New Year Reflections and Resolutions

Whew. They're back at school (and in my wife's case, work). Now my holiday begins. Ha ha. Right. I now scramble madly to get back on top of home based stuff as well as dust off my computer and get back to writing tasks that took a serious back seat to family holiday stuff. I was joking with other parents that there were a lot of long faces in my house Sunday afternoon and Monday morning - except for mine. No. Really. Joking I was.

It WAS actually a great holiday for us this year and I can honestly say that I was less happy to have them all leave me yesterday morning than usual after a long school break. I told my wife this in a rare show of tenderness and sharing. Huh. Well, now I know why men don't share their tender thoughts and sharing much. It did not get the reaction I thought it would - AT ALL. What made it such a good holiday and start of a New Year? Below I outline some discoveries, reflections and resolutions.

SNOW IS A GREAT BABYSITTER
I am even more upset by global warming because of the reminder this holiday about how awesome snow is and how someday we might not have it. Not only is it pretty and reflect the low light levels of our northern winters and provides important hydration and protection for plant life, it makes a great place to stick a kid. Nothing kills the holiday spirit like kids dragging themselves around the house moaning that they're bored and nagging me to play on the computer/Wii/watch TV etc. Toss them in their snow gear and even a normally lame city backyard presents endless amounts of entertainment. There is groaning and complaining while you push them out the door with a snow shovel but minutes later they are happily throwing snow at each other, themselves or a squirrel. They come back in pink cheeked, all their yayas worked out, in much better moods and they sleep well. Even better if you go out with them you can throw snowballs at them yourself and toss them into snowbanks all in the name of good clean fun and working out some of your own frustrations. RESOLUTIONS: Contribute to Environmental Advocacy groups, invest in snow making equipment and keep the kids outside as much as possible in all kinds of weather.

HIGH-LEVEL SUMMITS
I think that once I'm done this dad gig I might hie myself over to the Mideast and sort those numbskulls out. We've have some very fierce negotiations around here - mostly about how much electronic "screen time" each is entitled to, and when, and on what device... essentially about the shared use of scarce resources or territory. I have to say we worked out some very successful strategies that were mutually acceptable. I am not one normally inclined to such an approach. I am more of the tactical strike type but, hat tip to my lovely wife and consigliere, who just happens to be the daughter of a diplomat, I have seen the benefits of the negotiated settlement. That said, a strategic "wardrobe malfunction" accidentally displaying my arsenal helps focus the minds of the disputants and speed a solution.

ROAD TRIPS, IN JOKES and BONDING
On the road again. Sedan packed to the roof with toboggans (sleds to my US friends), presents and a gross of homemade Christmas cookies, we did the annual (5 hour minimum) migration to Ottawa AKA "The Land of Ice and Snow and In-Laws". As my friend Jason recently dubbed it, we did a "Full Griswold". These trips can be fraught affairs, especially if you run into holiday traffic or snowstorms. They were something I used to dread and would make me crabby but, a couple of summers of multiple road trips have turned them into an important and (sometimes, mostly) enjoyable experience. One of the big benefits is my wife and I actually get to talk to each other for hours at a time - when the kids are asleep or watching a movie - which is something I enjoy but is rare these days.

These road trips also employ the standard dramatic device of putting a bunch of people in a confined space and forcing them to interact. The results obviously can be unpleasant but lately we've found a pretty good balance. Families only get stronger if they spend time and do things together. In the "regular season" parents and kids are often so busy they can't do this and often the kids do not even want to spend time with their siblings. The "boiler room" experience changes this.

Many parents' strategy is putting on the DVD as soon as they put the car in gear. We've done it but this results in extremely snappy and brain-shrunken children unable to deal with each other in any way other than violence and rudeness when the player is off. We hold the DVD player in reserve, dependant on good behaviour, which includes participation in old fashioned road trip games. These build the family relationships leading to various in-jokes that come up every time we go on the road trips. Even the eventual DVD watching can be relationship building as we insist the kids negotiate which shows they will watch and in what order. They then all watch the same show which results in them sharing other experiences and having other references and in-jokes. RESOLUTION: Watch more DVDs with the kid to understand what they are talking about and find ways to replicate this experience in the "regular season" i.e. family games night.

NAME CALLING
I am a prime offender at this. It's a slippery slope from terms of endearment and teasing and joking to nastier stuff. This was brought home during a game of Catchphrase with the in-laws after the kids went to bed when in one interaction I said, "This is what I call my kids" (meaning "Knuckleheads") when my wife chirped in, "Idiots?". Er. Hmm. Yeah. Knuckleheads to me sounds OK, like Nitwits, or Goofballs but once you start on that it doesn't end well. Part of this has to do with the fact I can never remember their actual names in moments of kid-induced crisis. Having a loving short-form nickname like Numbskull comes in handy.

Spending a lot of time together ultimately results in friction. But when the kids refer to each other in those insulting terms, how can I take the moral high ground when they do? And, believe me, I love the Moral High Ground. I might build a retirement home there; the view is fantastic. So we've instituted a new no name calling policy at our house for the kids or NC for short. This is grouped with a no Acts of Violence policy (AV), no Deliberate Provocation (DP), no Personal Remarks (PR) policy with a subgroup of that we call no Personal Insults (PI). I came up with that one after my youngest called me fat and my wife chided him saying that it was a PR. "Wait a minute," I said, "PR implies something that is true but mean to say and the real problem is he called me fat. Which I am not and so we need to have a subgroup called PI because I'm not fat. Right?" Everyone went very quiet after that which I am taking as agreement not an adoption of the PR policy.

Of course I've broken most of those rules myself already but I'm trying to improve. RESOLUTION: Call them by their proper names and stop eating Christmas cookies.

BIG REALIZATION
I really like my kids. And the holiday reminded me of this in many ways and we had a lot of fun. But I am glad they are back at school.

SNIP N' GO

The last time she saw her husband, he was “stepping out for a smoke”. Two weeks later, Sandra Irving, 39, now knows that her husband had more than tobacco on his mind. The two had been sitting in the waiting area of an outpatient vasectomy clinic, Snip N’ Go, in a strip mall near their suburban home in Oshawa , ON, when Jack Burrows, 40, announced that he was going to buy some cigarettes and have a smoke outside while he waited. The time is estimated at being roughly 1 pm.

“I’ve been trying to get him to quit for years,” Ms. Irving said, “So I wasn’t happy about it. I told him to hurry up, I think.”

Mr. Burrows’ appointment was in fact scheduled for 1:15. His failure to return was not immediately remarked upon as his name was not called for his procedure until 2 pm. Ms. Irving had failed to notice his absence as she was engrossed in a back issue of House and Home.

“It was the Clutter Buster issue,” Ms. Irving explained, “So I didn’t notice right away. When they called his name I thought he’d come in but there was no sign of him. I stepped outside and he wasn’t there. I walked over to the little convenience store just down the way and he wasn’t there either. I was on my way back when I noticed the minivan was gone.”

The couple’s blue Astro minivan was no longer parked in the parking lot. Resting in the spot where it had been were the child booster seat and the infant car seat which had previously been secured in the van. Through evidence pieced together from security cameras at the mall, it appears that Mr. Burrows did indeed buy his cigarettes and at the same time he appeared to pick up a men’s magazine, Boyo. He then stepped outside and smoked a cigarette and flipped through the magazine. Suddenly, he threw down the cigarette, stuffed the magazine into his back pocket and strode off. Cameras lost sight of him briefly but he is later seen filling up the minivan in a gas station a few kilometres down the road.

His trail goes cold until two days later when news footage of a WWE wrestling match tailgate party in Buffalo NY shows a crowd of men and boys dancing around the smoking ruins of what appears to be the remnant of a burned-out minivan in the stadium parking lot. One of the shirtless men has his face painted crimson and blue and bears a remarkable resemblance to Mr. Burrows. Subsequent investigation has revealed the minivan to be the one Mr. Burrows left in but there is no further sign of him.

“If he was going to leave why did he have to set the minivan on fire?” Ms. Irving asked. “Shrek 2 was still in the DVD player and that’s the kids’ favourite. They’re going to be devastated.”

I have fallen behind on my Pop Culture posts given the holiday season. In place of new material, and in the spirit of holiday leftovers, I offer the above, a piece published in a previous blog of mine, Whiskerrub, that touches on fatherhood in a personal way. Enjoy. A new piece should be posted soon.

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.

The People vs. Santa Claus AKA Father Christmas

 


Does Everyone Hate Santa Claus These Days?

Whatever festival of light you celebrate (or don't), no one can ignore Santa Claus or, as he known in England, Father Christmas. My question: Does everyone hate Santa Claus these days? Santa is an amalgam of pagan and Christian traditions - what the hip amongst us know as a Mash-Up- and there is apparently something for everyone to dislike. In the Netherlands he is accompanied by Black Peter who punishes bad kids by putting them in a sack. Christians find him too secular and secularists (and people of other faiths) find him too religious. And what's with those elves' working conditions? PETA has probably launched a complaint about the reindeer. He is too fat, nutritionists argue. Too commercial, a puppet of Coca Cola, others cry. Has anyone noticed that Santa is an anagram of SATAN?!?


Cut the dude some slack. He works his butt off in the far north under difficult conditions with only some elves for companionship all so that for one twenty four hour period he can deliver presents to children. "While I hear that some men's magazines suggest lonely women wait for Santa wearing only their Christmas stockings to give him a little Christmas spirit, he really doesn't get much for his troubles." Why does he go through with it?

 
I dislike all the greed, commercialism and expectations that come with Christmas but lying around in my PJs watching my kids open their presents on Christmas morning makes the rest of the crap worth it. I have a good relationship with my wife and kids but there are lots of dads out there who don't see their kids as much as they like or have the kind of relationship they want. For some of them it's easier to just give up as they don't seem to get much for their efforts. Our society promotes self-interest and juvenile reactions to adversity and lack of gratitude. Maybe the paternal selflessness of Santa can show another way. Here's to all Fathers who work hard to provide for their children with the only reward being the happiness on their little faces.

Pop Culture also appears as a regular column in Village Living Magazine. A version of this article appears in this month's issue and on their website at: http://villagelivingmagazine.ca/pop-culture-the-people-vs-father-christmas-aka-santa-claus/.


 

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!".

School Projects

This year my oldest started at a new school where the focus is on a lot of independent discovery-based learning. What does that edu-babble mean? School Projects. Lots and lots of projects. Ugh.

Last year was the first year of projects for us and, while they almost broke us, my son did very well - or as I like to say my wife did very well indeed; she was up to all hours with him getting them done. I try not to get too into this gender role stuff - after all, as a Home-Based Dad I buck many of the  stereotypes myself. But, then again, if my musings on what it means to be a HBD have revealed anything it is that to be successful or happy with that "choice" you have to do it your way not try and be a failed Mum.

While you may have cast off the shackles of traditional male definitions of success and roles - you're still a guy and you still have certain attitudes, beliefs and approaches that are very different than a woman's and you often discover you have these attitudes while expressing them to your kid. You are who you are and, while you can always aim and try and work to be a better YOU, there's no point in trying to be someone else (especially if you lack the same basic plumbing). Maybe I shouldn't make grand pronouncements about gender so let's just say that just because I am the parent working from home it doesn't make me a nice guy.

So when my son brings home his project my wife and I have had different approaches to  how to deal with it. She spends A LOT of time with him discussing it, working on how to say something, what his approach will be whereas I mostly tell him to go to his room and DO IT. I constantly read in newspapers and magazines that your children should do their homework at the kitchen or dining room table so you can be there for them while they work through it. This doesn't work.

First of all, I have three kids and they run rampant through the house and make each other mad. How are you supposed to get any work done when you're busy trying to stab your brother with a pencil because he is under the table making weird alien robot sounds?

More importantly I send my son to his room to do his work because he drives me crazy. He is constantly sighing, groaning or freaking out about the work. Or he walks away from the table to look out the window, start playing with an action figure his brother left on the floor or chase his other brother around the house because that brother is touching his 'stuff'. But what really drives me nuts is how he is contstantly asking me to do his work for him - figure out the question, figure out the answer, figure out how to answer. He is a humanoid time-sucking device.

I send him to his room, tell him to close the door and not come out until the work is DONE. Even this is a difficult concept for him to grasp. He often will appear moments after I send him to his room claiming the work is finished. I ask him how he knows he is. This seemingly simple question stumps him. I suggest he go back and read the assignment and compare its expectations and instructions with what he has done. This often results in the realization he is not finished and tears begin to well.

This is when a good parent would comfort their child, and tell them it's OK and that they will help them. This is the moment when I will tell him to stop crying as that won't get the work done and go back to his room, put his butt in the chair and pencil on the paper and work it out. And don't forget to close the door because I don't want to hear all the drama. See? I told you I'm not nice.  Oh, often I'll tell him I already passed Grade Five and did pretty well too so I don't feel the need to do it again. Nice? No. Effective? Mostly.

Then when he's actually done the work I ask him the same question that I also ask all my kids when I tell them to clean their room and they say it's clean - Would I think it's done? They usually go back up and spend some more time cleaning it up. That requirement to do the work yourself without having someone else telling you exactly how to solve the problem and then think about whether it's going to meet an external standard before putting it to the test is a critical step that many people never seem to develop. The kids don't learn the real point of these tasks which is to figure out what they think the task is, do the best that they can to reach that requirement and then put it up for evaluation - with the real risk that it may fail, not be good enough etc.

I can't blame them - I see the same behaviours in the University classes I teach. Students constantly come up to me and ask me essentially to tell them what the questions are going to be on the exams and what particular parts of the course they should study. This makes me angry. I've already told them what parts of the course they should study - it's called the syllabus. I've also lectured for hours  on things I think they should know and tried (mostly in vain) to prompt discussions of these issues. Figure it out, already. But I don't say that - when they ask what to study and what they need to know I say, 'Everything'. When they ask what kind of answer I am looking for I say, "One that is accurate, complete and addresses the question." They think I'm a jerk. And maybe I am but similarly I have passed University and feel no need to do it again. These are the very skills that they are supposed to develop - me telling them the answer defeats the purpose.

My brother runs a startup and we were talking about this over the weekend. He regularly gets staff who come to office door and say they want to talk to him about an assignment - basically trying to find out what he wants them to say. He tells them he has no interest or time to do their job for them. They have the assignment - figure it out - it's not his job to tell them how to do it as well. They need to figure that out and if they can't then maybe they're not right for the job. Bring him the assignment when they think it's done. They stumble out confused and angry but now they know what's what. When they come back with it he asks them to rate the work before they give it to him. They hesitate and usually give it an 8 out of 10. He nods and hands it back to them. Bring it back when it's a 10, he'll say. Then and only then will he go over it with them to show them where he thinks it can be improved.

It's funny, that's the approach I take with my son. I insist he does the work to the best of his ability and then I go through it ruthlessly. I credit this with my own experience growing up. I would have to give every essay and assignment to my mother to review first. She would mark the crap out of it - red lines everwhere. I then had to take it back and fix it. Repeat as required. You learned pretty fast to take your best work down because it was less work in the long run. She was way harder than any teacher I had.

Another difference between me and my wife is that if my son chooses not to follow my advice and suggestions I ultimately am content he hand HIS project in and get his butt handed back to him if it's lousy. My only real problem is when teachers are not hard enough on the work so my kid gets used to being lazy and not doing his best work. That does him no favours. Also if he comes back with bad marks I will hold him accountable and point out that he could have done better and I expect he will learn from the experience.

After all, the real project I'm working on with them is my kids themselves. I can't say I have passed this test yet or done very well but I''m working hard on figuring it out on my own and if I occasionally (or often) fail, I'll try and do better next time.

Hallowe'en Hangover

As I stood in the rain this morning dropping my youngest off at school, I witnessed again the notorious Hallowe'en Hangover. Kids who normally walk into school without a backward look or thought for the parents cling to them with tears in their eyes, others slowly clomp into the playground late for school, bleary-eyed and glum and others throw full scale fits for one reason or another.One child this morning was pleading that her mum relent and let her bring some candy to school. It seems that privilege had been revoked after she was busted trying to sneak an extra piece into her lunch bag. I think the Mum was regretting that particular consequence as much as her daughter at that moment. But parents must be strong and follow through - we can't let them know how much it pains us. Truly it is a case of "this hurts me as much as you...". But it is only recently I realized (like right now) that parents say that not to comfort the child but to comfort themselves - I am surely not the only one to take solace from knowing my kid is as miserable as I am when I am forced to discipline them.

Anyway, as I walked away happily bidding them all au revoir, one Mum also turning to go said, "Now WE party." I laughed - partying to me these days often involves just lying down in a quiet dark place. It is the case for most parents that Hallowe'en is not just one late night, it is two. Last night was reasonably late and candy-fuelled but the night before was much more taxing and made Hallowe'en itself seem longer.

The last couple of years, my only Hallowe'en prep has been fine tuning the Hallowe'en play list for the iPod.

Some top choices are:

People Are Strange - The Doors
Monster Mash  - Bobby "Boris" Pickett
Ghost Riders In The Sky - Nancy Cassidy
Love Potion No. 9 - The Clovers
Thriller - Michael Jackson
I Put A Spell On You - Screamin' Jay Hawkins (or Creedence Clearwater Revival or Nina Simone)
The Boogie Monster - Gnarls Barkley
Werewolves of London - Loudon Wainwright III
Purple People Eater - Sheb Wooley
Spirits In The Material World - The Police
Little Ghost - The White Stripes
Highway To Hell - AC/DC
Way Down In The Hole - The Blind Boys Of Alabama (or Tom Waits)
Psycho Killer - Talking Heads
Superstition - Stevie Wonder
Freddie's Dead - Fishbone
Boris The Spider - The Who
Evil Gal Blues - Aretha Franklin
Evil Ways - Carlos Santana & Buddy Miles
Worms - The Pogues

But this year I upped my game. The night before Hallowe'en, after I had helped my wife make mountains of homemade caramel corn for three Hallowe'en class parties (BTW delicious), I stayed up to 1 a.m. helping her assemble our oldest's werewolf costume. My original commitment was to make the tail - a coat hanger, an old stocking and some torn up clothing (see previous post It All Comes Out In The Wash for the back story on this) made for a cool looking base. I then had to affix fake fur to it. By the end it looked pretty damn impressive. In the meantime my wife was busy sewing fur to a pair of torn up pants and a torn up shirt to mimic the look of a transformed werewolf bursting out of his clothes. It was nearing midnight by this time and she and my son had been far too liberal in tearing holes in the clothing so I shared that particular duty with her.

The main complaint I had partway through the process was having to watch W television (stands for Woman, I guess, though after I while I began to believe it stood for 'Why' as in 'Why is this crap on TV and Why am I watching it?'). Well, I didn't mind when the Victoria's Secret Angel Collection Push-Up bra ads were running. (Did you know that ALL angels dream of the perfect push-up bra? I had no idea, I thought they might have other things on their celestial minds. Very enlightening.) Once those ads finished running however I needed to change the channel to something more intellectually satisfying - like Friends reruns.

I had such a headache by the time we dragged ourselves to bed but, despite my initial reluctance, I found it was fun helping out with that Hallowe'en stuff. My wife asked if I ever thought I'd be up all night sewing a werewolf costume. I could honestly say No. I would never have done it for myself, that's for sure. Throughout, I kept seeing images of my Mum the week before Hallowe'en sewing three new costumes every year and snarling at us kids through a mouthful of pins if we weren't properly grateful. I thought she was crazy for doing it. And here was I doing the same. My Dad's job was to take us out trick or treating and remove us from my Mum's reach as she was properly sick of us by the time we went out the door. In turn, I also was happy to see my kids go out this year with my wife into the rain.

I enjoy handing out the candy and asking the little kids about their costumes and giving the older kids a hard time about their half-assed "hobo" or other non-costume choices. My rule - you could be 99 but if you have a costume you get candy. No costume? You have to perform a trick - a song, a riddle, a handstand, something or you get zip. Occasionally the house has been egged upon candy denial but that's the contract - you dress up to get candy or you get nothing. The trick is your other option. This year the rain kept the lame-o teens home so I could just enjoy seeing what the best costumes were this year.

Unfortunately I didn't see any angels in push-up bras - but there's always next year... after all it's every angel's dream... and now mine.