Homecoming Bonfire

Ah, homecoming. An American fall tradition. Every year all the football heroes of yore and yet to come gather to celebrate the glory of the game. And, man, do they. This is one footballin', bonfirin', homecomin' queen of a town. We got down to the high school tonight just in time for the lighting of the bon and even though it was raining the whole time there were over a thousand people there all bopping and dancing and laughing and having some fun. It was mostly for the kids but plenty of parents were there, too.

Firemen watch the bonfire blaze

I took Kit down to run around but, alas, Tio was grounded. He's having serious trouble settling down at school and got detention 3 times this week. I had to take bonfire night away so he'd understand how serious this is. He also missed a sleepover with his football team. He's seriously bummed. Bummed enough to do something about it? Time will tell.

Fortunately, there are lots of other events all weekend including the parade where he'll be marching with his football team. Kit gets to march with the cheerleaders and Doc rides the float with NOST - our afterschool program.

Long live Homecoming.

Admissions of a Star Trek fan.

I love Star Trek. Not the movies so much or the many spinoffs. I mean the original series and The Next Generation. I know it's campy with really cheap sets, the glorified humanized view of the inhabited galaxy is self absorbed and sexist, their pacifist talk juxtaposed constantly by mind boggling destruction, the acting has a quality that even makes wood look flexible, and so on and so on. If you give me a reason why you think it sucks, I'll probably agree. And yet...I still love rewatching many of the old episodes like favorite scratchy records on my turntable.

Last week a friend who isn't a fan gave me a Star Trek boardgame and set of starship models(her name, Q, is the same as a Trek alien by sheer coincidence). I've been staring at the Enterprise model in my workshop since then and it occured to me what I fundamentally love about the show, what about it that speaks to my imagination. It's the spaceship they travel on - the Enterprise.

Star Trek's USS Enterprise

Besides being a really cool design, both in looks and that it never lands (an unprecidented sci-fi concept at the time), it represents unfettered imagination (to boldly go and all that). And I did. With that ship I created my own adventures and when I stretched out under the stars at night, the Enterprise took me to a million places through space and time and imagination that Captain Kirk never dreamed of.

Jumping ahead to modern times, I never had much luck instilling my "enterprise imagination" into the kids. We played exciting imagination games that took us to strange planets, the land of giggling bunnies, the river rapids of Fbiblinar and beyond. But none of it was really their bag. Last summer, I even tried introducing them to Star Trek but all they could see was the cheap sets, outdated dialogue and old FX.

I'm not sure what effect our imagination play has had or will have on them in the long run. I expect some and will still encourage it. But for me, I still get a thrill looking at that ship and imagining myself aboard, sailing at light speed into the complete unknown.

“Free cheeseburgers to anyone who sacks that quarterback!”

The score was 24 to 12 for our team in the 3rd quarter and that’s the play that we heard wafting across the field from the coach of the opposing team.

The view from the cheap seats is almost as bad as this one
from my  phone. Tio was out there giving his all.

You know, folks, when you think about it, isn’t that what coaching middle school football is really all about anyway? Coach to the burgers, I say! It’s a first taste of varsity, college and then on to pro ball. After all, isn’t the cheeseburger really just a metaphor for the paycheck? Why play sports for the win, for the spirit or for the sportsmanship when you can set your sights on a juicy double whopper with cheese as soon as you feel both limbs on that scrawny QB snap like twigs?

Hell, why not just use the opposing team’s jersey numbers as a point system for the defensive line to chalk up their personal best. Whoever pulls down the highest score at the end of the game gets a gift certificate for John Madden’s 2011 All Around Good Sports NFL Challenge for Gameboy or Wii.

The final score today was 30 to 12 and their boys went home hungry. Maybe burgers aren’t the best incentive after all.

Cool weather brings cool change

There's going to be a bit of a change around here this fall. Tish has decided to work fewer hours and take early social security so she can be around more to help me out with the boys. It will be good for her not to work so much and good to have her home more. There seems to be so much going on each day that it gets harder and harder to shuffle everyone around to their events and sports and still be able to have time to make more than an instant dinner. So my recipe repertoire has gotten a bit stale. Tonight Tish made swedish meatballs with a pastry on top that was so unusual Doc wouldn't touch it. The others tucked in for seconds and thirds. The changes will start next month when she turns a beautiful 62.

As for today, the weather was glorious. Along with all the usual falderal there was football and cheerleading, Doc came home early with a headache and Kit took a field trip to a native American burial site. I spoke with the other grandparents who had moved away and we arranged for the boys to go for a weekend visit to their new home over Columbus Day. Homecoming is this weekend and the boys are excited about the bonfire and parade.

Just another typical Tuesday.

On being Ben

I'm hoping we're having a "teachable moment" (as Prez Obama likes to say) this week with Tio. I've mentioned a few times over the past months that he's never wrong and gets angry if he's cornered by a falsehood. Well, I was talking to an old friend of mine last week comparing notes about adolescent boys and their stubborn persistence to be completely in the right. Her son is the same way only he's 15 and been at it for years. I remembered that Tio met her sone Ben a year ago on a vacation where they spent several hours together over a period of days. None of our boys could stand the way Ben was so stuck up. He acted like everyone else was woefully stupid and that everything that wandered out of his mouth was a pearl of wisdom and absolute unlacquered truth. He would argue that trees were blue if he had to.

Light bulb time! The next day I reminded Tio of that vacation. Tio remembered Ben (and his younger sister who he thought was pretty cute) and remembered how everybody cringed when Ben would start spouting his know everything tirades. "Well," I said, "when you don't watch yourself that's how you're starting to sound and you are headed to become that kind of boy."

Talk about a wake up call. His eyes blinked twice like he'd been splashed in the face. "Really?" he said.
"Really. Teenage boys especially get full of themselves and don't even hear what comes out of their mouths. But that's what everyone else hears."

That was the medicine but not the cure. He still has to learn to hear himself talk. Like tonight at supper, insisting that he could outrun our dogs. Tish and I both told him that he didn't have a chance in hell of being anywhere as near as fast as any dog. But he stuck to his guns. "Then, we'll test the theory after supper when I throw the ball for them," I said.

For the next hour he kept it up about how he'd get across the field super fast and that I better warm Gully and Bunnie up so they're ready for the challenge. When I was up to my chin in swamp water I told him to put his money on it. "If you beat the dogs in a sprint, I'll give you full privileges back (something he's working hard and slow to earn). If you lose, I take your gameboy away FOR EVER. Is that a deal?"
The poor kid started actually thinking seriously about it. He was grinning and calculating in his head how fast the dogs really were compared to his awesome ability.
"Don't be a Ben," said Kit. "Grampy knows you can't win."
I let him off the hook. "Grammo raises and trains dogs for a living," I said, not really wanting to watch him to go down in flames. I mean, he is a good runner and had proved recently that he can finally outsprint me, but this wasn't about his abilities. It was pure physics. "We've both had dogs for years and know a lot about them. Do you think we don't know what we're talking about or that we're trying to pull one over on you? When we say that dogs are much faster than people, it isn't a boast, it's a fact. Otherwise we wouldn't say it. So why insist you know better?"

He ran the race and got clobbered. Bunnie zigzagged in front of him and still got there first. Gulliver ran flat out after the ball and made it in half the time. There was no surprise and as the wind had been taken out of his expectations, he wasn't bruised by the defeat.

"When I don't know something, I keep my mouth shut," I said afterwards. "It was a lesson hard learned because I, too, was a teenaged boy. When you're dishing the crap back and forth with your friends, who cares. But when it matters, you don't have to say anything - then you're not wrong. It buys time to get your facts straight. If you learn sooner instead of later that a right word left unsaid is worth a thousand wrong ones blabbed and defended you'll be well ahead of the game."

And you won't get accused of being a Ben.

3 cheers

There's our Kit strutting his stuff

Nana nana boo boo

Through the floorboards this morning I heard the kids getting ready for school. Kit was playing all the triggers to get Grammo's goat and making a fine job of it. After their nth go round I heard Doc pipe up, "I'm not being a annoyance today, am I Daddy."

I guess you're never too young to suck up.

Morphing into a soccer mom

Standing with all the other parents in the pouring rain this afternoon watching Kit with his cheerleading squad cheering their first game was a bit of a watershed moment for me. For almost 2 years now I've been aloof, keeping my distance from other parents and just watching Tio and his ball games, Kit with his outrageous independance, Doc run around the playground, all without getting involved. But who am I kidding? I stood out there getting soaked today feeling really proud of this boy, proud of all of them really, and proud to be associated with them. This is the first organized team event that Kit has been involved in and I didn't realize until I was watching him out there how badly I wanted him to enjoy it and feel like a success. I wanted to turn to all the other moms and say 'that crackerjack in the middle is my grandson!'.

The thing is, they already know it. Just because we're not making chitchat doesn't mean they aren't aware of who belongs to who (notwithstanding him being the only boy on the squad). More than that, we have 3 boys in 3 different schools. Like I'm going to go unnoticed? Slowly, one at a time I've been connecting with other moms to find out how they're handling their adolecent boys, charting girl and bullying issues and so forth. I'm anything but invisible and I guess it's time to own it.

The thing is, all three are trying as hard as we adults to make life work here and for all the ups and downs, they're doing a damn fine job. They really are wonderful boys.

Time for the cold to start creeping in

Besides the inevitable fact that this is the fall equinox, other signs of autumn are appearing. First off, I'm back to wearing shoes. Yup, the summer joy of striding around town barefoot has come to an end (much to the relief of my library director who chastized me constanty for coming into the library sans seule). Second sign, apart from some leaves starting to fall, is putting the hardtop back on the Jeep today. No more open air jalopy, no more hanging the feet out the side, no more open skies and dodging rainstorms.

But most of all, we have to do a fall cleaning in this animal cage we call our house. Before we seal the windows for another 6 months and live in close and cozy quarters, this dump really needs a makeover. I'm not much of a home decorator and even worse at doing general maintenence but there are things even I have to cringe at putting off way too long. So, after complaining about needing a new fridge a couple of weeks ago, I went down to the flute shop and dug deep, deep, deep into the corners, forgotten drawers, and parts I never use anymore and swept up enough gold and silver scrap to buy a new refrigerator. Thank you gold and silver hoarders for pushing the price so high. We'll put up some wall shelving, fix the broken floor tiles and reabilitate an old butcher block table for extra counter space. With that done there will room for boots and coats, bins for homework and junk, more space for dishes and tinned/pantry food, and a smidgen of more room to cook with.



Then we'll be ready to hibernate like all proper Moomins should.

Open hostility is no starting point for a relationship

Debbie, the boy's mom, lives at least 2 hours away. She doesn't have a phone, calls maybe once in a month, never writes, and makes intermittent contact with Kit through facebook. Her parents, the boy's maternal grandparents moved away from this area a month ago after living here for almost 40 years. They are now at least a 3 hour drive. Since they left, they haven't phoned, written or otherwise tried to contact the kids. We heard through a third party facebook post that Gramma has contracted some serious health issues. They have an uncle who lives more than an hour away, who usually sees them through the grandparents, too. That leaves Auntie as the only remaining relative on their mother's side still close by.
As some of my readers may recall, Auntie doesn't like me at all and the last time we tried to sort something out she called the police accusing me falsely of harrassing her. In fact, any interaction I've had with her ends in threats or lies about what happened so that at this point I refuse to talk with her at all. Jump ahead to a couple of weeks ago when she posted a request on my blog that she would like to visit with the kids since her usual opportunity to see them through her parents was gone. Not unreasonable, thinks I, and I told her husband (who I coincidentally ran into the following day) I'd passed the message along to Buddy. Well, not more than 5 days later and she posted yet another threat on my blog. I guess Buddy hadn't returned her call fast enough for her and so she said she'd have the police at our door that very afternoon if we didn't hop to.

The thing is, Auntie has no rights or standing when it comes to the boys. She knows that neither the courts or the police have any reason to listen to her yet she still makes these threats. Yes, she is a close relative who they love and should have some contact with. But her threats and open hostility make if very difficult to either want to work with her, or feel safe surrendering the boys into her care. I can't explain that to her because I honestly don't believe she hears a word I say. Whatever ill I caused her in a past life is being served up double in this one.

So there's our conundrum. How do we create a working relationship so that we can feel safe enough to trust her with the small boys when she so openly despises us?

The Stepford Son

Some has stolen Buddy and replaced him with a replicant! This weekend his weekend home with the boys and everything was perfect. He managed the boys wonderfully, kept a schedule, prepared meals and bedtimes, clean up dishes, held tempers down, and even found time time to spend on each boy so they felt included. It was truly a first and a pleasure to see. Tish and I had a friend visiting and I didn't need to intervene or disrupt a couple of days off at all. Sure there were the usual brother to brother flare ups and so forth but good moods were kept all around right through to bedtime Sunday night.

I hope we get to keep the new Buddy. He's a pleasure to live with.

The terrors of our youth

I may have mentioned that my mother is a children’s author and over the years collected some interesting kids books. I only remember a few of the unusual ones after all these years because they scared the living crap out of me. When I’ve told other parents and librarians about “Little Suck-a-thumb” and “Hat House” at first they think I’m making it up and then they cringe and say “Really? These were stories for children?”

When I googled the books and saw these pictures for the first time in 45 years, it gave me a fresh rush of the willies I guess back in those days moralizing tales to get kids to behave were more common. Here are a couple of choice pieces for your enjoyment.

STRUWWELPETER

Merry Stories and Funny Pictures bu Heinrich Hoffman

1844 (English Translation 1848)

The Story of Little Suck-a-Thumb

One day Mamma said "Conrad dear,
I must go out and leave you here.
But mind now, Conrad, what I say,
Don't suck your thumb while I'm away.
The great tall tailor always comes
To little boys who suck their thumbs;
And ere they dream what he's about,
He takes his great sharp scissors out,
And cuts their thumbs clean off—and then,
You know, they never grow again."

Mamma had scarcely turned her back,
The thumb was in, Alack! Alack!




The door flew open, in he ran,
The great, long, red-legged scissor-man.
Oh! children, see! the tailor's come
And caught out little Suck-a-Thumb.
Snip! Snap! Snip! the scissors go;
And Conrad cries out "Oh! Oh! Oh!"
Snip! Snap! Snip! They go so fast,
That both his thumbs are off at last

Mamma comes home: there Conrad stands,
And looks quite sad, and shows his hands;
"Ah!" said Mamma, "I knew he'd come
To naughty little Suck-a-Thumb."

The Story of Augustus, who would not have any Soup

Augustus was a chubby lad;
Fat ruddy cheeks Augustus had:
And everybody saw with joy
The plump and hearty, healthy boy.
He ate and drank as he was told,
And never let his soup get cold.
But one day, one cold winter's day,
He screamed out "Take the soup away!
O take the nasty soup away!
I won't have any soup today."

Next day, now look, the picture shows
How lank and lean Augustus grows!
Yet, though he feels so weak and ill,
The naughty fellow cries out still
"Not any soup for me, I say:
O take the nasty soup away!
I won't have any soup today."

The third day comes: Oh what a sin!
To make himself so pale and thin.
Yet, when the soup is put on table,
He screams, as loud as he is able,
"Not any soup for me, I say:
O take the nasty soup away!
I WON'T have any soup today."

Look at him, now the fourth day's come!
He scarcely weighs a sugar-plum;
He's like a little bit of thread,
And, on the fifth day, he was—dead!

Hatt-Stugan (Hat-House) 1930

by Elsa Beskow

This cheery little tale is about a momma and three children who live in a hat. Momma goes to town one day and the kids burn the house to the ground.

It's in rhyming couplets to give the story a special upbeat feel. 

Anyone want to share these with their grandchildren

...and yet so far to go.

Buddy is doing better with chores and keeping up with the boys. He does some jobs without being asked and isn't always so late getting to appointments as he used to be. On the other hand, while working upstairs in my bedroom last weekend I could hear the boys giving their dad a hard time out on the front yard. He stopped them short by yelling, "If you don't smarten up, I'll tell Grampy."

That one even scares me!

Temper, Temper

I think Tio's frustration and quick temper are going to seriously get in his way. Being so competitive makes it worse. A couple of days ago he started to throw a fit when I rearranged a doctor appointment. He thought it would interfere with football even though I told him was an hour earlier than he thought. He still got flustered and seriously bent out of shape because he simply didn't like to be wrong. Same thing happened tonight over homework. He didn't understand the math problem and rather than let it go to ask the teacher tomorrow, he got angry to the point of shaking.

These are two samples of what is becoming common. He does not like to be wrong and he doesn't like to appear like he doesn't know something. Unfortunately, every human being is afflicted with being wrong and ignorance. The only way to overcome them both is to learn and have patience - another trait his has in short measure.

This is a bit concerning because it interferes with his ability to study. He walks away from the table, slams his books and otherwise demonstrates frustration and outrage that sidetracks the job at hand. He says he can't help it and I believe him. We need to find a better outlet or he may become uncooperative, a poor sport, and a disdainful student.

In short - he's turning into a teenager.

The August Vacation

Tio and I took a road trip together just before summer ended and we had a great time. We drove down to Boston together, just 2 boys for a long weekend away and completely left our world behind. Just before we left I gave him a mitful of cash so large as to make his eyes bulge (it doesn't take that much to impress a 12 year old) and told him he could spend it on anything without having to ask me. We walked along Newbury Street looking at all the shops, went to the Museum of Fine Arts and saw some impressive painting (he only wanted to know what they cost), had a barbeque with friends where we stayed 2 nights, and went to a late movie that was WAY too inappropriate for a 12 year old. The next day, we visited Concord to see where his dad was born and where the American Revolution started. As it turns out, Tio is a direct descendent of Isaac Davis, the first Minuteman to go down at the old North Bridge. There's a statue of the man there and everything but it didn't impress the boy. After going to thr mall and getting caught in the rain at supper, we decided on a second movie that night rather than finding live music or something else. The next morning we were ready to go home. Sailing up the turnpike, at one point Tio remarked that we needed gas. Good thing! I'd meant to fill up but forgot and another 5 miles along we would have had a whole new adventure.

It was a great time for us both. There was no pressure, no anger, no issues to deal with. We just enjoyed where we went and each other's company. It was an oasis in a sea of issues and day to day struggles. In some ways, it was a throwback to the times when I could be just Grampy and not G-Dad with rules and limits.
Buddy and I took a similar trip 24 years ago, when he was 9. We flew together to Toronto from our home in Concord for a whole week. Our job was to buy a house for the family to live in. Buddy was ADD and could be out of control at times but this trip was wonderful for us both. We travelled all over the place looking at houses, sightseeing, visiting friends and family without one hitch or meltdown. By the time we went home, we'd put an offer on a house. (The amazing thing was that Tish trusted the boys to buy her next home without even seeing it!) It was a wonderful time to be friends that we've never really had since.

Travelling one on one with a child is a great experience. You can combine fun with learning and adventure in a trip that they'll never forget. Tio didn't express an opinion about the art we saw or the history we heard but I know it stuck and will mix in with all the other things he learns, experiences, and shares along with the bond we strengthened just by being together.

I know I will find the right time for Kit and Doc to share this kind of adventure with me, maybe more than once, so that each of us has a chance to get to know the other as a person, a friend and someone who will have a lifelong interest in each other.

Gimme a "C"!

Kit has taken another bold step towards self identification. He joined a cheerleading squad that will be practicing 2 afternoons a week and cheering for soccer and football games this fall. He's the only boy among about 15 girls, all grades 4-6. It's a bold move and I think it's terrific. He's going to get a lot from it from training and discipline, team cooperation, and peer appreciation. At the same time it's totally noncompetitive, which is perfect for him. He's not interested in team sports. This is more like dance and choreography. If it works out for him, he may move on to more dedicated and involved dance.

Later this month he and I are going to see Romeo and Juliet. Like jazz concerts, hockey, cheerleading and art, there's no way to know if they'll like it until we try it. He wants to try Shakespeare and I'm right behind him.

Three cheers!

Open season on homework has begun

Tonight was the first night all three boys had homework. Kit did his at the after school club, Tio worked through his without fuss and it was Doc's first homework ever. All I could think was, 'You poor sap. This is the beginning of 12 whole years of lugging books around to do extra work you never wanted to do in the first place.'

I don't think you can prepare anyone for that. Sure, we had fun drawing the cat in a window after he read the poem but no matter how much you clap and praise a first grader on a job well done, by the time they get to 4th grade that rosy red tomato is stewed and you're listening to full throated wailing mode reciting a litany of greatest hits: "this isn't fair!", "my teacher said I didn't have to!“ or my personal favorite "I already did it and it's right!"

About a year ago I heard an interview with really bright inventor and thinker Ray Kurtzweil who was postulating that in another 50 years we may see intelligent implants that will upload information into our brains so that we can learn virally, like computers do. You teach one how to do it and then you download it to all the others. Unlike children where you have to teach them all laboriously one at a time over a series of years. Wouldn't it be fantastic, he said, if we could just upload the software into their supple little minds and avoid the whole school experience. All the years and years and billions of dollars and effort we spend to educate our young would be sidestepped in a single act. How efficient.

At the time, I thought that was an interesting concept and tried to imagine all the trouble and time that would be avoided by such a process. But as I gave it more thought and tried to envision it practically, it dribbled like sand through my fingers. What are we if not the sum of our experiences both good and bad. The years we spend in childhood and at school form so much of what we are that taking that away would leave a void so large as to be unimaginable. Granted, our educational experience, as with our troubled childhoods, could be improved considerably, but our brains are not capable of comprehending trigonometry at 6 years old. So if we get annual "smart" injections to reflect what our brain will handle what do we do with the rest of the year? Wait? Move on? Stay at home and stare at mommy? Perhaps get a job to become 'productive' members of society (at age 9).

The other thing that theories of advanced intelligence fail to grasp is what do we do with all these smarts later on in life? Most people can barely handle the brains they're given. What kind of life are we going to lead if you have to work at McDonalds and have an advanced degree in biochemestry at the age of 13? The problem with Kurtzweil and many like him is that they believe that everyone can and wants to think at the same level they do. They should spend more time at the local sports bar.

In the meantime, I'll enjoy watching this little boy struggle one word at a time to understand the universe he was born into. The brains we were given is an amazing gift and tampering with them might not be the height of wisdom.

This blog post is rated R for potty mouth

One thing that I may never get used to is just how blunt the boys are about their bodily functions. Not that I'm prudish but these guys have no filter. Whether we're at dinner, watching TV, or on the road, there's no difference.

Tio is king of intestinal functions. I just heard him go outside and shout out to Kit, "It's okay, I didn't shit my pants! Let's go for that bike ride now."
At supper he said, "I don't think it's a flu cause my crap was all stringy and yellow and I don't have a gut ache..." please, could you just eat your dinner and leave it alone.
He's the only person I've met who can make everyone in a open jeep wish they had another window they could roll down to escape from his farts.

There must be a direct relationship between testosterone and pride in farting. We all pass gas but for boys it's a rite of passage demostrating how loud, long and stinky it is. I wonder if they go to their first mixed dance and brag about their flatulant prowess to the girls? "You should go out with me, Becky. Jason can barely stain his cheeks but my farts can knock out my Gramm's dog." After Becky turns red or worse, laughs at him, he might adds it to the list of things not to discuss with girls anymore.

If anyone mentions vomit, Kit needs to know all the details. What kind was it? Did it have lumps or smell bad? What color was it? Who cleaned it up? The other day I found a puke filled sheet stuffed in a closet. Kit wanted to know all about it and ran downstairs to check it out. He asked not long ago, "Grampy? What was the worst puke you ever had?" Like it's something I keep track of.

Then there is Doc, the burpaholic. With an ice cream or mash potato smeared lips, a look of red faced constipated concentration crosses his face, and his eyes cloud over while he works his entire digestive system from the bowels on up, like squeezing the toothpaste tube to get the last bit, and out comes a 'blllllllarrrp!' Then his eyes refocus and he returns to this world, this reality, and smiles around at everyone saying, "Air not water." (a phrase I foolishly taught them all when they were small and learning what it takes to belch).

Three little superheroes: Barfman, the Flatch, and Little Belch. They all share a fourth power. They're like dogs when it comes to smelling things. The idea that a dog sniffs poop makes them all cry out "oooooh, gross." But find a fingerful of some bodily putty anywhere on their person or in their clothes and they hold it up proudly to their nose for a good deep whiff. They even want me to sniff it along with them like it's strawberry jam. They're completely puzzled when I turn the offer down. One will even say, "These pants smell like dung. Here Grampy, take a sniff. No? Really? Why not?"

I recall Sugar wasn't very discerning as a young girl, either but she knew where and when it was appropriate to discuss digestive illness, her period, the last time she retched. We were taught in my generation to keep it to a minimum in front of adults but these kids have no sense of propriety. I know it's all part of the war we fight to teach them manners but I'm pushing them on so many fronts that I'm surrounded.

Lose the battle, win the war. Isn't the saying? I guess this is one of the battles I can't win right now. All I can hope is that, while they get away with it at home, they don't try to impress the rest of the world when at school or visiting in the homes of their friends.

In the meantime all I can say is thanks for thinking of me, boys.

A tree grows in Newport

When I was a small boy my father pointed at a tree in his mother's yard and said, "I planted that tree when I was a boy." I looked way up at this tree that was thousands of feet tall, taller than even Grandma's house. I couldn't imagine how he ever could have put that tree in the ground. He was an amazing human being.

When we first moved here 20 years ago I planted a sapling red maple that was barely taller than me. It took a couple of years to take root and has bloomed to a glorious 5o feet tall. This evening, I climbed that tree with Doc. It was the first time I'd been in it's branches and while we perched together high aloft I told him how I planted it so many years ago.

"You must be so strong, Grampy," he said.

Oh, to learn how large a slice of being the grown up is all smoke and mirrors.

When lying is a means as much as an end

After last weeks standathon over lying, we seem to be at it again. Over a question of homework the other night, Tio handed me a line of crap. In response, I told him he couldn't go to the first dance of the season. It wasn't a big lie but it rolled off his tongue without thought. While given a couple of opportunities to recind he stood by it.

Dance night came tonight and Tio wasn't too upset that he couldn't go until he heard that Kit was going alone. That frosted him which gave leverage for Kit to tease him about. He came upstairs to complain that Kit was rubbing it in. I didn't do a thing about it which had him really pissed. So over supper I thought I'd test it.

"Kit," I said, "think carefully about how you answer this. Were you teasing Tio about not being able to go to the dance?"
He pondered.
"You know that he is staying home because he lied, right?"
Kit said he understood.
"So, were you teasing him?"
Another pause and he said, "No."

I couldn't believe it! He knew that Tio lost the dance for lying and here he was lying. He very quickly changed his answer to yes when he realized his mistake. But his first impulse was to lie, worried that he'd get in more trouble if he said he was rubbing it in.
These are deep waters. Tio lied because he wanted me to think he'd started homework at school and left it there and Kit lied to cover something equally unimportant up when the stakes were so high about lying itself it could cost him his first big dance. I was dumbfounded and realized that there is a lot of work to be done to get them to understand the value of trust and honesty. It isn't really about short term morals, of which they have little, but has to be about the consequences of not earning trust of the people in their world.

We talked about it a bit more but all they were concentrating on was whether Kit had blown the dance or not. I was in the rock vs. hardspot conundrum because the dance was an important step for Kit and really had nothing to do with the ingrained sense of mistrust they both have of telling the truth. Also, this wasn't going to suddenly go away and they'd be honest, halo capped young men just because they missed this dance. We have a lot of work to do.

"Okay," I said to Kit, "your lie just bought Tio a ticket back to the dance. We'll work on this later."

As the years fly by

I ran across these pictures yesterday and thought I would take you on a time machine trip back a decade at a time  to where and when they were taken.

2001
That September  the Trade Center fell and we all know where we were that day. Tish and I were working together making flutes and my first novel, THE MARINER’S CURSE, was due to come out in a couple of weeks. Buddy and Debbie were still newlyweds. Tio was 3 and Kit was just 6 months old and everyone was getting along fine.

1991
33 years old and  Tish and I were running our own flute business. Being business partners and working side by side was a tough gig. We’d just moved to New Hampshire from Toronto and Sugar was starting junior year at a new high school. Buddy was living with the biodad at the time and came to see us often.

1981
At 22, I’d been in Boston for 2 years and decided to quit my job at Powell flutes and move back to Canada. This was the second time I quit flutemaking permanently. Tish was 31 and raising her toddlers just 2 towns over from where I had been employed but we wouldn’t meet for another 2 years.

1971
My very first week of high school. I was 13 - a total daydreaming-broken-glasses-with-tape-and-messy-clothes kid that not even my friends from 8th grade wanted to know anymore. Tish had just finished college in Vermont and had an apartment in a town near Boston where she worked as a dental assistant.

1961
This is where the picture comes in. (It’s actually 1962...) That’s me at 4 waiting to see Santa at the local department store. My eyes are glued on my mother in case she decided to bolt and I’d never see her again. We lived in a suburb on the outskirts of Toronto that all these years later is now considered “downtown”. I was in nursery school that year and considered “so smart” that they skipped me to grade 1 because mom had taught me to read at home and I could probably tie my shoes.
The other picture is Tish in 1962 beaming away in her 8th grade formal dance dress. She was an independent teenager going on to high school that fall. Unlike me, everyone liked her and she was a grade A student.
We met 22 years later when I rented the house next door to her. She was a 33 year old mom of 2 and I was a starry eyed 24 year old idiot who had no idea what he was getting into taking on a family.

Let's wrap up by looking 10 years ahead to...2021
We’ll still be living in New Hampshire but musical instruments will be obsolete because of new computer sampling algorithms so I'll have to become a greeter for Spacely Sprockets. Doc will take his jet pack to highschool, Kit will be a rock star diva in Hollywood, and Tio will be the computer genius that put me out of work making flutes.

How did the corkscrew of your life unfold through the years?

Oh what an extravagant consumer am I!

The first thing I did this morning was spill orange juice all over the inside of the fridge. I hadn't had any coffee yet and was temped to say 'good thing it's refrigerated. That way the mess won't go bad' and slam the door on the whole thing. However, I made coffee while wiping it up and then discovered that someone had put a small clear plastic cup inside my coffee mug. So, not only did I get a tiny cup of coffee, it was strong enough to melt glass.

Anyway, while cleaning up my clumsiness, I commented once again how badly we need a new fridge. This one is 20 years old, leaks constantly and is way too small for what will very soon be 3 large and growing boys and 2 big men (as a recovering anorexic Grammo doesn't really want a lot of fridge space). The prob is, we can't really afford it right now. First because they're expensive and, second, because it would require more room which means the tip of the 'man, do we need to renovate this kitchen' discussion. With the exception of raising the height of the counters and a new floor a decade ago, the kitchen is the one room we have hardly touched. We have no counter space, bad storage and monster hutch cabinet that was designed more for display than the junk depository it has become.

Money is less tight this year than last but we're still clinging to the middle class by our fingertips and what little cushion we have won't last long if one of us becomes unemployed for any length of time in this economy. Sure, I could borrow but being debt free right now is one of the few saving graces we have. I heard the talking airheads on Fox News going on about how people can't be poor if they can afford such luxuries as refrigerators and microwaves. I can't believe the gall and complete seperation from reality that it takes to say that. That's pre-industrial revolution kind of garbled rationalization for the well off to ignore the plight of the working class. I guess the fat paychecks they get for saying that relieves them of conscience.

I'd like room to really be able to cook, bake and keep the place from looking like a ransacked apartment everytime one or two items get left lying around. The room itself is actually quite large for a typical kitchen and could be very practical and accessible. But even a quick fix is in the many thousands of dollars. It's very strange to find myself in this place. Tish and I were on the road to comfortable, if modest, advancing age. We both had careers that we loved, interests that could bloom into other opportunities, and time to relax and reflect. Then this left turn came along and it's like we're 30 again and looking down the tunnel towards possible success in the future.

I don't resent or regret this choice. Material things are not that important to me. Give me a comfy sofa, a stack of old movies and a glass of beer and I'm good to go. I don't need a Chippendale table for my drink or a house with a front hall and more rooms than I can use. On the other hand, despite what the stingy pundits are paid to say, a working fridge and stove are not luxuries we can do without.

Community Self Interest

I believe giving back to your community should be the obligation of every citizen if we hope to keep our democracy alive. Political structure, environment, historical restoration, arts are all legitimate choices - just roll up your sleeves and help out a bit. It gives us collective ownership and participating helps us to understand better what it takes to make a community.

Last week, I was invited to a meeting of the after school program that Kit and Doc go to help them renew their funding. This is a group that supplies afternoon and morning care for 130 children a day. They supply breakfasts for those who's families are not well off, as well as reduced rates. They help with homework, work with difficult needs children, and foster better social engagement between children who have a tough time negotiating friendships. I could go on about them (like mention the awesome summer program) but you get the idea. A one of a kind organization and the only one in town. A worthy new project for me to help with, thinks I, moreso because 2 of our boy are and will continue to participate there for years to come.

So, tonight I left Tish in charge of the brood and zoomed over to their office. I didn't expect a lot of people to be there, there never are, but there was only one. That's right, not counting the 2 program directors, only 1 other person came. That really surprised me, and I'm not easily shocked by community apathy. The thing is, if this program dies, the parents of 130 kids will be scrambling to find somewhere for their children to go when they have to get to work and can't get home early enough after school.

If these people have any sense of self preservation, here is the place they should be. I can understand if you don't want to work on closing the local dump or renovating historic buildings or revitalizing downtown. But when your small children are going to be arriving home 2 hours before you get out of work, you got a problem.

This may be most pathetic showing I've seen in 20 years. I can only hope they didn't send out enough invites or forgot to put the right date on it. Otherwise, our first job is zapping parents with 10,000 volts just to get them to wake up.

Classical Conditioning

A little after 10 last night Kit came into my shop after I'd tucked him into bed complaining that Tio was bugging him. I asked Tio about it and got a different story. This issue was small but it really bugs me when I get lied to. I told one of them to come clean but they both stuck to their stories. "Okay," I said, "you can both stand here while I work until one of you admits you were lying." I went back to work to wait it out. After all it was my intention to stay at work until 3 am. There was no way they would be standing there that long.

I must say, I was surprised at how long it took. Seeing as I had a captive audience, I put Beethoven's 7th symphony on the stereo and we waited. And waited. And waited. "You know," I began, "this is one of 3 symphonies that are considered Beethoven's best. The 9th may be the most well known and probably tops it, but for my money this one and the 6th are inspirational. Of course, this is only the second movement. There are 2 others and after that we can listen to the 9th and you can decide for yourself."

"Wasn't he blind?" Kit asked.

"Deaf. Totally deaf when he wrote the 9th which makes it incredible." I then added something like 'stop leaning on the wall' and 'stay in your corner'.

"How long is it?" Tio asked, hoping that lasting through the whole symphony would be the length of their stay. We'd been there almost 40 minutes by that point and the allegro con brio was winding down.

"I think the 9th is about an hour. We can move on the Emperor's Concerto after the symphonies. It's a piano concerto and Grammo loves the slow movement of that one. She thinks Old Ludwig van was inspired directly by God when he wrote it. I wouldn't disagree. Personally, I find the 3rd movement of the 9th an inspiration but I'll let you judge after we hear them both ...."

"I give up!" one of the boys cried out. "I can't take this anymore." and I heard his confession. I assumed this was the one who was lying all along so it jived. They both went off to bed and I told the one who had to stand there for an hour for no reason that I'd make it up to him with a treat.

Now that's what you call real classically conditioned punishment.

Unsentimental Journey

Doc turned 6 a month ago. We had homemade cake, spaghetti and meatballs, lots of presents and everyone was home. It was a wonderful party. When all was done, I realized we didn't take one picture. Thinking about that, I realized that I'm not collecting any memorabilia of the grandkids at all. We don't have a thousand photos of smiling faces covering our walls or artworks on the fridge. No stuffed scrapbook for old report cards, certificates, or trinket reminders of bygone days at all. I'm not down on the ballfield with my Canon XJ-red 27 nor ordering the 'family pak' of school photos so I can have a dozen wallet shots to give away. Every time I pick up the living room and sweep the latest crop out from under the sofa where it is dusty, neglected and lost, I wonder again if I should pack this piece of their childhood away or just let it go.

I realize through facebook and blogging that I am way out of the mainstream. Most people cover their pages, and their homes, with kiddie art and snaps along with generous descriptions to go along with. I don't have a problem with that, so I don't know what it says about me that I'm not but I really have no interest in it (Their dad isn't doing it, either, but that's another story). I guess I'm not all that sentimental and while I have a few knicknacks that I collected from my own childhood, it amounts to no more than a cigar box of stuff I can hardly recall the significance of.

We do take some photos, so it's not like there is no record and I have videos of them making movies with me. But I'm not snapping away feverishly to capture every moment. What strikes me as odd on facebook is that so many people post literally hundreds of photos of themselves, sometimes dozens from the same shoot, like they just can't decide which view they like best. I can understand shots of family and kids and events and so forth, but hundreds of self portraits?

Some day the boys may regret not having a blow by blow reminder of these times and maybe I should be on the ball with it for their sake. But with all that goes on around here, it's one more thing to look after.

Doc's holiday

There seems to be a switch of roles with the kids and their dad. Kit is getting along much better with Buddy. They aren't yelling at each other and Kit is much more cooperative. They still have their moments but now Doc is the real firecracker. He's been screaming and yelling at Buddy as soon as they are out of my reach. In the car, or when I go away, Doc starts calling his dad some of the most atrocious names, making demands, and otherwise making anyone within earshot miserable with his screaming and tantrums. Yesterday in the car he said "If you don't change the radio station I'll kill you." This from a 6 year old and Buddy did nothing. When I found out I sent the kid to his room and told him if that ever happened again, I'd paddle his behind bright red. This was the third time in the past 3 days that he had to stay in his room for mouthing off to Buddy.

I'm getting a bit tired of being the heavy around here and told Buddy if he wants his relationship with his son to improve hes going to have to take a stand. Otherwise, he can expect this to be the norm for years to come. He is trying but he's only just realizing how much work it really is. This morning, after yet another tantrum, Doc was timing-out in his room while Buddy went to the recycle center. I was playing 20 questions with Tio in the kitchen and I looked out the front window in time to see Doc crouching along past the front deck like an indian brave on the hunt. I called his name and he looked up like he'd just had a light flashed on him from an alien spaceship. Then he turned and fled back to the back door from whence he came.

In trying to sort out why Doc has such anger towards his dad there are a couple of possibilities. One being that Buddy is not very accessible. Even when he's there he's not really there (which I've blogged on before). He has been working on that but it's still an issue. The other is that because Debbie, Doc's mother, has moved away again and is rarely in touch, Doc may be subconsciously blaming Buddy for that. More recently, since the other grandparents have moved away as well and not been in touch, it can only add to the young boy's confusion. So we're working on some positive ways Buddy can talk with him about all this without trying to ask questions or cast any aspersions on Debbie. His love for her is visceral and deep, just as is his confusion and anger about her disappearance. As with all the emotional issues with the boys, these are deep waters and we have to navigate carefully if we want him to deal with it all successfully.

One thing Buddy is learning is that whenever he has a day off to look after the boys, he's exhausted, in bed and passed out by 9, even before the older boys. No insomnia on those nights like all the nights when he comes home from work. He starting to realize how exhausting it is for me to look after them the rest if the week. They are a needy and demanding brood and staying on top of the day to day changes is a real brain drain. Maybe that explains some of the napping I do.

Attack of the liverwurst sandwich

I knew it was old. It didn't smell bad. It was late late at night and there wasn't much to eat. Maybe I could get away with it. Nope. I had such a gutache this morning that even Tums couldn't rescue me. I took a turn for the wurst and it wasn't pretty. Fortunately, it was short of actually being bad so all I got was indigestion and not food poisoning. But, man what a day.

As luck would have, everything else was fine. The kids had a quiet day off, then they ran around with friends at the weekly farmer's market for a couple of hours after which we went to the park with subs and saw Marcia and her family. It's reasonably early and everyone is in bed and fast asleep. That's the kind of day we want - sans the polluted paté pageantry.

Time to go down to the salt mines and make some flutes.

Another Disaster Wednesday (sigh)

As both my faithful readers know, I get Wednesdays off because it's Buddy's day off work and he looks after the kids. I like to go down to the pub before everyone gets home and not come back at least until Doc is in bed. I used to get calls the whole time from Buddy or the kids all acting outrageously, unable to cope for even one afternoon without adult supervision. It got a little better over the summer but last night was a throwback to the good old days. I didn't hear anything last night, but I spent today cleaning up the mess. Tish woke me up before she went to work at 8 and said that the boys had spent last evening with dad fighting and screaming at each other. Doc especially had been mouthing off and screaming like a 2 year old. She added that I had to send Doc to spend the afternoon in his room because he wrote a gay 'slur' about Kit on the Bupkes Board (our kitchen white board) this morning. Oh boy, my afternoon was shaping up and I wasn't even out of bed yet. Of course, I knew Doc wasn't acting alone because, since he's only 6, he doesn't even know what the words mean. So instead of a quiet day followed by football practice and a quiet supper, I had come down hard on Tio, too, and relive yesterday's gunfights. A few weeks ago I told Tio under no circumstances would I tolerate gay slurs aimed at Kit. I landed on him like a ton of bricks for homosexual name calling. I made it clear our family has a zero tolerance policy about that and if he broke it, woe be unto him. Our home, our family, is the one safe haven for each of us. For all the crap we take out there at school and work and such, we have to know we are accepted at home. Sure, as brothers they're going to call each other names and fight but some things are off limits - and this is one. As a kid who grew up with a cleft lip, I got bullied and pushed and teased all the time. But when I came home I was normal. No one ever mentioned or used that against me. I got called plenty of other things by my brothers, and my sister and I fought horribly sometimes, but my disfigurement never, ever entered the fight. "And that," I told Tio, "is how it should be and will be." Well, if Doc knew how to spell fag and write it on the board, it was clear that Tio hadn't got the message which left me in the crappy position of having to deal with it today. Not only that but my iPad reminded me that both older boys had therapy appointments after school. So with the weight of having to play the heavy on my shoulders, I picked them both up and off we went to a pair of appointments. I know that Kit provoked and Tio provoked and Kit called names and Tio called names. That's the way it always goes but do you think either of them would admit they were party to the trouble? In your dreams. To hear them tell it each of them was innocently kissing babies or saving the world from hunger when out of the blue their brother came by and created a scene, completely unprovoked. Fortunately, the saving grace was the therapists who managed to nicely create a mediation setting where we could get straight answers and a neutral way forward. If that hadn't happened, Tio might have lost his football season and Kit unable to see his friends all weekend. Doc still had to spend the afternoon in his room and he accepted the punishment without a fight. Now if we can just survive the 4 day weekend that starts tomorrow....