New Year's Resolutions -- More or Less

New Year's Eve and thoughts turn to new beginnings, resolutions and how to improve your life.

There are all the things you want to do more of: more exercise, more reading, more learning, or more time with loved ones. There are also the things that we want to do less of: less junk food, less cursing, or less time working.
 

The more or less of New Year's resolutions are all well-intentioned, but the truth is we all just want to find happiness. That's the best resolution we can make.

I recently listened to a TED talk by Robert Waldinger and he reported on the results of a long-term Harvard Study on Adult Development, which has run for 75 years. What was their big finding about what makes a good life? How do people find happiness? It's all about having good relationships. "Good relationships keep us happier and healthier," says Waldinger. Not money. Not power. Not privilege.

So, here are a few of my resolutions for building better relationships in 2016:

• Assume people's best intentions. It's hard in today's day and age not to be cynical or suspicious. It's easy to believe someone else is out to get us or acting selfishly. But, it is certainly easier to build relationships when you believe people are generous, caring and acting with the best of intentions.

• Take-five. Many things that I say could be more thoughtfully presented or better received if I would only take a moment to calm down and think. A quick ten-count (okay, maybe 5) before I let fly with a sarcastic, biting quip or a screaming tirade. A few more thoughtful pauses and reflections can go a long way to building relationships - or not damaging the ones you already have.
• Two ears, one mouth. The old saying is "You have two ears and one mouth, you should use them in that proportion." Relationships are about listening to others.  Genuinely listening. Actively listening. 'Nuff said.
• Kids in the kitchen. Know what a real problem and issue is.  Think of it like cooking with kids in the kitchen.  If they aren't burning down the house or playing with knives, then an inedible snack or a little mess (or even a major clean-up) is not the end of the world. Don't cause friction in your relationships unnecessarily.
• Give till it hurts. A good relationship is one where you get even more satisfaction from what you can give, than from what you receive. Taking a burden from a friend in need. Listening to someone else's worries. Giving up time you may not have to spend it with your child. A little bit of sacrifice and selflessness is the foundation of any strong relationship.

So as we turn to a new year and think about resolutions, do a little "more," do a little "less," but focus on your relationships. Science says you'll be happy that you did.  

R.I.P. Telephone Conversation

When was the last time you had a real conversation on the telephone?

I don't mean the last time you picked up that randomly dialed marketing call and felt like taking a 10-minute survey to see if you could really win a trip to the Bahamas.

I don't mean the last time you took a polite call from a fundraiser, and you didn't want to be rude, so you listened... and listened ... and listened ... until you agreed to some kind of pledge.

I don't mean the weekly call to your parents to hear the latest on their health issues, their house problems and the latest obituaries in The Jersey Journal.

And, I don't mean the five-minute call to your sister to commiserate about the weekly call to your parents about their health issues, their house problems, etc.  That doesn't count.

I mean a real bona fide conversation on the phone. A "Gee...I've been thinking about Joe/Janet...I wonder how they are doing...I should give them a call" conversation. The kind where you might actually sit down in a comfortable chair and your sole activity is making that call and having a -- conversation.  Who does that any more?

The telephone is dead and technology has ruined the art of conversation.

Talking at Each Other, Not With Each Other

Much has been studied about the impact technology is having on conversations and how we interact with each other. Sherry Turkle, a professor in Science, Technology and Society at M.I.T. and the author of 'Reclaiming Conversation: The Power of Talk in a Digital Age," has studied this phenomenon for 15 years. Her conclusion is not that we aren't talking any more.  We are "talking" all the time in texts, emails, etc., but we are talking at each other, not with each other. Fascinating research that you can read more about here, here and here.

Where I notice it most is in the death of the telephone conversation. My thirteen year-old daughter Emma has a cell phone, or should I say a smart phone. She texts.  Watches videos. Snaps photos for Instagram. I am certain that I am the only one who knows her phone number and has ever actually called her (even her mother only texts her).

When I take Emma's phone away for a few days, she is incapable of communicating with her friends. "Dad, can I have my phone back? I need to find out something for homework." When I suggest that she actually use our house phone to "call" her friend about the night's homework you would think I had suggested she suggest she send a letter via Pony Express. "I can't do that!"

A Nervous Rite of Passage 

I used to call my friends' houses all the time. It was an adventure and an art form.  I can still see the AT&T TrimLine phone hanging on the kitchen wall. You had to stretch and unwind the phone cord into the room next to the kitchen and close the door for privacy. Two minutes later you were yelling at your parents for picking up on another line. The phone was the communications hub of a house.

You never knew who would actually answer the phone when you called a friend's house.  You actually had to introduce yourself to someone, show some manners, maybe even have some brief chit chat with an adult. My friend Karen came from a big family, and in high school we talked on the phone all the time (Well, I called her all the time, but that's another story). As a result of those calls, I got to know her parents and her whole family after four years of high school and they got to know me.

My kids will never know the teenage torture of "calling a girl."  A nervous rite of passage when I grew up. There was the time you spent thinking about what you would say ... why were you calling? Was there some point to the call ... homework, gossip, weekend plans? There was the preparation for whomever might answer the call.  Her father... mother... brother.  It could take a whole night just to work up the courage to call a girl -- only to get her father on the other end who might tell you sternly that she was sleeping, in the shower or out with her friends.  Ugh!

And, do you remember how long people would talk on the phone. In the days before "call waiting," teens actually had to fight over phone time with their siblings and their parents, or be told, "You've been on the phone for an hour, Mary Jane.  Hang up and do your homework."

Reach Out and Touch Someone

The truth is my kids don't really know how to "use" a telephone or what it is really for.  They exchange information -- or moronic jokes - in short bursts of texting, not conversations. They use mini-computers called smart phones -- they're not really phones. The telephone has become a relic for direct marketing calls, political campaigns and confirming dentist appointments.

I may be in the minority, but I still get excited when the phone rings, actually rings.  Do you remember those AT&T Reach Out and Touch Someone commercials?

I always enjoy the mystery of who might be on the other end (damn Caller ID ruined that). And, on less hectic days, I enjoy the time to sit down, talk and catch up with friends. That happens a lot less often nowadays.

This week, maybe I'll "go retro," pick up the phone, and call an old friend just to talk. Wouldn't that be nice?

Now, where is Karen's phone number? I am sure I must have it somewhere in my smart phone.  :)

Farewell, sweet Sadie

We said good bye to our sweet girl, Sadie, today. She was a precious dog who could have inspired Marley & Me with her antics (watch here)... who was a walking medical miracle ... and who endearingly captured our family's heart for nearly 13 years.

Sadie at rest

We rescued Sadie in February 2003 with the help of Aunt Mary's Dog House, and I can still see her romping in the living room of our old house the first day we met this energetic pup, and knocking down baby Emma. She was a beautiful husky mix with a soft white coat, black and brown markings on her face, one blue eye and one brown.  There were no two Sadies -- on so many levels, she was unique.  Let me explain.

What the heck is separation anxiety?

As with most rescue dogs, you often wonder, "How did this sweet dog wind up on the street? Who would have let her go?"

It didn't take long for my wife and I to realize what might have happened with Sadie.  While sweet and lovable, she had severe -- really severe -- separation anxiety and destructive behavioral issues.  Leave her alone, and watch out.

We left her in a pet crate for about 20 minutes one time and re-entered the house to find she had made a Houdini-like escape from the locked crate after drenching the floor with saliva and chewing on a nearby end table. Once out, she tore about three feet of linoleum off the basement floor and shredded the carpet on  the stairs trying to find us. She was inconsolable when left alone and went into a frenzy trying to find her family.

She would also go berserk if she was left alone outside in the yard, or whenever people walking dogs passed by our house.  She devoured every window sill facing the street and chewed the spindles on the deck gate that was trying to keep her in the yard.

After a few weeks of discovering Sadie's condition, we found a behavioral specialist in Pennsylvania, whom we thought could help. We were desperate and I remember feeling so relieved when the doctor told us how severe Sadie's anxiety was. It was just therapeutic to speak with someone who understood what we were dealing with and could explain it. The doctor put her on a mix of medications that would help moderate -- though never totally solve -- her behavioral issues.

Sadie in her devilish prime

Oh, the stories that Sadie has provided over the years (see my earlier post on a runaway stroller escapade):

• One spring, we arrived at my in-law's house in Ohio just as their contractor was putting the finishing touches on a brand new deck. They were so pleased. Within two hours of us getting there, however, someone "left" Sadie outside when some other guests arrived and in a matter of 15 minutes she had devoured ten of the wooden spindles on the brand new deck.  When we continued to visit Ohio over the years, I just brought a checkbook to cover Sadie damage.
  
• The drive to Ohio was also filled with Sadie antics. It wasn't long before we realized we couldn't stop at the usual highway rest stops with all the grass and amenities for dogs. Sadie would go crazy trying to get to meet the other dogs. Not in a sweet, "oh, isn't she cute" way.  More in a "mad dog, Tazmanian devil, frothing at the mouth" way. She did a backflip once trying to slip out of her leash. She also crawled under our minivan once to find a friend, who went yelping back to his owner. She just wanted friends.
  
• When we moved to a new house, we apparently put a bed too close to one of the front windows on the second floor. Sadie had been on "watch," perching on the bed and looking out the window when she saw a neighbor walking her dog. She started barking like crazy, knocked the screen out of the window, and was about half way out the window when our neighbor rang the doorbell to tell my wife her crazy dog was about to jump out the window.
  



"Hello, neighbor."

• On too many occasions to count, Sadie would escape from the house and wander through our suburban neighborhood. She became quite well-known amongst our Butterworth neighbors.  She would gleefully make the rounds visiting neighbor's yards and dogs.  I could rarely catch her because she usually bolted through the woods and into the yards.  I would roam the streets with a piece of cheese and a leash, getting clues from helpful neighborhood kids, or listen for barking dogs that she had surprised with a visit.  She eventually took pity on me and either came home or found me and "let" me catch her. One time during a winter snowstorm, she collapsed in the middle of the road because the rock salt was all in her paws and she could barely walk.  I got to carry my 50 pound pup home in three feet of snow.  She was happy to see me that time.

The gentle protector

Sadie was also quite a gentle protector. She must have been abused in her past because she would bark at any large man who came into the house and watch out for our kids. Sadie knew my father her whole life, but whenever he came in she would incessantly bark at him until he sat down somewhere. Then, she would watch him quietly or until she would walk up to him for some rubbing behind her ears (she loved those rubs).

Ever watchful

In all her years, as crazy as she was, she never bit anyone. And to be honest, after 10 or 15 minutes of her continuous barking at a visitor, you kind of wished she would've just bitten them just to shut her mouth and stop the barking (just kidding).

The nine lives of Sadie

Sadie also was a bit of a medical miracle dog. Besides her severe anxiety issues, she dealt with slipped disks in her neck and back; a heart murmur that disappeared after a year; a strep infection which made her brain swell; ulcerated corneas; pancreatitis, liver problems; inexplicable tremors and shakes (which also came and went for no reason); a banana-yellow, wrapped up tail that she had chewed on; glaucoma, which led to terrible pain, daily medications and blindness in one of her eyes. We should have a wing named after her at the veterinary hospital.

We thought we were going to lose her several times in the past, but she always rebounded. This week,her spirit was still willing, but weakened, and her resilient body finally failed her.

Rest peacefully, my sweet Sadie 

Over the years Sadie's destructive side faded with age and she mellowed quite a bit.  She became more of a sweet old lady. She loved walks and would start each one with youthful energy and enthusiasm, but the walks became a lot shorter the last few years as she aged.

Gus and Sadie

She would still play around with her more youthful mates -- the friends she had been chasing and looking for all those years in the rest stops. Gus, my brother in-law's weimeraner, towered  over Sadie and could've broken her in half with one twist, but they became best pals. This year, even Gus saw how frail she was getting and he somehow intuitively knew how far to push her.  I'll remember their playful wrestling matches
forever.

It's sad to think she won't be here next week when I come home from work.  Even on her most weary days, she would get up and greet me with a tail wag and a happy look (many days she was the only one who was happy to see me). I could always count on Sadie.

I hope she's resting now -- or running after some other dogs up in heaven.  The truth is that tonight, it will be me who feels the sadness and anxiety of my separation from her. Rest peacefully, sweet Sadie.  We will miss you and always love you.

Apple Trees Make Apples

You may be familiar with the the saying "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree," which means children are very similar to their parents. My friend Mark likes to twist that adage and say, "Apple trees make apples." He usually says it to me when I am complaining about one of my kids' less-than-flattering displays of stubbornness (Will), impatience (Tess) or inability to hear someone when they don't care what they are saying (Emma).  Imagine that?

I find myself thinking about "apple trees" more and more as I see Will growing up.

Will is a rule follower just like his dad.  Tell us the rules.  Paint us the box. And we will live with them, no matter how stupid or unfair they might be.  We usually try and negotiate a fair set of rules in advance -- or in Will's case he might evolve the rules to his advantage in the games he makes up. But, if there are rules we can usually live with them.

Chess Rules

Recently, Will has been learning to play chess with me.  Lots of rules to learn there.

He has been very quick to pick up the game.  He clearly thinks a few moves ahead, sees the whole board and is beginning to grasp the implications of each move he makes (today, he was even coaching sister Tess).

The first few times he played he was still getting familiar with how each piece could move differently.  However, one rule he learned right away was that once you let go of your piece, you couldn't move it again -- even if you then realized it was going to be taken.

So one game, he moved his knight three spaces and over one, instead of two spaces and over and he took my queen.  He then quickly let go of the knight.

I told him, "Will, you can't do that.  The knight only moves two spaces and then over one. It should be here."  He knew he was caught, but he also knew the rules and quickly retorted -- "But, Dad, your rule is once you let go of the piece... you can't move it again! So, he can't go back to the other space."  Gotcha, Dad! A rule is a rule.

We discussed the merits of which rule really counted in this case, and Will decided he would no longer play that day if I wasn't going to play by the rules.  

A Rule Is A Rule

At this point in my blog post, my mother is chuckling to herself and thinking you got what you deserve. She is also beginning to recall stories of her own son, who liked rules and had his own strong sense of fairness.

When I was in 8th grade, my teacher was getting very frustrated with our class at the end of one very long day. Spring fever had set in, graduation was on the near horizon, and students weren't as studious or prepared as our teacher would've liked.

She announced that she was going to ask one more set of questions from the chapter, and she expected someone to answer them -- besides Billy Price who had been answering all the previous questions -- or we would all be staying after school.  Well, when no one else could answer her questions (except me whom she wouldn't call on), the last bell rang, and she kept everyone after school -- including me.

Well, that wasn't fair.  She was changing the rules -- and I told her I shouldn't have to stay after school.  The teacher didn't appreciate the merits of my argument this day and sent me to the principal's office. Now, I didn't go to the principal's office very often in my eight years at Our Lady of Mercy, but on this day I knew I was right and I was ready to make my case. Certainly, the principal Sr. Rose Mary would be on my side.  She knew the rules.  She knew what was fair. I knew the answer to every question our teacher had asked, but she wouldn't let me answer them.  Why did I have to stay after school?

My train of logic derailed with Sr. Rose Mary, too, and so I went back to class to serve time with my classmates.  Another loss for the rule follower.

Will the Negotiator

Will has become quite the negotiator of what is fair and isn't fair in his own right.  For the last year, going to Sunday mass has become an unbearable torture for Will, usually ending in tears, crying and slamming doors.  No manner of persuasion or argument can convince him this is a good use of this time.

Most Sundays in the battle of wills (or Wills, in this case), I would win the battle, but lose the war.  He would go to mass crying, tear-stained and seething, and I would also go to mass ticked off -- and not in the most Christian mindset, other than praying to God for more patience.

When his grandmother came to stay with us for a few weeks, she would go to the early mass, and for a couple of Sundays, I took the path of least resistance after arguing with him, and just left him home with Grandma when the rest of us went to mass.  This was not a long-term solution, but it certainly made for more peaceful Sundays.

There is nothing -- other than his mother -- that Will loves more than his electronics -- Nintendo DS, iPad, XBox, etc.  So, one Sunday, I told him, "Look here is the deal, if you don't go to mass like a good boy and without any screaming, then you will not be able to have any electronics for the entire day.  It's one hour at Church or a whole day without any electronics.  That's the rule."  He agreed begrudgingly.

The next weekend I told him the same rule that we had established.  He turned to me and said, "Well, Dad, you don't leave for Church until about 9:30, so I can keep playing my games until then, since I COULD go with you until you leave.  But, I am going to stay home with Grandma, and once you come back from Church I will give up my electronics the rest of the day. I am not going to church."  Gotcha, Dad! A rule is a rule.

And so, the truth is apple trees make apples -- even rotten ones some days.  :)

13 Truths About Fatherhood

It is Father's Day weekend.  A time to visit Macy's for that Oxford shirt and paisley tie combination your father has always wanted.  Or, time to hit Home Depot for the latest set of power tools that your father can drive through his thumb, foot and other appendages.  Or, time to find the last existing bottle of Obsession cologne to replace the one that your father has been wearing since high school. Oh, Father's Day.

Father's Day is also a great time to reflect on those common traits that make us fathers. In today's post, I would like to share 13 truths of fatherhood:

1) Fathers will never be mothers. They will never be the their kids' favorite or the first one they thank in their Tony Award acceptance speech. On the other hand, they will also never be the one who the kids yell at when they can't find their favorite pair of jeans, when they are "starving," or when the wifi is out.

2) It will always be a father's job to clean up the dog shit.  Or, kill the stink bugs... knock the bee's nest out of the garage ... or take the dead mice out of the mouse traps.

3) Dad's music will always suck.  From generation to generation, fathers will always have the crappiest music collection ... whether it is listening to Tony Bennett, Barry Manilow or Bon Jovi ... a Dad's music is never as cool as his kids'.

4) Fathers will never ask for directions or instructions .  They will follow their GPS mindlessly in circles or continue to say, "Oh, don't worry. I know where I am now."  And the IKEA furniture or thousand piece Lego set will always have "extra" pieces to toss away.

5) Every father is the "worst dad ever." At some point, every dad will be a "tyrant" and "hated" by his kids for being "soooo unfair."

6) Every father runs a hotel for kids. "Guests" enjoy concierge service, continental breakfasts, free wifi.  They don't need to turn out lights, pick up clothes, hang up towels, put away their toys, make their beds...  Check-out time is arbitrary -- usually noon on the weekends for teenagers. And new guests are always welcome to fill vacancies for sleepovers.

7) Fathers will always take the kids for ice cream.  They will generously buy little Jimmy his one scoop of vanilla ice cream on a cone, while they devour a 1200 calorie banana split with extra walnuts and chocolate syrup.  "It's for the kids, honey."

Megan Hock Photography -- Pinterest

8) Fathers will always hate their daughters' boyfriends and cry on their daughters' wedding days.  Always.

9) Every dad is a cab driver. A text or a phone call and a father is out the door faster than an Uber driver in Manhattan. Those Saturday morning drives to practices or late drives home from theater rehearsal. That one-on-one time is precious and priceless.

10) Fathers will always snore.  It's a chronic condition, especially after Thanksgiving dinner, or in an easy chair while they are "watching" the latest CSI episode.

11) Fathers will never be as tough as mothers. Mothers carried those kids in their wombs for nine months, doing unthinkable things to their bodies, and went through hell to bring them into the world.  Fathers whine when they get a twisted ankle playing basketball or smash their thumb with a hammer.

12) Fathers will never get sunscreen right.  Whether it is for themselves or their kids, someone will invariably wind up with one thigh that is lobster red, or have the map of the Ukraine imprinted on their back.

13) Every father's cold heart has a melting point.  A tight hug, a cute smile and a sincere, "I love you, Dad" can melt any Dad's heart.

Melt your Dad's heart this weekend.  Say thanks and I love you.

50 years married? That's love. Real love.

We celebrated my parents' 50th wedding anniversary this weekend with family and friends.  Fifty years?  Wow.

Think about it.  Fifty years ago, there were about 3 billion people in the world.  Today, there are more than 7 billion (and my parents only contributed me, my sister and five grandchildren ... slackers).  Fifty years ago, the average cost of a house was $13,000, the average cost of a new car was $2,500 and a gallon of gas was 31 cents.  Today, people build treehouses for $13,000.

Truth is ... you don't last 50 years without being in love ... real love.  Not the Nora Ephron romantic comedy love. Or the Hallmark, tearjerker commercial love. It's the "I've seen you at your best, your worst, your highest, your lowest" kind of love -- and it's beautiful.

Bill and Gerry -- 50 years

Bill and Gerry went to Snyder High School together in Jersey City back in the 1950s.  Dad spent time in the Air Force, traveling to exotic places like Mt. Hebo, Oregon, before having a career at AT&T Bell Labs.  And, Mom served as an executive secretary at a shipping company in Harborside in downtown Jersey City. And after being a stay-at home mom, later in life she was an office manager for a chiropractor and a secretary at St. Peter's College (read about her tales of wisdom in this earlier blog).  

They shared their vows at St. Paul’s Church on May 8, 1965, just a few miles from where we had their party on Saturday.  They have lived in the same Greenville neighborhood their whole lives. First on Danforth Avenue, then two blocks over to Terhune Ave. Then another block over to McAdoo Avenue.  They are not world travelers ... not millionaires ... not quoted in The Sunday New York Times.  But, after 50 years, they know a thing or two about love ... real love.

It's the Love, Real Love...

Their love has grown over 50 years and shown itself in all the little ways.  It's the love that allows you to keep quiet -- and still smile -- when your wife tells you the same story for the hundredth time in 50 years about the time the Pepsi truck lost its parking brake and demolished your car on Fowler Avenue.  It's the love that allows you to keep reading your book when your husband snores so loud in his chair that it could wake the dead -- but he insists he's not tired or ready to go to bed.

It’s the love that perseveres through struggles -- losing your parents and loved ones -- and holds you up through tough days of sickness and surgery.  It's the love that sees you through depressing times and life's unexpected changes.  Love that makes your partner provide the encouragement and nudge that you may need to get back on track.

It's the love that laughs and celebrates with you -- all the births, christenings, birthday parties, graduations, weddings, etc. Your permanent date.  Your other half.  The one who has built a lifetime of precious memories with you.

It’s the love that builds communities.  Nights working the food tent at the Our Lady of Mercy Carnival, cooking sausage and peppers and coming home smelling like grease, so the school could have a little more money.  Calling bingo games in the smoke-filled Maria room, so the kids' school could have a little more money.  Shoveling the snow, picking up a newspaper, sharing flowers or stopping for a chat together with your elderly neighbors on McAdoo Avenue.

It's the love that builds friendships over dinners at Just Sonny’s or Laico's.  Playing Trivial Pursuit with friends in the kitchen to all hours.  And barbecues – oh so many barbecues in that small yard on McAdoo Ave.

It’s the love that builds families.  From the old days in Brick and Toms River, or Norristown and Clifton, building memories for your kids with their aunts, uncles, and grandparents.  It's making the 10-hour drive the last few years to vacation in the Outer Banks of North Carolina so you could build even more memories, now for your grandkids with their aunts, uncles and cousins -- and, of course, Nana and Pop.

We tease them a lot because it's fun, but our family's respect, love and admiration runs deeper than they will ever know.  Love... real love ... isn't found in a Hollywood film or a Huffington post sob story.  On many days, it's found in a two-family home in Jersey City in the hearts and lives of Bill and Gerry.

The Perfect Place to Show off Inept Parenting? The Doctor's Office

If you ever want to feel inept as a parent just take your kids to the doctor's office.  The doctor's interrogation -- I mean questions -- are quick to reveal what a negligent, inadequate and careless parent you are.  Or at least it will make you feel that way.

Can You Repeat the Question?

When I was about nine years old, I was sitting on the living room floor with my dog Buddy watching television.  Buddy was a black Lab and terrier mix.  He must have had a sore ear that night as we watched television because when I rubbed his head, he yelped, turned quickly -- and bit my face.

It wasn't a Cujo, horror film kind of bite.  He snapped at me and because we were sitting so close, one of his sharp teeth went right through the skin under my bottom lip.  Clean through. A nice bloody mess.  You could've stuck a straw through the skin to my teeth.

My father got the unenviable task of taking me to the Greenville Hospital emergency room alone.  Standing at the counter, talking to the nurse who was filling out the paperwork, poor Dad almost got stumped on the third question.  "Patient's name?" she asked.  Got it.  "Address?" OK.  "Birth date?" ... "Uhm," said my Dad as he turned and looked down toward me.  "What's your birthday?"

We got through that and when they told us it could be a long wait (someone came in right before us with 21 stab wounds -- that's a whole lot of stitches), Dad decided my cut didn't look that bad.  We could always come back in the morning.

It's funny the things you remember.  The truth is medical interrogations bring out the worst in any parent.  You feel like you are on trial, facing a cross examination from a mix of the SuperNanny, Judge Judy and Alicia Florrick from The Good Wife.

The Inquisition

Flash forward to my own recent parenting gem in the doctor's office.

I know my kids' birthdays -- or at least I have them readily available in my smart phone so I can avoid such scarring moments for my own kids (just kidding, Dad).

I took Emma and Will to the doctor recently during the height of this winter's germ scourge. Their school friends were dropping like flies, and they soon succumbed to the bug.

As we sat in the exam room, I first had to face the nurse and explain why we were there.

"Will has been home with a sore throat and a bit of fever this week, and Emma woke up today with a 102 fever, glazed eyes and sore throat," I explained.

"Are you really this child's father? 

"Well, her temperature is perfect now.  98.6," said the nurse, brandishing a temporal scanning thermometer that looked like something Dr. Bones used on Star Trek. How could that be? How did she not have a fever?  Betrayed!

Truth was I hadn't even checked her temperature since that morning.  Once her mother decided she could stay home from school, the battle was lost. Why would I take her temperature again.  My orders were simple: "Keep them alive.  Get them to the doctor.  Pick up their medicine."

The doctor came in a bit later and had questions of her own.  No problem. I had this figured out now. I wouldn't look like "inept, know nothing" dad.  I would look like nurturing, "father knows best" dad. I wanted my kids to be strong and independent -- they could answer the questions themselves.

"Go ahead, Will.  Tell the doctor how you're feeling," I said.  Will did a nice job in his sad, soft-spoken voice, describing his sore throat when he swallowed.

I played the supportive dad, helping him out a bit, sharing what I knew about his allergies and asthma.  Whew.  Not bad.

Then came more questions.  This doctor was RELENTLESS!  Is this the Inquisition?

"What did you have for breakfast, Will?"  Oh, crap.

"I had Cheerios and chocolate milk," he said.  Not exactly high-protein eggs, nutritious oatmeal and orange juice, but hey it was better than the cinnamon buns his mother usually gave him.

We got our orders, and the doctor was actually very nice. She spoke to me very slowly when she gave me instructions, wrote it down for me, and didn't give me any stern, disapproving stares.

Full Circle

Bringing things full circle, my dad recently accompanied me on a trip to the Urgent Care with Will. My dad didn't want to go, but my mother made him. Maybe he was scarred by the trip to Greenville Hospital for the dog bite, too, and he didn't want to be questioned about his grandson. He probably doesn't know his birthday either -- and he doesn't have a smart phone.

Will was under the weather.  Poor little guy had strep.  As we sat in the waiting room, my dad fell asleep in the chair before we even saw the doctor. With age comes some privileges. He never had to answer a single question.

The Walking Dead and Parenthood -- It's All About Family

I am a long time fan of the television show Parenthood, the sappy, award-winning drama about the everyday trials, tribulations and tragedies of the Braverman family. Every week, I record the latest episode on my DVR and then sit on my couch and sniffle over all the heartwarming and gut-wrenching moments.

Kristina's recovery from cancer. Hank's and Max's struggles with Asperger's. Joel and Julia's marital problems.  Amber's struggle with growing up and finding her way. Adam's stressed out existence as the one everyone depends on. Zeek's heart trouble and mortality. It all gets to me. I am a sensitive guy.  And my wife kindly reminds me, "It's just a television show. What is wrong with you?"

Parenthood is one show that my wife and I would make time to watch together. I would watch so I could  get all sentimental and think about how I hoped someday I would sit on a porch like Zeek with my daughter and have her tell me I was a "the best" father (sob... sob...). My wife Elena would watch the show so she could sit and laugh at me for acting like an idiot on the "crying couch" with my daughter Emma (also a sniffler).

Now, switch gears. I have recently become addicted to a different kind of show: The Walking Dead. This hit show with a cult-like following portrays people's struggle to survive in the weeks and months after a zombie apocalypse engulfs the world.


Skulls smashed with axes. Gun shots to the head. Herds of mindless zombies walking and devouring live victims in their path. The base reality of survival -- kill or be killed -- in all its raw glory. I sit there on my iPad watching episode after episode, cliffhanger after cliffhanger, addicted to this show.

As I watched the final episode of Parenthood tonight, I got to thinking, "How could the same person -- me -- love these two vastly different shows?" And the truth is it's all about family. The strength we find in family. They ways we define family. The bonds and commitments we have to each other.

It may seem odd, but here are a few of the family lessons, these shows share:

Family always has your back -- In Parenthood, no matter how many fights they might have or how much they might snipe about who was their parents' "favorite," in the end they always made up and stood up for each other. Adam and Crosby disagreed about the future of the business they started together, and things got very ugly. But in the end they were brothers and that trumped being business partners (eventually). In The Walking Dead, they were always willing to put their lives on the line for their group. When T-Dog got bit by a zombie, he didn't hesitate in sacrificing himself to the zombies to help Carol escape. Family means making sacrifices, making apologies and always having each other's back.

Cherish those "moments" -- Don't lose sight of the simple family moments -- the points scored in a basketball game, the excitement over a report card, crazy singing in the car... Or, the beauty of nature you can share -- the sunrise in your yard, the walk on the beach, the snowmen that you build. When Adam successfully bakes a souffle with a student with special needs, and neither of them had ever done it before, that was awesome -- a small victory against the world. When amidst all the death and hopelessness created by the "walkers," little Carl talks about the peaceful looking deer he got close to in the pasture, that is rejuvenating. The fact he could still see beauty in all that despair was cool. Don't let those "moments" pass unnoticed.  Enjoy them and remember them, always.

You don't choose your family -- or maybe you do -- At the end of the day, he's "my blood" is what redneck, arrow-slinging hero Daryl says about his choice to stay with his evil, racist, masochistic brother Merle. At the same time, their group is a band of strangers who bond like a family to survive and would do anything for each other (even chop off a friend's leg with an axe to save him from "turning"). In Parenthood, when Amber sleeps with her cousin Hattie's boyfriend, or when little Sydney screams at her newly adopted brother Victor, you know it will all work out. You're family -- for better, or worse.

I know this all may sound crazy and farfetched, but there has to be some reason I find these two insanely different shows so fascinating and enjoyable. If it's not the common theme of family, then I may have to admit that I am a weepy, emotional sap who cries at Hallmark commercials, while secretly wanting to enjoy the adrenalin rush of decapitating a crazed zombie with an old, rusty bread knife.

The Secrets of Super Heroes -- and Families -- Through the Eyes of a Seven-Year-Old

My little guy Will is a shy 7-year-old boy. He doesn't have whole lot to say to most people. Probably like a lot of little boys.  Words are just an unnecessary disruption between butt smacks, ear flicks and tickle fights.

Will speaks in brief sentences and one-word responses (Hi ... Bye ... Thank you...  Chicken fingers, please... More ketchup... I'm bored... Next question... Can we go home now?).

Light Him Up!

He fidgets and mumbles a bit when strangers try to speak with him (this means anyone who is not his mom, dad or sisters).  But once in a while, someone can hit on a topic that will get him excited. You see this little boy literally light up and give you a glimpse of all the wheels that are churning in that mind of his.

This week, we were in Ohio visiting with family and having to talk to lots of people.  Will was his usually quiet self, floating in and out of rooms of adults and older cousins to build Legos, watch an iPad or play video games by himself.

I had been teasing him all week that Batman wasn't really a superhero, just a rich guy with a bunch of gadgets and no superpowers (see this YouTube video).  Well, we visited with his Aunt Rita and she knows a whole lot about superheroes and comics (could be that she lives in Seattle, or that she owns a movie theater in Ohio. Not too sure how she gathered such knowledge). They compared notes on superheroes I had never even heard of, and he was quite excited to talk to her about all the members of the Justice League, their back stories and what made them superheroes.

Every Superhero Team Needs Key Players

Tonight, I decided to see what else he thought about superheroes and I got quite an education from my little genius.  He is actually quite a philosopher and I think he already has the makings of a doctoral thesis in the works.

According to Will, every good superhero team needs a few key players, and he can describe them and draw examples if you ask. As I listened to him, I was impressed with the characters he named and the traits he identified. The truth is I started to think about how his traits were needed in any good team or family.

• Every superhero teams needs a "strong guy, Dad." The Hulk. Thing. Maybe a Three-headed Dragon (see drawing).  Every family needs that "strong" person, too.  A family protector.  The emotional anchor. The person who can make the sacrifice, take the hits and just keeps on coming at you.
   
  
• He also said every team needs someone who can make things (see drawing). Weapons. Swords.  Someone who can use a frying pan (it's not a shovel or a mushroom, Dad), a drill, or a chainsaw to make important stuff for the team. They might even "have telekinesis, Dad." This might be the family member who cooks the meals, fixes the backed-up toilet, or can assemble an 800-piece Lego set.
  
  
  
   
• Every team also needs someone "who can control people's minds," according to Will (see drawing).  What? They "can make little people like themselves and control them with their hat." I think, in more politically correct terms, this might be someone who can "influence" people to do what they want.  The talker. The peacemaker. The diplomat. Or if you're more sinister, quite possibly, Rush Limbaugh or Taylor Swift.
  
  
  
• And, every superhero team needs a leader.  Captain America. Someone who rallies the troops, sets the plan and leads them into battle.  Someone who has the final word -- and can use arrows and a fire sword to provide clear direction.
  
  
  

• And, this one may surprise you -- but it may be the most insightful point of all.  Every team needs a "weird guy," too.  Someone who is a little different, or maybe funny like stretchy Mr. Fantastic or "the Green Goblin. He is crazy and funny, Dad." Every team and family needs that person who brings something unique to the mix. That laid-back person who sees the humor in life, keeps everyone smiling and loose, and keeps life and battles in perspective. In most White Houses, I think we call that person Vice President.

It was a great conversation that I may visit again with Will.  He has more points of views on animal-based superheroes and super pets, he tells me.

I learned a good deal about superheroes, power and teamwork from my conversation with Will. And, I learned a whole lot about a little boy who may just be my superhero.