Italia Rules! & I'm a Man!

I was in the bathroom with my 1st grader and he asked if my tattoo could be erased, I told it was permanent. He asked what it was, I told him it is rumored to be a caveman drawing of a man from a ring at Stonehenge. He pointed to the inside of my forearm and said, "You should get ITALIA RULES right there." I started cracking up and he got upset asking, "Why are you laughing at me?" I told him I was not laughing at him but that comment was so "him" (seeing how he is so into being Italian even though he is only half Italian) that it made me happy because I thought it was cute. He did not like being thought of as cute anymore than being laughed at.

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A few weeks ago we went for a family bike ride. My 4th grader gets nervous a lot, and riding a bike is no different, he gets so worried that he is going to run into pedestrians that he has crashed rather than just going around them. We all wear helmets, but I also have him kitted out with knee and elbow pads, under his clothes so as not to embarrass him, so he can shake off any minor spills and get right back to riding. His anxiety often winds up having my wife and I splitting up on bike rides, she goes ahead with our overconfident type A 1st grader and I lag back with my little neurotic indie/emo/proto-goth boy.

After a ride around the local park we are heading home, the grown ups ride on the street and the kids are on the sidewalk, and a few blocks from our house our 1st grader takes a bad spill due to a broken sidewalk. My wife rushes to his aid and I stop and look back to make sure everything is okay. He looks shook up and about to burst into tears, my wife mentions something about medicine, and he focuses for a quick second and angrily yells out, "I don't need medicine I'M A MAN!" and jumps back on the bike and starts riding again.

I have never told him that men do not need medicine ... though I am sure I have implied it is better to not dwell on bumps and bruises and to dust yourself off and keep on going. I wonder if he is reacting to my trying to keep his brother from going into full melt down mood when he gets flustered? Children can have very different reactions to being raised in the same households, shows the strength of the nature part of the nature v nurture equation.

Verbally Squashing a Beef

My 4th grader has complained about his classmates calling each other gay. He knows that people are free to be and do what they want so someone being gay is no big deal, and he knows that kids are not suppose to be calling each other gay.
It was not that he was singled out to be picked on but his classmates and friends are now at an age where they are indiscriminately throwing that word around. His initial reaction was to say yes I am happy, but then kids would say, no the other kind of gay!
So then he stated saying, "There is nothing wrong with being gay," or  "Yeah I am gay so what." Which I commended him on but explained that saying he was gay may lead to kids picking on him. Unlike myself my son is not armed with the ability to have a quick and caustic verbal response so I decided to give him a little ammunition. He said, "I can't say that I will get sent to the principle's office."

A day or so later he comes home and says, "Guess what, you know that 3rd grade kid that got left back that is always annoying me on the bus? Well he called me gay and I said to him, 'oh like when you and your dad have sex?' He looked at me upset and confused and walked away. I am really scared that I am going to get in trouble."
I said, "I doubt he is going to tell anyone because he would have to tell them that he was calling you gay, if he does and you get in trouble I will come to school and deal with it."

The next day my son said, "The kid's 5th grade sister asked me why I said that to him, and I told her and she said that was still mean." A couple of weeks later I asked if that kid has bothered him anymore, "No he hasn't."
Mission accomplished.
Kids in the neighborhood I grew up in were extremely harsh with making fun of each other (we called it running or cracking on each other) usually it was in good fun but you had to be able to verbally defend yourself or you would become a target for constant abuse. If you could be particularly mean and cutting you could make it known that you would put up with any non-jovial abuse, and I am glad that my son is learning to verbally defend himself, he is shy and not extremely confident outside of soccer so I do not want anyone to think that he is their whipping boy, he does not need that kind of stress in his life.

My older son tried out for what I thought was an additional soccer program @ TSF, long story short I had filled out a registration form online, but they did not have our information when we showed up, so they had me fill out a paper registration form.
I bring this all up because on the form it did not ask for work contact information but requested the parent's profession and employer? WTF? Why would they need to know that? I did notice that none of the 40 kids there were African American, and only about 5 were non-white. Not an inclusive vibe to non-white / non-upper middle class potential families getting involved.

After Spending Freely, Liberal Town Faces Fight on Frugality

The New York Times covers my town's local election.

5 Things Parents Shouldn't Say to Their Kids

1) "I don't care.

I say this one way too much and I know it is wrong, it is usually followed by "about this right now," but I need to be more conscious and ask that they tell me what ever beautiful life affirming gems or asinine crap they were planning to share later when I am not so overwhelmed.

2) "Act your age!" 

I have basically said the same thing, "Come on man don't act like a baby," but have not said it very often. 

3) "Say you're sorry!"

Sorry, there ain't nothing wrong with this one so long as you have previously taught them why they need to say they are sorry in certain situations, then reinforce it when one of those situations comes up.

4) "Don't you get it?"

"What about this don't you get," is my version of this wrong thing to say to your children, usually when I am helping my 4th grader with math and have been explaining something for 20 minutes, then he gets real bitchy with me, then I get annoyed and stop helping him for a while, come back 1o minutes later go over it one more time and then he gets it, this happens once a week, I know he is eventually going to get it, but he seems to fight against understanding what I am helping him with until I get upset and stop helping. I have tried refusing to help, but then he starts to have an anxiety attack about not finishing his home work and becomes non-functioning.

5) "I'm going to leave without you!" 

I do not ever say this one, particularly if we are out of the house. If we have a problem at the store or elsewhere in public I just say, we are going to leave now if you do not stop, and if they do not stop we leave. The closest I ever did to this was when my oldest son was four years old and we were at a soccer camp/practice and he refused to separate from me and participate for the first half of the first two classes. At the third class I told him if he did not get out there and participate I was going to go for a walk until the end of class when I would come back and pick him up, then began walking away, which was really walking around the running track that surrounded the soccer field. After I got about 15 yards away he joined in the practice and I slowly walked back over where he was practicing and could see me, so I guess I walked away for about 45 seconds. I did make sure he knew I was coming back for him though. I guess I should be expecting a call from child services any minute now.

Is Kermit the Frog Real?

Just when the snarky teenage attitude has you thinking you 4th grader is not a little one anymore he comes up with this one:

Is Kermit the Frog real?

-What do you mean real? Like does he exist?

He is interviewed in this magazine.

-Oh you mean is he a living person?

Yes

-No he is not, he is a puppet controlled by a human puppeteer, so he was not really interviewed in this magazine

Sleeping pill use linked with increased risk of death, study finds

French Parenting

Why French Parents Are Superior
While Americans fret over modern parenthood, the French are raising happy, well-behaved children without all the anxiety. Pamela Druckerman on the Gallic secrets for avoiding tantrums, teaching patience and saying 'non' with authority
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052970204740904577196931457473816.html

Why American Kids Are Brats
And their parents might be getting just what they deserve
Read more: http://ideas.time.com/2012/02/10/why-american-kids-are-brats/#ixzz1m1NnTsWp
http://ideas.time.com/2012/02/10/why-american-kids-are-brats/

My Bad

I thought the idea of my at the time 6 year-old son playing for a U7 soccer team that played in a U8 league with three practices a week was overkill and overly ambitious at least. Well that team playing up a level won all of their games, and just won a national tournament at Disney World.

Maybe driving three towns away for practice might have been worth it? I do not know, but I doubt I will be telling my son about the achievements of the team we left. I was debating whether to have him try out for the team next season, I am sure this will make competition for the squad much stiffer.

3 Surprising Reasons to Give Up Soda

http://health.yahoo.net/experts/eatthis/3-shocking-soda-facts

Reading Stamina

I am getting into the heavy reading for the Spring semester and man my reading stamina stinks, I should have read more during Winter break. A pleasant side note, I discovered quality yellow crayons can serve as decent highlighter replacements in a pinch. I tested a few brands of crayon and cheap waxy brands clump up on the page and will leave stains, so avoid those.

Extreme faith in the heat retaining abilities of our house

Last week on a particularly cold night we told our boys to wear heavy pajamas so they could stay warm, my 6 year-old said, "If we don't open the windows we won't let the cold in and we won't have to worry about it."

Life ends but it never stops

Died in a quarter way house of a stroke while asleep, I am studying social work and I never heard of a quarter way house, I guess it is like a holding pen or a realm for a holding pattern, cleaned up enough to get out of the half-way house, no place to put you, hey what's between half way and all the way there, between half and nothing, between half and out of our hair?

My brother that I have not seen in about four years and have not spoken to in about three died 19 days ago and it took two weeks ago for the word of mouth to get from two new friends made some where along the line in the 3/4- 1/2- 1/4 way system, to the street to the guys he got high with to his x-tai chi students, to his daughter on the other side of the continent via his phone which was in the hands of some other person that let her know that her dad died a little while back, to our mother, to a hysterical message on my answering machine as I was getting dressed to leave for my niece's (brother-in-laws daughter) fifth birthday party in the skylands of deep suburban McMansiondom in what passes for mountains in New Jersey. I usually don't answer the phone unless I am getting a call from someone who I am in the process of meeting some where, but there is a hysterically pained tone of a mother whose child has just died that is unmistakable even from an answering machine heard from distance.

So naked I have this conversation and begin melting down the aluminum three step ladder that I was sitting on sobbing from a pit inside myself that is only accessed on especially painful occasions; realizing you are not loved by someone anymore and nothing is going to change that no matter how you try to perfect yourself or how you try to hurt yourself their attention is irredeemable, realizing that some small maneuver on your parents part or being three minutes late or one block over could have irreparably changed your life for the better, being akin to a tragedy and feeling that you were not deserving of the luck that shielded you from it or as in this case having something so awful and yet so foreseeable occur that you reserved a space in this pit because you knew it was going to come to pass and only the foolishness of magical non-logical thinking gave you any hope of another out come but you would allow yourself to think, "Anything is possible, right?" So when he came to mind there could be a trap door that would allow you to slip out before the downward spiral built up the speed of inevitability.

My son's, one of whose name is a combination of my brother's and mine, are confused and distraught at hearing this wailing that they of course wind up in fight and the younger one comes out the other side of it with bruises on his face reminiscent of Franck Ribery's signature scars. So I snap back from being a naked crying infant to being a father.

Now for the sad parts, the parts that I think about when I am alone in the laundry room, or in the car for over 25 minutes, or making an iTunes playlist of music that he turned me on to;

ironically and heart breaking-ly his last "new-friends" of literally hundreds upon hundreds of new friends this man made in 49 years on the planet, their names were the Spanish version of my name and our older and long dead of AIDS from IV drug use brother's name. He was estranged from most of his family but he recreated some sense of it out of the x-cons and state funded rehab residents of the half way house, one telling my mother, "He was like a father to me."

The next is "his stuff" he called from prison after having fits of violence acted out on those closest to him in proximity and to his heart, asking if I could help him pay for his storage space. His soon to be x-wife had moved, his newest baby's mama had fled and no one else was in a position to help any more. I thought, if he gets his life back together as some point in the future it would be a shame if he lost everything from the approximately 10 year period of mostly good living, or mostly overcoming the visions and voices and traumatic memories and torment to earn a nice living, starting a martial arts school, writing for men's health magazines, appearing on TV, owing a Manhattan apartment on the Park by the Cloisters, unbeknowst to him until meeting her family in Japan marrying an wealthy women, having a new (third) daughter, a pretty good life for a schizophrenic with multi-addiction issues suffering from post traumatic stress from being raped as grammar school student by the teenaged son of a neighbor and later sexually assaulted by the 17 year-old daughter of another family friend while babysitting, leading him to ponder, "Why is everyone making me have sex?" Which was not a surprising precursor to many of those new friends I mentioned being of a sexual nature, and I mean many many.

So all his stuff martial arts trophies, swords, an eclectic music selection, Asian art, if I do not help right now, it will be all gone, possibly showing up on some storage space reality TV show. Could I move it to my attic my garage? If this all ends badly at least I would have his stuff. No, I can not get involved, when violence and a loose grip on reality is what we are dealing with I can not have him showing up on my doorstep looking for his swords or asking for more money.

"No I can't help you right now."

"I understand sorry for having to ask."

My last conversation I had with the man that was my idol for many of my childhood years, whose reputation for fighting prevented me from getting my ass kicked by older boys in the neighborhood many times.

So he gone and so is his stuff, I can't cry as I decide should I integrate his CDs into my collection or keep them in separate box, if you know me you know my relationship with CDs. Can we put this trophy on display some where or will my wife shoot down the idea on the grounds that it does not fit the decor? I have nothing to visit with him with.

But ultimately the safety of the family that I have chosen to create was more important than enabling the one fate bestowed, or having the ability to get lost in the melancholia of memorabilia and the sounds of memories.

Lamest Trick or Treater Ever

Even though my town tried to cancel Halloween, or actually postpone it until Friday, the kids were out in force dodging downed power lines and hurdling 50 year-old 10 foot tree limbs with aplomb. Anyway adding to my anecdotal evidence for my on going study into the loss of social graces of those under 25 was the worlds lamest trick or treater that I encounter a few days ago.

Neither the 70% of children who did not bother to say "trick or treat" nor the 40% who did not say thank you after receiving candy and worse than my 16 year-old cohorts and I who went trick or treating sans costumes and when questioned about it one of the group replied, "We're dressed as professional kick ball players, now give us some candy," not fully realizing how scary a gang of teen aged boys could be to a lone adult, but the lamest trick or treater darkened my door last night, not really wearing a costume, accompanied by three friends, all about 17 years-old, with a pillow case in one hand, his cell phone in the other, in mid conversation, tucked the phone under his chin to continue the conversation so he could free up his other hand to open the pillow case wide enough for my candy, does not acknowledge that I exist, turns away while without saying thank you while continuing to talk on the phone.

Four seconds later as I am giving candy to his friends I began to think that I just missed a "You god damn kids get off my lawn-esque" crabby old guy opportunity, I should called him out on his rudeness and made the kid get off the phone if he wanted my butterfingers and kit kats, the punk assed bitch. Sometimes you are so surprised that the witty comeback or opportunity to stand up for yourself or for decency and decorum slips through your fingers, and to try retrieve it only makes your reveal yourself as being unstable.

http://finance.yahoo.com/real-estate/article/113718/states-most-millionaires-cnbc