lose or get winded or a little hurt. They either get even more freakily aggressive or sulk off. This is another lesson boys (need to) get out of wrestling - initiating violence can lead to you getting your ass handed to you, sometimes painfully.

We live in a strange age when boys are under-exercised and get suspended for getting in a schoolyard scuffle, when they can't bring hockey sticks to school to play ball hockey or throw snowballs because of the "danger". However, they can sit in front of screens for hours at a time gorging on representations of socially acceptable violence in the form of cartoons, super hero fantasies and video games where the heroes suffer no consequences or they get a new life with a click of a button. I let my kids watch TV and play video games (I enjoy both myself) but I also insist on plenty of exercise and wrestling.

When a kid goes full force at you and gets picked up and dropped on his ass, it forces him to see that other people with opposing goals really exist and that you don't always win. Sports fulfil the same function - it is an important lesson to learn that you can work hard, do your best and be a good person and still lose at something you care about. Essentially they learn they must engage with the real world and work hard and keep trying if they want something where there exists a real world scarcity - jobs, trophies, money, quality romantic partners etc. End of Sidebar.]

Anyway, so I was wrestling with my two younger ones a few months ago. As I, prone on the ground, turned to give the middle one a zerbet, a whisker rub or a nougie, the younger one clambered onto a hassock and launched himself at me shouting, "Here I come to save the day!" (note: Mighty Mouse reference). He does this all the time and actually usually tucks up like he's doing a cannonball. Normally I am ready for him and catch him on my stomach and slow his impact with my arms. It is like working with a human medicine ball. This time, however, he chose to fly at me KNEE first and collided directly with my unprotected rib cage. BAM! Oof. "Are the stars out tonight, mother?" If he didn't crack any ribs he sure bruised them.

It hurt to breathe deeply for a couple of days and leaning over to shut off the alarm clock in the morning became a tutorial in pain. But hey, I had to suck it up, didn't I? That's what I always tell them. I didn't get any worker's comp or time off work, that's for sure. Although I didn't wrestle for a few weeks after - despite their constant requests to. Course when I did climb back in the ring, you can bet I brought it harder on that little rib-cracking so-and-so - hey, remember the hierarchy? In my house, they don't say "Uncle" they say "Daddy!".

And there were wolves...

Do you know how there are inside pets and outside pets? Some animals are content to spend their days snoozing on the carpet where others need acres of open space in which to run until their tongues hang out a foot or so. I can say that my boys are outside animals. They are like Irish Setters which, if not run into the ground on a daily basis, are insane beasts which chew up your furniture and drive you as crazy as they are. As a result, I run those dogs into the ground at every opportunity. I never fail to marvel how they can run and jump and climb at top speed for hours at a time. HOURS.

This has had a not surpising effect - while in the short term it tires them out, long term they have become fast, strong and challenge-seeking kids who crave more of the same. Through small increments, they now engage in play behaviours that I never thought I'd be comfortable with. However, at each stage they prove they are capable of taking that next step so who am I to interfere? They love to climb climbers (but on the outside of them or on top of the railings, on top of the covered slides etc.), trees, telephone poles and guywires. My 7 year old's favourite activity is to climb to the top of our shed and read comic books up there. Every so often I encounter people who have not attained this level of Zen parenting.

This Saturday I took my kids to the school playground to tire them out before dinner and brought a bag of sports equipment. I was throwing the football with my 10 year old while the younger two roared around on the playground equipment. I was a little surprised when a new father (he had a one year old with him) came up to me and said to me somewhat agitatedly, "You should be careful." I was unsure what he was talking about and that must of been clear on my face so he went on, "You should be careful - they're jumping off the equipment."

"OK thank you," I said, which is parent code for "@#$% off."

He went on, "No, I'm serious. It's really high. It's like 5 feet high."

I looked over and just at that moment my 5 year old leapt from the platform down 5 feet to the sand. He stumbled, wobbled, limped for a second or two and then raced off to do it again. "It's OK thanks. They've done it before."

New Dad was in disbelief, I think, at my casual neglect but just at that moment a guy in his sixties walked his dog through the playground and cracked, "When we were kids, we jumped 10 feet and got up and kept on playing".

Though I was totally with The Codger on this point, I could see that this did not go over well with New Dad and so, in an effort to lighten the situation, I added, "And there were wolves..."

That didn't help. New Dad, peeved, spun around with his one year old cradled protectively in his arms and snarled, "Yeah yeah you were all real men, I know."

To which the codger replied, "No, we were kids."

New Dad, storming off, yelled back over his shoulder, "Exactly!"

Exactly? Hmm. Not sure New Dad got the best comeback there. Now, I can barely remember that time - being the new dad with the little baby and hyper aware of any possible threat to my son and heir. So while I forgive him his inexperience I think even back then I MAY have balked at offering parenting advice to someone with three healthy children older than my own. One thing I have learned through benevolent neglect, is that my kids are capable of doing way more than I thought they could or that I ever would.

Maybe New Dad will someday discover that. And discover how much he will appreciate unsolicted parenting advice. And that he can smile and say "OK thank you" and mean something quite different.

LAUNCH PAD

If you want your kids to fly, you have to show them how.

Most parents are hypocrites - myself included. And I'm OK with that. In fact, I often argue that if I wasn't an insufferable hypocrite what would force my children to quit my home in disgust when they reach their late teens or early twenties?

I want them packing their bags saying to themselves, "Well, at least I won't be like that guy. I'll set up my own house much better." I know I had such thoughts and now I wonder if my parents hadn't a similar plan in mind when I was a kid.

"Failure to launch" was not an option offered me and I don't plan on presenting that to my boys either. I don't buy this argument it's so much harder for kids today. Compared to who? Kids coming of age in the Depression, WWI or WWII? Please. They don't have it as good as the Boomers but no one else did either.

I'm pretty sure NASA doesn't rely on the astronauts to push the launch button - they gotta have an override switch over at Mission Control.

"Space Cadet, could you please initiate launch sequence?"

"Houston. I think we're going to need to abort this launch."

"Come again, Space Cadet. I don't copy."

"Well, I was just thinking, why do I want to go to Mars anyway? I mean some of the other astronauts are taking a year or two off to find themselves before blasting off. Buzz is going to clown school in France. Flash is going to work on her wake boarding - she thinks she has a shot in competition this year."

"Uh huh. And how are they managing all this?"

"They are saving their money, staying at their Mission Controls..."

"I see. Initiating launch in 5.. 4..."

"But... What's going on? You can't make me go to Mars!"

"3... 2... Actually, I can. Contact!"

Maybe this is why NASA has moved to Robot Rovers.

We tell our kids lots of stuff that we don't or would never do ourselves. Share. Apologize. Go into new situation and make new friends. Ignore what their peers are doing and follow their own desires (which often coincidentally just happen to be what we want them to do). Etc. Some of this is just necessary and aspirational - we want them to be better than us, do the things we didn't have the courage or foresight to do, take advantage of opportunities we feel have passed us by.

Every so often, though, you get called on this. I was reminded of this recently when visiting friends in Chicago. We went to a local pool which had a dive tower. My eldest was literally jumping with excitement and was crushed to find out that he had to wait until it opened. I was secretly relieved. Not because I was worried about his jumping off the tower (he'd done it at camp before) but because I would be expected to go off it too.

I'm the father of three boys. When you come down to it it is a very testosterone heavy environment around here. To maintain my alpha dog status I have to be prepared to do what they do or lose any natural authority. So once the tower opened and my son was in line he immediately looked over for me and waved me to join the group. I indicated I would be there soon - just watching the other boys swimming. Right. I looked over occasionally and I saw one girl at the top pacing back and forth like a caged beast, to the edge, looking over and then back to the ladder, waving kid after kid ahead of her. On the pool deck siblings and her father were calling out to her to jump jump jump. She couldn't do it. At one point her father lined up at the ladder, presumably to encourage her (or throw her off the edge) but then all of a sudden he wasn't lined up any more. Had he lost his nerve?

So I lined up behind my son who had already gone numerous times. When I made it to the top she was still there. She waved my son ahead. He disappeared over the edge with a whoop. I tried to get her to go for it. Her siblings and dad were still below yelling at her. She still couldn't do it and waved me on. It was time.

I knew better than to hesitate or look over the edge. A cut short summer job as a house painter convinced me that heights and I weren't simpatico. So I ran and jumped over the edge. My first thought - "My, that's far down." My second? "Whoo hoo!" I swam to the edge and quickly lined up again.

Occasionally following your own hypocritical advice can be a good idea.