Dad Turned Off the TV

My parents divorced when I was about ten years-old. The details surrounding their relationship have always been vague, and I've never pursued either of my parents for how and why their relationship ended. I don't know why. I guess I just don't want to drudge up the past. Their divorce was civil. As far as I can remember, there was no drawn out legal battle, and they didn't drag me and my brother into the middle of things and use us as pawns for leverage. I think they tried their best to do what was right for us, and, from my perspective, they did a good job of that.

I don't remember dragging around a lot of emotional baggage from the divorce like some kids do. It seemed back then that kids would cry and blame themselves for their parents' split. My brother and I didn't do that. All we knew was that prior to the divorce there was a whole lot of yelling and screaming between our folks; after the divorce, they got along. Sure it sucked that my Dad no longer lived with us, but whenever he'd return us home after a weekend visit, he and my Mom would sometimes sit and talk for hours. I never saw them do that when they were married. So I gladly embraced a divorce that enabled my parents to talk civilly to one another over a marriage of screaming and yelling.

I think the divorce was something of a wake-up call for my Dad; an experience that told him it was time to grow up a bit. I honestly don't have that many memories of my Dad pre-divorce, other than him tormenting me and my brother. Dad liked to "hang out with the boys" in those days, but I think the divorce helped him to sort out his priorities, and my fond memories of time spent with my Dad emerge post-divorce. We'd spend every other weekend with him, and during those times we'd go bowling, see movies, have breakfasts at a little dive restaurant down the street, or follow him around to endless softball tournaments that his team had entered. We didn't mind the tournaments because we'd have the run of the park, or we'd be bat boys and engage in various smart ass back-and-forths with the guys on the team.

But the most significant thing my Dad ever did, the thing that has made a lasting impression on me and to this day has become a priority in my attempt and desire to be a good Father to my girls, is to listen, ask questions and be interested in our lives. We'd be lounging around watching TV in the living room of his 900 square foot rental house, with its' green shag carpeting and bing cherry red furniture, and he'd grab the remote, turn off the TV, and say, "Let's talk. I want to know what's going on in your lives."

"Awww, Da-ad," we'd groan and put up a feeble resistance, typical of pre-teens, but eventually would give in to the quiet of the house as we revealed details of school, friends, sports, family, music and girls. It was a very simple exercise, just a click of a button, that has had a profound impact on my life.

And that impact has even greater significance now that I'm a Dad. Sometimes it's so much easier to keep the girls "occupied". We color, role play, sing, play sports, watch videos, etc., which are all important things, but can sometimes just be busywork. It's a whole different story to slow down, turn off the boob tube or the computer or the iPod or anything that distracts us in our fast-pace society, and say, "Let's talk." It's a lesson from my Dad that I will work hard to employ for the rest of my days. Thanks Dad. Happy Father's Day.

Last Primer Before All-Star Weekend

Kailey's big All-Star tournament is next weekend, and her team has been practicing HARD the past few weeks to get ready. They're taking this thing very seriously. I love it. What I don't love is their lack of a team name. They simply call themselves "Southeast" or "Eastside", which has nowhere near the ring of the Blue (Balls) Bandits. Even their All-Star jerseys are boring. They're white. We may as well call ourselves the Southeast Eastside Boring White Jersey All-Stars. I understand the practicality of the choice of white for their jerseys. They're playing in a weekend tournament in 100+ degree heat, and white jerseys will keep them as cool as can be under those circumstances. But it's still boring.

Fortunately, the Southeast All-Stars' play is anything BUT boring. This morning they had a scrimmage game against another local All-Star team in as a kind of last minute primer before the tournament. They won 6-2, and I saw several positives going into All-Star weekend.

As is true for any baseball/softball team, the key to having a great team is pitching. If you've got great pitching, you're on your way. In Kailey's league, the girls pitch. When they pitch four balls, the opposing team's coach comes in and pitches. The common batting strategy is to wait for the opposing team's pitcher, who usually sucks, to throw her four balls, and then swing away when the coach comes in to serve big fat meatballs. This strategy takes great fortitude as the batter has absolutely no idea where those four pitches are going to end up. At least one of them always goes over the backstop, and you can all but guarantee that another one is coming for her head. But if your team has a pitcher that can actually throw STRIKES, the batter gets frazzled. At best, or worst depending on your team, she'll watch two strikes go by before striking out swinging at a pitch two miles over her head. Otherwise she'll have one or two strikes on her before the coach comes in to pitch, making the odds in favor of a strikeout. Keep the coach off the mound and your chance of winning greatly increase. The Southeast Eastside Boring White Jersey All-Stars have several girls who can throw strikes consistently.

After pitching comes offense, and Eastside can hit from the top to the bottom of the order. The question is will they swing at the strikes thrown by the other teams' pitchers? I don't know. The opposing teams' pitching this morning was pretty atrocious. I think they can.

Defense at this age group is pretty much a non-factor. Every team's defense sucks, with the exception of a couple good plays per game. These girls are still working to refine the motor skills required to field, throw, and catch. If they knock a ball down, you encourage them with a "good job!" If they field the ball cleanly and make a good throw, the encouragement grows in excitement. But if the 1st baseman catches the ball or if they catch a pop up, everyone pees themselves with excitement. You'd think the Cubs won the Series. Eastside managed to make a few key, pee-inducing defensive plays, including a couple of caught fly balls. If they keep it up, they'll go far into the tournament.

One last note concerning the sad state of affairs surrounding modern sport. This morning before the game, as the parents were lounging around sucking down water and trying not to die of heat stroke, one of the coach's wives surprised us with a last minute tournament requirement: birth certificates. We already submitted a copy of Kailey's birth certificate with her original softball registration. But apparently the pressure to excel is so great, even at this young age, that coaches are tempted to cheat and recruit older girls to their rosters. So we have to submit another copy of her birth certificate to tournament organizers so they can verify her age. She'll pass that test, and then it will be tournament time. They face a stiff opponent in their first game Saturday morning: the Amazon Women of Sahuaro. Can't wait.

GO SOUTHEAST EASTSIDE BORING WHITE JERSEY ALL-STARS!!

I Hope This Isn't A Sign

Who can it BE no-ow...da da da DA da da...
Who can it BE no-ow...da da da DA da da...

I grabbed my cell phone and saw that it was Diane calling from home. As soon as I answered the phone, I heard it.

beep

I immediately detected the frustration in Diane's voice. "OK, now the smoke detector in OUR bedroom is beeping." She was in the process of the girls' bedtime routine, and I, of course, was at work. Like our living room, our bedroom also has vaulted ceilings, and Diane was a little befuddled as to how to work my collapsible, extendable Gorilla ladder. I started to talk her through it when work suddenly required my immediate attention. I told her I'd call back in five minutes.

I lied. It was about fifteen minutes later when I called and Kailey answered the phone. "Daddy, I showed Mommy how to use the ladder!" I about fell off my chair laughing. The girls have been present for several of my home improvement projects that required the use of the Gorilla ladder, and it makes me extremely proud to know that that knowledge stuck. My girls will be able to change smoke detector batteries, hang Christmas lights, and the like. That's pretty cool. Tomorrow I think I'll teach them how to change a tire.

I still had to talk Diane through the actual battery replacement process. "It takes a 9 volt battery...it's in the top desk drawer by the computer...there's a compartment on the side of the detector that slides out..." Diane then handed the phone to Kyra while she climbed the ladder and finished the task. Kyra spent several minutes pouting about how she only got to help Mommy with one thing while Kailey got to help her with TWO things. Typical Kyra. I tried to explain that sometimes the biggest help a little girl can give is by getting out of the way and not pouting, but she wasn't buying.

When satisfied that Diane had the situation under control, I hung up the phone and returned to my work. That's when the little voice began talking. What if it's a sign? The little voice talks to me more often than I'd like to admit. What's worse is that I talk back.

What if what's a sign?

C'mon, two beeping smoke detectors in one week?

The batteries were probably all installed at the same time and are now going bad, that's all.

Sure, sure, you're probably right. You shouldn't worry about anything. I'm sorry I even brought it up. Still, I'd probably sleep with one eye open 'cause you ne-ver kno-ow.

Thanks. Thanks a lot for that, you stupid, STUPID little voice. Now I have to see if the extinguisher still works. And find a good shrink.

It's Nothing...Just an Old Dusting Injury

I'm getting old, and getting old sucks. Every day it seems I wake up with a new pain somewhere in my body and I'm not even 40 yet. And I hear that it only goes down hill from here on out. Great.

I've struggled with lower back pain for the past couple of years, and the only way I've been able to keep it relatively in check is to keep active. Sounds weird, but it's true. The more I move, play, workout, the better it feels. The longer I sit or lay down, the harder it is to get up, and I take on the appearance of an eighty year-old man.

Yesterday morning, I woke up with a new back pain: a little tweak right in the middle of my back, nothing major. I eased myself out of bed and into the morning routine...coffee, breakfast for the girls, and breakfast for myself. I then engaged in some of the domestic activities of the day. I started out dusting as it was getting pretty thick around the house. I was going to follow that up with vacuuming and then head outside to mow the lawn.

I didn't get very far. I finished dusting the piano in the living room when I grabbed the piano bench and attempted to lift/slide it back into position. WHAM!! That little tweak in the middle of my back exploded, leaving me flat on my face on the floor, writhing in pain. And no matter how I moved, I couldn't find a position that was void of pain. So I'm laying there moaning and gasping for breath because breathing hurt, and wondering if I was going to die right there on the spot. After what seemed like an eternity, the pain subsided enough to where I could sit up. I had a hard time standing, though, because I couldn't lift my arms to support my weight. I spent several more minutes kneeling on the living room floor, which was convenient because I spent that time praying to God for the pain to go away.

It didn't, but Kyra did eventually wander by and I enlisted her help...to finish dusting the living room. I couldn't leave the job unfinished. After much pain on my part, we did finish the job and I retired to the comfort of a heating pad for the rest of the morning. Vacuuming and mowing would have to wait. I'm going to have to come up with a better story, though, because when people see me doubled over like the Hunchback of Notre Dame and ask me what happened, they're probably going to be quite amused to hear my less-than-manly explanation that I injured myself dusting.

Do You Hear What I Hear?

beep

I have no idea what time it was or when I even became cognizant of the piercing intermittent tone. All I know is that it was way too early.

beep

The sound wasn't loud enough to wake me outright. It eased me out of my sleep and made me question whether I was dreaming it or actually hearing something.

beep

I definitely was not dreaming it.

beep

Smoke detector. Are you kidding me? I was too tired to even look at the clock and tried in vain to drift back to sleep.

beep

Diane mercifully got up at some point and closed the door. I went back to sleep.

beep

Ha ha...not loud enough to keep me from sleeping. Sometime later our bedroom door opened and the bathroom door slammed shut. Kyra. She hasn't learned the fine art of gently opening and closing doors. The toilet flushed and she emerged from the bathroom. "Daddy?" Oh please, Dear Lord, let it be at least 8:00. "The tooth fairy came last night!" she whispered loudly as she flashed a toothless smile and held up a $5 bill. Five dollars! Holy crap! I think I got a quarter per tooth when I was a kid. I gave her a hug and she walked out of the room...without closing the door.

BEEP

Alright, alright. I summoned the energy to look at the clock. 8:00 am on the nose. Now to find the culprit. There are six smoke detectors in our home: one in each bedroom, one in the hall, and one in the living room. I stumbled out of bed and trudged out to the hallway where I stood under the smoke detector there and waited, the living room to my left, bedrooms to my right.

beep

Of course the beep came from my left, from the only smoke detector I couldn't stand on a chair to fix. The living room has a cathedral ceiling that peaks at roughly fourteen feet off the ground. Guess where the smoke detector is located? I couldn't even get at it with the normal ladder. I needed the big daddy of all ladders: my million-foot collapsible, extendable Gorilla ladder. It also weighs about a million pounds.

beep

BITE ME!! I headed down the hall to see if Kailey was up. I peeked in and found her sitting up in her bed looking frizzy-haired and groggy-eyed. Kyra had apparently woken her up with her $5 bill as well. "What's that sound?" she croaked. I filled her in on what was happening and she told me she wanted to help. So she followed me to the garage.

beep

I haven't rearranged the garage since the plumbers were in there fixing our water main fiasco a couple of months ago. In order for them to get to the main water line, I had to move the contents along one wall of the garage to another wall of the garage. Guess which wall the million-pound Gorilla ladder was on? So instead of sleeping in on this glorious Saturday morning, I cleaned my garage, engaged in a major upper body workout extracting and setting up my Gorilla ladder, as well as a good cardio workout as I scaled the ladder into the upper stratosphere of my living room, all just to pop out a little compartment on the smoke detector and replace a 9 volt battery. How was your morning?

beep

What was that?