Never Too Young – Never Too Early

I usually sleep in on Sundays. Not because I’m lazy, or because of any “fatherly” ritual about “a day of rest” or anything. I lie in bed and listen to NPR Weekend Edition. My wife hates that shit and it’s the only time I can just take it all in. I hate it too but I figure it’s good to know what those sneaky do-gooders are up to since you cannot trust do-gooders.

Today, there was a tell-tale pitter-patter of not-so-little feet somewhere in the house. Then, there was rock. Well, noise. But, it was rock for up to 10 or 12 seconds at a time. I was pleasantly amused. Proud even. But I figured it would pass. It was, like, 8:30. Too early but, like Grohl said, just let ‘em rock.

I showered and got dressed and discovered the rock was actually happening for nearly 30 second bursts now.

I made my way down to the studio and found these two awesome fuckers “rehearsing.” Mine barking out production orders, the other saying they needed to play together. There was guitaring, drumming, and sometimes pianoing.

When they saw me, they did not scatter like roaches (I’ve read that roaches scattered when you came in, but what would I know) but asked me, earnestly, if there was any way to get the guitar and the mic to play through the same amp. I found a splitter and left them alone.

Started with a Sickening Thud

While doing homework with Beasley at the kitchen table, we both heard it. It was a dull, but eerily sickening thud against the side of the house. I saw a shadow just before. We both thought someone had tossed something against the house.

There it was. A cardinal had struck the house. It was dying. We watched its head move for a few seconds; its beak opened and closed a couple of times. Silently. The body still. And that was it. It died quickly; in 20 seconds or thereabouts.

“Aww…” I said.

Beasley said, “You should have seen your face when you said ‘aww’.”

The cardinal’s neck was clearly broken. The head lolled around unnaturally. Since we had to take it away from the front of the house, we decided to give it one last flight.

We walked it through the forest and to the lake. We discussed how much we admired cardinals and how it could leave behind a sad, lonely widow.

We said our goodbyes and sent it on its very last flight. It flew perfectly.

As we waited for it to sink, a buck ran by. So full of life.

[photography by Beasley Korsakov]

A “Liberial™” Arts Education

My kid is smart. She is smart and she goes to a great American school. Not “Great American™,” but an American school that doesn’t suck like most of them. In fact, it’s been recognized as one of the country’s best.

Right now she is learning about government. Typical fifth grade stuff: branches of government; composition of congress; who our representatives are; etc.

But, while studying the Judicial Branch, lookie what, or how, the liberals are teaching my child (photo above, I’ll give you a moment to peep her flash card on “Supreme Court Membership”). Really? Really?! Liberals cry rivers of non-bottled, tap-water precious resource tears over conservatives leaving stuff out and slanting information, and this is what they are teaching at my kid’s school? The hell.

Now, I’m definitely more liberal than anyone calling themselves a Liberal™. This we all know and it needs no further explanation. I disagree with significantly all Conservative™ dogma. But, I also happen to disagree with about 95% of liberal dogma. It’s all partisan, bickering, bullshit. I can pick and choose what I believe in and what I support. Anyone following a script or partisan talking points is a mope. A dumb, lazy mope. But, c’mon? To diminish four members of the Supreme Court to “Plus 4 more” is shallow. It’s only cheating the kids.

I had my child add the following names to the membership of the Supreme Court: Antonin Scalia, Sam Alito, Anthony Kennedy, and Clarence Thomas. Why? Because this is important. Because these are the members-for-life of the Supreme Court of the United Sates of America in the year 2012, the 236th year of the United Sates of America. This is education. These are the facts. This is the data. How I roll. The choice here was list them all or list none of them. Clearly. I guess Roberts got on the card since he’s head honcho and voted with the law with regard to the universal health care ruling. What-evs.

I also understand that the teacher declared that Clarence Thomas “should be fired” because “he doesn’t do anything.” My problem here is 1) He cannot really be fired. Doy. And, 2) Declaring he doesn’t do anything shows a very dim view of how the Supreme Court works. It also shows a poisonous bias that doesn’t help the students get past the poison biases in politics and government. Already I have to email teachers.

Learning, in my opinion, from either a Conservative™ or a Liberal™ perspective should never, ever insult America. Hey liberals, next time you flail and convulse over Intelligent Design or Creationism, remember this flash card.

A Fish Out To Pasture

So the fish has been sent to pasture. The fish that never had its own name is now swimming freely. That’s what reduces my dissonance.

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One day early in the last school year, Beasley came home and announced that, “We’re getting fish!” The class had built an aquarium/terrarium environment in class that consisted of interconnected chambers of what looked like mud. It was a class project on biology or ecology or something. When the project neared its scripted end the teacher asked who wanted to take home fish and my darling Beasley decided she was up to the task of fish ownership. Along with probably a dozen other kids. There was a lottery.

We found a book on fish and did some research on “mosquito fish” and bought the proper food (algae tablets). We went and got a small aquarium, some gravel, a few fake plants, and a filtration system. The whole get-up put me back something like thirty bucks. No biggie for what I thought would be several little fishies.

We set up Beasley’s first aquarium. I explained about oxygenating the water and pH balance and such. We told the cat that he couldn’t mess with it. The child was stoked.

I sent in a note to Mrs. G certifying that our family was all raring to go with fish ownership and, after school that very day Beasley came home with one tiny mosquito fish in a Dixie cup. I asked, “just one?” and Beas informed me that bunch of kids wanted fish (and their parents certified apparently) so each kid got one tiny mosquito fish. I’ve seen clipped toenails bigger. This was a tiny little creature.

Every few days Beasley would tell me that another of the mosquito fish cohort was dead. The last of the cadre died about two weeks after we all adopted. I felt it was My Parental Duty to prepare the kiddo for what was surely going to be a quick fish death. That was October.

Over the months Beasley, understandably, grew less and less interested in the fish–never named. With school, spelling bee, Girl scouts, lacrosse, soccer, softball, climbing, summer camps, trips, and all the shit a kid in this socioeconomic class does, the fish became background. I ended up as chief feeder and head tank cleaner.

The fish with no name that never grew past a half-inch was now my fish with no name that never grew past a half-inch.

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Today, nine months after we welcomed fish–never named–into our home, we all decided that the fish wasn’t looking healthy. Tonight we leave on a trip. Instead coming home to a death or saddling our house sitter with flushing fish–never named–I had the bright idea to take the fish out to the lake for a proper goodbye. Maybe the fish will experience a moment of freedom, maybe the never-named will get eaten by a turtle. Maybe it will die instantly.

I told Beasley my well-considered plan; a plan that didn’t involve flushing. A plan that provided opportunity. I talked for a solid three minutes. I described my fatherly duty and felt that my reasoning and solutioning were solid.

Beasley told me, “OK. I don’t care.” Then she look at me and said, “I mean, I don’t mind. I understand. You can do it while I’m at art class.”

Two Hats

The GUY in me goes, “hey, woah! A boob!”

The DAD in me goes, “that cookie’s a choking hazard for such a young child.”

Controversial Korean Oreo ad leaked

30 Rides

My friend, The Professor, took his 11 year-old daughter on a 280 bike ride. Check it here:

 

30 Rides

10 Things I Learned Watching My Daughter Play This Basketball Season

1. My kid cares about winning: She doesn’t obsess over winning but she’ll try her hardest to contribute to success. She knows participant trophies are irrelevant.
2. She is a gracious loser: As much as she cares about winning, she can walk away from a loss head high. As long as she tried her best, she gets it. There are winners and losers.
3. Same effort in practice as in games: Ball is ball. She loves to play and to compete. There may be more laughs and goofs at practice, but she tries to win every drill and plays tough during scrimmages.
4. She enjoys and supports her teammates: She smiles so hard her cheeks sometime ache. The pure joy is evident and is contagious.
5. She allows herself to learn nuance: To get good, she learned the basics. To get better, she studied subtitles.
6. She will not allow you to score: Nope. You will be beaten to your spot, your angles will be compromised, you will not be able to dribble around her. You are fully checked.
7. She is tougher than nails: Tough and strong. Surprisingly. Neither pain nor exertion prevent a maximum defensive effort. She takes a lick and she dishes them out. She has never self-called a foul.
8. She prepares like a pro: She understands conceptual continuity. Same bag, same sneaks, same shorts, same socks, same routines. She has a practice uniform, she has a game uniform. iPod and headphones en route to each.
9. She is coach-able: She hears, she listens, she adjusts, she absorbs. Doesn’t need to be instructed twice. She coaches herself. She respects refs.
10. She does it for herself: Basketball was her idea. I didn’t even consider it. Last year’s team went 0-8. She came back because she likes to play. This year, they were 7-1.

Let Birds Fly

My kid plays sports. She plays soccer, basketball, lacrosse, and rock climbs (or, “climbs rocks”? You know: harnesses, ropes, goofy shoes, belaying n’ shit. Barefoot white dudes calling each other “brah” everywhere…). She’s kind of a studly.

Unfortunately, she got all the shitty eyesight genes. She’s not blind or anything, but she requires vision correction to see what we used to call the chalkboard. And, obviously, to play sports. She’s probably genetically a touch narcissistic too.

For sports, she typically wears Rec-Specs. I know, expensive but worth it.

Last year at her annual ophthalmology appointment she brought five talking points on an index card lobbying to get contact lenses. She made a convincing case but our ophthalmologist said the youngest he has prescribed contacts to is a ten year-old and that was a special case for football. She was eight. She was pissed the standing exception was for a boy to play sports. The doctor told her he’d reevaluate in a year.

This year, she had one point: I’m ready. He agreed. As the doc said, “motivation is the strongest predictor of success.”

When they initially fit and demonstrate contact lenses for kids they send the parents to the lobby. They put them in and the kid has to take them out and re-insert them solo. This is a huge hurdle. Beasley took about 40 minutes to take out and put back in. Through tears (from toying with the eye), snot (same), and perseverance, she did it.

The parents are in sent to the lobby because we’d go apeshit nuts watching and “helping.”

I promised B it would get quicker and easier. It quickly did. Now, she takes about the same amount of time to insert and remove as her mom and me. She’s proud of herself and quite methodical.

She’ll be 10 in a couple of months. So she now has the record at our ophthalmologist’s (and I’m sure every four-eyed kid at school will now beg to get contacts).

When kids are ready to do things, they are ready. Quit bubble-wrapping and helicoptering!

Good News – Bad News

The good news is that there’s is a ticket booth and a concession stand in my house now. I can see that definitely coming in handy.

The bad news is that it’s closed. What the hell?

The Preservation of Innocence in these Moderne Tymes

Gavin’s sweet post about childhood innocence (followed by a few back & forth emails with him on the topic) got me thinking about how we influence our children to become the people we really hope they will be. We try to provide opportunities and experiences that leave them both in awe of the world but never suckers who give all their money to cult leaders or Microsoft. There should be wonder and innocence for kids, it’s cute. Yet naivety is one of the very worst traits we could allow. It’s the opposite of cute.

I am both mindful and fearful that I’m creating a cynical, over-logical, jerk, egghead-of-a-loser math nerd who will be picked on (yet make billions and disavow me). There are just too many liberal Ph.D.-holding family members on the white side of her family. Fortunately, my side of the tree has few hustlers, gangsters, and con artists. I have hope for the well-balanced and well-adjusted offspring.

Does Beasley believe in Santa Dorothy? No-doy! That shit’s long played-out, son. God too. But she probably still believes in democracy, the poor, cute thing.

So when my beautiful, intelligent, lovely, and generous wife and child gave me a nice new MacBookPro for my birthday–I’m still amazed that they both care so much and also catch clues so well–It was a joyous moment for all since I had promised the kid–now 9 & a half–that I’d simply give her my old machine when I ever got go new one. Win-win, right?

But it wasn’t so easy. I had to remove all sorts of things she didn’t need to be involved with, from processor-intensive applications to cached images (oy!). From explicit music to bookmarks to dark-ish places, etc. I had to make a fully functioning computer kid friendly to, you know, protect her innocence. I even dumbed-down Firefox so when she’s looking for Dick’s Sporting Goods she doesn’t get something like this: [clicky for NSFW sample of what you get when you Google "dicks"] See what I mean? Too soon for that. Too soon to explain that.

I got that computer all spiffily reformat and configured for her. She was beaming. All full of Allstar Weekend songs and Good Luck Charlie videos. Sweet. Mission accomplished! I was beaming too.

But one day a couple of weeks after delivery, I used her new machine for something and decided to click on her browser history. Whoops! Kids are pretty curious, aren’t they? I guess one YouTube video leads to a long and perilous descent into dumb, sexualized, and injurious adventures.

Fortunately, or not, she appears to have an affinity for Fail Compilations so far. I was crestfallen that my kid was going to grow up to be a total jackass meth addicted loser!

I felt so bad for a while, too. I blamed myself. I even installed Net Nanny software to prevent her from wandering into the ugly areas of the net. We had a talk. I briefed the mother. But I was also relieved because it could have been much worse. She didn’t make it into anything too bad yet, thank goodness.

Today I used her computer to check an email and decided to check the history again. Just checking since I’m a parent, not being nosy or anything. I found nothing. I mean, I literally found nothing. She disabled the history function to cover her traces.

I am so proud! She’s growing up wonderfully.