On the night before Christmas we bundled our kids in some warm mittens, jackets and scarves. And we took them out into the chilly dark air with fresh bread for some neighbors of ours. It was a beautiful time, in spite of the weather, Which bit at our noses and turned cheeks into leather. But we joyfully carried our humble warm loaves To seven sweet families that live next to our home. Mr. Dan that helped with our shed roof and lawn, And lonely Miss Debbie that talks till we yawn, The new family who moved the previous day to the house with poor drainage that leaks every May. But the most magic of all were the final few gifts That were chosen specifically…
A father's struggle to capture his children's brief moment of youth in words and pictures
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I woke up this morning to a little girl poking at my face with her index finger. I pushed her hand away in the dimness and reached around to turn on a lamp. “Clara. Stop. What in the world are you doing?” She stood over me with a blank expression. “I saw on The Magic School Bus that people’s faces are covered in corn flakes. Did you know that?” “What? That’s insane. What in the world are you talking about?” I glanced around the room and fumbled for my phone to see what time it was. “No. It’s true Dad.” She continued, becoming more and more animated. “I saw it. The kids climbed around on them. They protect you from germs.” I blinked at…
Somewhere about 25 minutes into “It’s A Wonderful Life” Clara turned to me and politely asked, “When are the boy’s parents going to leave him home alone?”
I drew in a breath and she turned with a wink, “Your new sweater is here, and I hope you like pink!” Then she dashed up the chimney, with an echoing cheer, “Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good year!”
There is a magical age somewhere between the stages of infant and toddler where a child’s brain is wonderfully pliable. Their mind has found ways to control the basic motor functions of the arms, legs, and mouth, but it lacks the complexity to know when and how to control these functions properly. This means they are quite vulnerable to hackers which can easily bypass the unit’s command systems and override the controls without triggering any security mechanisms or having to explain their way around toddler firewalls. The hackers can simply log into the main interface and issue commands directly. It’s really quite simple. I have created the following “How To…” guide for any amateur parents out there that might want to dabble with me…
The young detective strode confidently into the hallway holding a small notepad and a mechanical pencil. She saw me sitting on the floor where I had recently finished adjusting her sister’s pants. Wrestling with the little girl had worn me out to the point that I had yet to find the strength to stand up again. “Ah. Hello Sir!” the new arrival said as she bent over me. “Do you have a mystery you would like me to solve?” I leaned my head back against the wall and glanced around with my eyes while she tapped on her tablet with her pencil. “Okay, Clara.” I said finally deciding to play along. “Yes. I would like to know about this wadded up ball of packaging…
“Here. Touch this.” I opened my eyes to see a set of blurry fingers thrust at my nose. I flinched into the crack in the couch where I was laying. “Lydia! Hold on. Stop. Get your fingers out of my face please.” There was a brief struggle. A flailing of arms in the dark. Lydia backed away, but continued. “Touch it!” She said again. “Touch it and you will be clean all over!” I blinked around the room. Had I fallen asleep and woken up in some kind of weird prophetic vision? Was this the throne room of God, because it really just looked like my living room. “Touch it and be clean, Daddy!” She lunged at me again, but I held her at…
I was still a teenager when I accidentally grew a mustache. I was in my first semester of college, living in the dorms, scraping my life out of the bottom of a tin soup can. Out of pure neglect, I went a week or two without shaving and the next thing I knew I had a mustache. I surprised myself one day when I finally looked in a mirror. I had become a monster. I was a post apocalyptic scavenger of the wastes. A ragged outlaw struggling to survive. I decided to keep it. It just made sense. At the time I was trying to hide from the world. I wanted to watch it from a safe distance like a spy sent to observe…
Clara is very concerned about her dance recital on Friday evening. It is becoming a constant source of anxiety for her. The least of her concerns are the usual fears of stage fright and the inability to do the dance steps she has been practicing in class (which seem to consist mainly of stepping forward and backward on cue without looking at her teacher.) No, her main trepidation is in her inability to choose who she is going to point at. Apparently, there is a time in the program when the children are going to be asked to point at someone in the audience that is special to them. And the poor little girl doesn’t know if she should point at me or mom,…
Nothing can really prepare you for the depth and suddenness of a child’s mind. It’s like living in a dunk tank, sitting on a narrow shelf that can disappear at any moment. One second your driving circles around the Walmart parking lot waiting for your wife on a lazy Sunday afternoon, and then the next, you are an Alka-Seltzer pill bubbling at the bottom of a lukewarm glass of water. Such is the life of a father. I thought they were all sleeping in the back seat when I rounded the corner for the fifth time in my continual circuit around the building. A crowd of shoppers crossed in front of us, coats and hats pulled tight as a gust of wind streaked across…
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