What if … what if I could just stay home with the kids … and teach?
I would. I could. Daddy Homeschool lessons slipped in easily when the girls were young. At the zoo, in the grocery store. At the ballpark. In the park. When we hiked or fished, shopped or ran errands, colored or ventured out on daddy/daughter dates, learning was fun.
It’s not so easy now.
Kids become a bit jaded with age. Inspirational teachers are fewer and further apart. One girl – I won’t say who – issued a cease-and-desist for all “how was school?” inquiries. Ever. Commutes to school aren’t filled with talk of faraway lands and long-lost eras.
I don’t remember the circumstance of this question.
Can I just lie, dad? It sat among hundreds of other questions my girls ask on a given day. The ones I remember to write down, anyway. Some float away into the ether and out of my memory. Sometimes … sometimes, they stick.
Like when my youngest asked, would you die for me, daddy? Then, you give it its own post.
Like, Can I Just Lie, Dad? It’s a question born perhaps of filling a water cup in Taco Bell with Baja Blast Mountain Dew. Or claiming to be 9 when being 10 would mean an extra $3.95 on the buffet.
One of my life lessons – certainly the biggest of my life lessons – is to learn that I have control over way more than I suspect in life.
This doesn’t mean I’ve perfected it. I’ve sharpened and polished my sense of place, and acknowledged there’s still plenty to do. There are plenty of paths I’ve not yet discovered. But lest I get too new-age Zenny on my crew …
Every month, I compile a post called “6 Words.” Ernest Hemingway inspired it when he said any story can be told in a six-word sentence. I ask bloggers, friends, strangers, and a few strange blogger friends to respond to a prompt.
March 30 is I Am in Control Day. Clearly, most of us are not. Tell us a lie about something you’re in control of right now. Think, “I don’t NEED Girl Scout cookies” or “No calendar: It’s all up here.”
It’s the answer, right? It’s the hero to vanquish darkness. It’s the ultimate rivalry, the Celtic vs. United of the cosmos, light vs. darkness. We seek light. Light’s the good guy. Arlo Guthrie says you can’t have a light without a dark to stick it in.
Take that, dark.
Jedis have been both members of the dark side and rebel alliance (light side). Although you can’t always tell by the color of the light saber, it all plays out in black and white, this light vs. dark. Things looking bleak? Seek the light. Follow the light. BE the light.
I’d found a grocery bag in the bottom shelf of a shopping cart. That cart sat in the cart corral of a Harris-Teeter store, after dusk, with no one around. No one, that is, except for my baby. Elise sat in the front of our cart. It was just us two on a quick grocery run.
I scanned the lot, half hoping someone would step up to claim the groceries, half hoping no one would.
Fatherhood – parenthood – changes us. From within.
It runs all over the place with kid soccer players. Some play for glory. Some play to get to the halftime and post-game snacks. Sadly, some play because their parents make them. Or they use soccer training sessions as elevated child care.
Each kid, though, can find motivation.
A girl I coached once – we’ll call her Aspen – was the cutest kid on the Sting Rays. The Sting Rays were composed of a handful of hotshots from earlier unbeaten teams, kids with a drive and acumen and love for the game. Aspen came in after much of that glory, and just wanted to play.
No, not a mullet or acid-washed jeans. Today, in place of a guest post, I’ll tackle something most of you blogging types will remember from the early days: The Liebster Award.
It’s a little known fact that the Liebster originated in 1901, the brainchild of one American philosopher Anna Brackett, inspired by a lost text from the Book of Matthew, recently found buried in a time capsule found in Haverhill, N.H., during the Chowder Festival.
Not my baseball cards, or even my business cards. The tarot cards spelled out a few things for me. One: to “Not be afraid of the feminine element in my makeup.” That has nothing to do with Cover Girl and everything to do with understanding the opposite sex.
Which, I couldn’t even type without an internal laugh track going on level 10.
Apparently, though, my ability to show my emotions and empathize with others is wholly female. Which hearkens back to the assertion I’m 30% female and write like a girl. Both compliments, in my book. Still, I suffer so in this department.
To my girls, they’re right up there with homework, canned beets and soccer losses. It’s just the way of the world. It’s like dogs and mail carriers, cats and mice, my March Madness bracket and the truth – some things are just not meant to ever get along.
I’ve had my history of hardships with those in stripes.
However, as coach to impressionable kids and a functioning member of society, I cannot simply fire a navel orange at every official who makes the wrong call in a soccer match. Nor should I want to. They’re doing their jobs, just as I am.
Plus, there are at least 42 things worse than a soccer ref …
“Horses, new babies and my husband!” she said with a laugh in a comment last year, when I took on the A to Z writing challenge. It was the post for B, about breakfast – and the glorious smells that lift our lives.
She’s a kind, sharing soul with nine kids and a yard full of animals. A mom of nine! My mom tells me I used to wish for nine kids so I could field and entire baseball team. They might even give the actual Colorado Rockies a run for their money.