Recorded Attendance

The lady bustled into the gymnasium just as the applause was dying down. The kids were holding their recorders in front of them, their beaming smiles from the adulation fading into a “Where do we go now?” expression. A man that had been standing in the shoulder-to-shoulder clump of people which made up the audience turned and noticed the lady and said “You missed it,” speaking over and through myself and another person. 

She made no attempt to get any closer to the guy, even though probably could have squeezed in if she had attempted. “I know,” she said back to him, in a manner that didn’t reveal one way or another how she felt about her late arrival. 

“I got it all on here,” said the man, nodding to the phone which he still held above head level, despite the fact that the show (and one would assume the recording) had ended. 

“How was it?” They were still speaking as if there was no one in between them (there was).  

“Awesome.” I searched his face for irony, as I’m not sure anyone had ever described a gaggle of school kids tooting away on recorders as ‘awesome’ without sarcasm involved- but there was none. He had been there for the brief recital, and it appeared he was going to make sure his commitment would be appreciated. 

“I’m just going to tell her I was there,” she said, judging by the crowed gym floor that she probably could have entered without having been spotted.  

Not so quick to let her off the hook, he replied, “Oh she could see. She was looking around.” It was said in a congenial tone, but with context it dripped with Chekhovian subtext. And I was still very much in the middle of it all. Quite literally.    

He turned back to the kids, phone still held aloft, although now I could clearly see it was no longer actively recording. She presumably caught her daughter’s eye, and gave a hearty thumbs up, beaming with manufactured pride. I looked down at my phone to see what time it was. 

In praise of asking for help

We all have friends on social media who choose for one reason reason or another play out their daily dramas or grieve deeply or sort through their issues in the public eye. I find myself often rolling my eyes at such posts, but perhaps there is something to it. It's emotional honesty, whatever it's source or motive behind it. It's a certain fearlessness that whatever they are are going through, it deserves attention. They deserve well wishes, and pick-me-ups. They obviously feeling a great need for things, and they are basically unafraid to ask for it.

I'd say most of us, project a positive face. Smiling pictures, successes. No matter what's happening off-line. No one, I think, truly enjoys posting about how their child is having real anger-management issues. That their child deals with sometimes crushing anxiety about the the most routine of things. That, as a parent, these things affect everything you do, every decision you make - and can take a toll on even the happiest and most loving of households. Sudden outbursts of raw emotion seemingly out of nowhere can take your breath away. And when it comes from your child, this piece of your heart- this tiny, developing human that you'd do anything for - well, it breaks that heart in the truest sense. And then realizing that even as a parental unit you can't overcome this alone, that you need help, can feel utterly defeating. Like you've failed your child in being that steadying, guiding force in their life- and was it something you've done to have brought on this behavior? But pushing past ego, you reach out and get the help- because you want more than anything for your child to relish in her deserved strength. To be sure that there's nothing she can't do. But the help is work, progress is slow, and sometimes you can see a flicker at the end of the tunnel- sometimes not. Yeah, I don't think anybody enjoys posting about that kind of stuff.    

I'm not saying that it's all we want to read on Facebook, or the like- I want the smiling faces, I want the accomplishments and celebrations. But there is place for it- for emotional honesty on social media, other than anger (that's one emotion almost no one seems to have trouble expressing online these days). It's a way of reaching out into the ether to let that others know that if they are going though the same things, they aren't alone. The best thing about social media is the community it creates, but without some personal honesty to bring us back to earth, that same community can feel terribly isolating- a place where it's easy to "compare and despair," a wise lady once put it to me.

So I'll try and be a little more accepting to those reaching out. And I'll make an attempt, even if only once and a while, to be brave and ask for that pick-me-up when I need it.     

Nailing It (For a change)

There are fleeting moments- they are few and far between- where it would appear this parenting thing is working out pretty darn good. The other night, I had one of those moments stretch itself out for the better part of a couple of hours.

I've been recovering from a broken collarbone, and then surgery thereafter, so to preface this story, I've been feeling like a parent in absentia, between not physically being able to do stuff and being loopy on pain meds. My trooper of a wife has been working overtime, and had the opportunity to enjoy an evening at the theatre- so I am implored her to take it, we'd be fine.

On a normal Daddy-Daughter night at home, we'd order pizza for dinner end of story no discussion. But, due to the aforementioned pain meds, my stomach had not been all that great and therefore ramen noddles were on the menu. She's tried ramen before and has liked it, but that's no guarantee she'll agree to eat it, especially since it is what I am having for dinner.  But when I brought it up, she seemed almost excited to have it. Boom, score one for Dad - preparing ONE thing for dinner for the two of us. Unusual, but awesome.

I start to get things situated for dinner, and we have an awesome conversation that could have been ripped from a script of Friends or Seinfeld:

Her: Dad you know what's weird?
Me: What's that?
Her: Donald Duck, he doesn't wear pants- everyone else, Mickey, Minnie they wear pants, and Daisy doesn't either.
Me: Yeah, must be a duck thing- their tail feathers or something.
Her: Yeah it's weird.
Me: Wanna know something else strange?
Her: What?
Me: Goofy and Pluto are both dogs, but only Goofy talks and wears clothes, Pluto doesn't- he's Micky's pet.
Her: Yeah, wait- Goofy's a dog??? How did you know??

And so on. I seriously could have been sitting in a bar over-hearing this conversation. It's like I was talking to a person- not my little baby. No you're getting emotional.

I hadn't been wearing my sling for a couple hour, I thought I better put it on so I don't hurt myself in the kitchen. As I struggled a little to get it on, she asked me, "Do you need help?" WHAT? Is that... EMPATHY? This is new for my six-year old. My wife or I could be carrying six massive bags of groceries and she'll decide she doesn't want to wear her jacket and can't understand why we won't hold it for her. Needless to say, I accepted her help, and made a point of expressing my gratification.

Moments later, as I "cook" - she's wasting time and burning brain cells on the iPad, then all of a sudden she puts it down and says, "Dad, can we do homework?" She doesn't get her enjoyment of doing homework from me, but she really does like it. But since this occurrence happened on my watch, I'm putting it in the good dad karma jar. 

She offers to carry not only her own dish to the table, but insists on going back to the kitchen get mine as well. Who is this kid? We sit down to dinner, and not only did she agree beforehand to the ramen, but when in front of her she actually ate the ramen as well.  Again, not normal- she's a legendary terrible eater for us. Boom. 

After dinner we get our PJs on, pile onto the couch to watch the movie "Annie" (the Carol Burnett, Tim Curry one from the 80's, not any of the impostors that have arrived on the seen since). My kid. She requests I take my sling off, and switch sides so she can snuggle up close to me. I mean, honestly- it can't get more slam dunk as a father than that. And with the state of the world and my own body these past few weeks, I am going to claim victory when I can. 

Based in reality

A while back, I wrote about my daughter's connection to her stuffed animals, as it applies to gender. I still get corrected if I call Goldie the Octopus, or Blue Bunny "he" - they are girl stuffed animals (duh). One thing that's never been on the table is a deep emotional connection to any of her stuffies. From the time she could form sentences, anytime I tried to personify one of her fluffy buddies, she would look up at me and say, "It's not real Dad." I, of course, know that (we've yet to consult the stuffed animals themselves on the feel about it).

She tends to through phases where she's really into her dolls, and will want to bring one or more along when we are going out. The answer is usually, "No," especially if we are doing a lot of walking, because five minutes after being out my wife or I are pressed into carriage of the doll. But if we're getting the car, "Okay, sure- but it stays in the car when we get to Target (or wherever)."

So the other day, we three (K, the doll, and I) got in the car. I buckled K in and got up in my seat and realized she was fumbling in the back with the middle seat belt, and when I looked back K was buckling her doll in as well. Hm, I thought. Giving into the mystery, taking care of of her doll as is she were real. I didn't voice this, just a "We all set back there?" And we were off.

When got back in the car, I got K situated and realized the doll was just kind of lying on the passenger seat (she had been unbuckled when we were getting out of the car). So before getting in up front, I made may around the car to help get her belted in as well.

"What are you doing?" asked K.

"I'm just getting her all buckled in."

"Why?"

"I don't know I just thought maybe you wanted her to be." Then I added, "To keep her safe."

K never looked up from the piece of paper she was looking at, and offered, "SHE'S NOT HUMAN, DAD."

Point taken.

I still belted the doll in. Safety first.

Safety first.

Score one (or two) for Dad

I'm a carney hero. A legend, if only for a few fleeting moments.

My shining moments took place yesterday at Luna Park in Coney Island, where I won two successive carnival games for my daughter, and thereby winning her undying love for a total of at least five minutes.

First up was the "Frog Bog," a pretty standard carnival game where one uses a mallet to attempt to propel a rubber frog into a rotating pool of makeshift lily pad cup thingies. One of those, you'll never get it games. My daughter scooped up the mallet, and then said (in her six year old baby-talk voice) "Daddy do it," while handing it off to me. Well on my third attempt of three, my mallet struck the target with just enough force- no too hard, like my first go, not too soft like try two- and the rubber frog flung its way into one of those lily pads, immediately eliciting a monster hug and a squeal from my daughter. Feeling pretty good.

Then we walk over to "Stinky Feet," a variation of the classic shoot-the-water-into-the-clown's-mouth-and-pop-the-balloon game. It's another game that no matter how close you are to winning, that ugly kid at the end of the row always somehow winds up with prize. This version involved alternating targets on a cartoon-ish gentleman sitting in a bathtub, his (as we've been led to believe) stinky feet hanging out. The winner brings on the shower over his head. My daughter generally enjoys doing this game on her own, so I was getting her set up. I don't know if it was the alternating targets, or if maybe she just sensed greatness in her presence, but she told me to sit down and "Daddy do it" again. And daddy do it I did. With precision I moved the stream of water from foot to foot, to soap bar, back to foot... and when the bell rung, it was our bath guy that got the shower. More hugs and hero worship, maybe even a "You're the best Daddy ever" - a line usually reserved for when I allow her to do something that I have just previously told her she can not do. In any case, I win again, and my child's adoration is my great reward.

Her reward in both cases were plush somethings she'd more or less forgotten about by the time we got home. But my, albeit faded, glory shall endure- if not in her memory, at least in mine. And may it always be that simple to gain hero-status in my daughter's eyes.

Overcoming Stuffed Misogyny

When K was a baby, my wife and I took it upon ourselves to name her toys and stuffed animals- because, I mean, they needed names: how else would they know when we were talking to/about them?

As she's gotten older, we've relinquished (although begrudgingly) naming rights to K. For quite a while, creativity was not paramount in naming an object. A baby was "Baby," a dog was "Doggie," etc. As her creativity has increased, so has her awareness and importance that these stuffed animals have specific genders- and generally she pitches toward her toy friends being female. 

So, when someone new comes on the seen (which is often as K forms no real lasting bonds with her stuffed comrades), my predilection is to call whatever it is a he. "What his name?" "Where did you put him?" Unless of course it's a pink cat, or if it's a rabbit with bows in its hair- then, I mean, of course it's a girl. I know. I'm unwittingly forcing my gender identification on these unsuspecting and undeserving stuffies.

For a while it went unnoticed- but now I'm being corrected. As in the case of "Sheepo" a little stuffed hamster, that came with its own little pet carrier and everything. K and I (and Sheepo) were on the train the other day, and I asked a question about "him." Realizing what I was doing, I checked myself by inquiring of Sheepo's gender. 

"She's a girl, Dad," K replied, "Otherwise her name would be "Hee-po."  

Boom. I got schooled. It was a hilarious insight into her reasoning process, and yet another step in the learning process of a father raising a daughter. I hope she keeps this sharp, comical edge to her- and that however she identifies herself in this world, she does so with confidence. 

The Gift

And so it is I find myself once again at the monstrous Toys R Us in Times Square, tasked with finding a gift for a child I do not know. It's the age where our little one gets invited to birthday parties galore! Kids she goes to school with, that she knows from camp, from online chatrooms- okay not that, but it might as well be. They're strangers to me. It's different when it's your friends' kids- then the party is more for the parents anyway and everyone gets cake and goes home happy. You know what to get that kid.

But to buy a gift for kid you don't know- this isn't toys for tots where little Jimmy hasn't had a real gift since "the accident" - and he'll be pleased as punch and his parents will glow knowing that there truly is a Santa Claus this year! Nah- this is a kid who probably has way too much already (like my child) and whose parents maybe don't let him play with certain toys because of whatever reason, and only read him passages of Proust and let him listen to NPR on Saturday mornings as a treat!

So no pressure, is what I'm saying.

It's only my daughter's reputation as a party guest going forward that's at stake. Like, "Oh her- yeah she was the one who got me clothes for my last birthday! Ugh She's off the list!" Or the parents, "Ah yes, her, who brought little Jimmy those vile mutant turtle figurines last year, no e-vite for her!"

Yes. These are real scenarios I play in my head as I am wandering Toys R Us, noise-canceling headphones in, dodging tourists pretending to be chased by the giant T-Rex (okay, I've done it before... a few times). And you certainly don't want to fall into gender-stereotypes - "Oh I get it, little Jimmy is a boy, so you got him Captain America riding a motorcycle. Very original."  But what can you do?

So I walk out of Toys R Us, sanity intact (somewhat), with Captain America bouncing along on his motorcycle in the bottom of the shopping bag. You and your parents don't like it, little Jimmy? I've attached the gift receipt. Oh and you're welcome. And there better be some some awesome cake.

Rain, rain ...come today (please)!

File this one under my on-going nomination for parent of the year:

After working all day, riding the train home, and picking up my little girl from the babysitter, the last thing I want to do is go to the park. And of course, that's what my little girl wants to do more than anything. Maybe if it was a quiet park, where quiet jazz is playing, and children are sitting around in the grass reading... this isn't that park (and yes I know that park doesn't exist). This the playground! Screaming kids, cooped up in school or daycare all day, flailing about and yearning to break free (I suppose that makes us parents the huddled masses).

I will bribe her with treats (you want TWO Oreos when we get home?). I will threaten loss of other privileges (well, then no TV tonight!). I will bargain (let's say we go home tonight, but then we can go the next two days in a row!). None of which usually works.

The one x-factor: the weather. If it gets to be 3:30-4pm, and the clouds start rolling in a bit-- I get that excited feeling in the pit of my stomach. While most people are fretting the possibility that their commute might be made unpleasant by the rain, I am reveling in the fact that I may just get out of going to the park! Come on water droplets, you can do this (a short, yet purposeful rain dance may ensue)!! No umbrella, no problem! This will only enhance my argument when I show up at the babysitter's door: "Sorry, sweetie not tonight. It's raining out," I'll say, suppressing a smile and trying my best to sound apologetic- all the while doing back flips in my mind. 

Even still, a little moisture doesn't always end the battle- in which case the bribery can be upped if necessary (okay, how about two Oreos and a bubble bath??). And now as fall is upon us, winter approaches, and the days grow shorter and colder- soon the park at the end of the day gets taken out of the equation for logistical reasons (my logic, not hers: "the park closes at nightfall" and "it's 14 degrees out" just aren't logical deterrents to her).

But for now the battle rages, and after a brief hibernation the cycle will repeat itself. And so will my mid-day rain dances at my desk.

All hallows... Eve?

I don't consider myself a gender-stereotype warrior. My wife and I did try to fight the good fight with the pink for girls/blue for boys battle when we found out the sex of our little girl. We're not registering for a bunch of pink clothes, bottles, blocks! The room that was to be her room was already blue, so we said dammit- we're keeping it blue! Well the walls are still blue, but the rest of the room looks like Hello Kitty ate some glitter glue threw up all over the room. That said- she still makes plenty of choices that don't always go down the sugar and spice and everything nice trail.

So when Halloween rolls around- we encourage her to do whatever she wants, now that she's making the decision: she was a genderless Minion a couple years ago- cool. She was Rapunzel last year (the whole princessy dress thing)- adorable. This year, very undecided- so we took to the interwebs to show her some options. So my biggest question is: Why do "girl" costumes come with skirts? Sure there are plenty of costumes where skirts are appropriate. But Police officer (girl)? Construction worker (girl)? A friggin Stormtrooper??? (And I'm not even going to into the whole sexualization of little girls argument here, I'm going to keep it practical) There are even costumes of characters from TV shows and movie that she watches- female characters, whose costumes on the screen don't contain a skirt -- but when it's time to dress your daughter like them for Halloween- skirts!! Why??

Sure, we could buy the "boy" version of the costumes, but that's not the point. I'm happy and lucky that my daughter is just as comfortable in glittery gear as she is in a plain old Yankees t-shirt, but I have to feel for the kids out there struggling with gender identity or just being comfortable with who they are, as they are. Telling a girl who might not like wearing a skirt or dress, that they have to purchase the costume modeled by a boy in order for them to meet their needs? That's the answer? I'd like to think we're further along than that in the world, but I guess not. I get that there will always be girl and boy specific costumes- but the way we market them could use an update.

Now, I don't want to spoil the surprise of what my little lady will be wearing this Halloween... but suffice to say it involves a tutu. And that's what she wanted. And that's all I want for her.