My Son's Reality Show

Young love sounds as confusing as old love. Nine-year old Nick gave me a primer on this last night as he recounted in hushed tones the amorous adventures of his fellow travellers in the fourth grade. It turns out that Max is in love with Miranda, Alexa has her eye on Tommy, and while Levi likes Annabelle, he does not "like like" her and hence she is fair game for the intentions of Blake. At least, that's how I recall the conversation twenty-four hours later. Of course, all names have been changed to protect the young and innocent.

As an adult it's easy to look back on your childhood as a simpler time in life. Perhaps it was a simpler time but that doesn't mean it was without complexity. I look at Nick's homework some nights and find myself truly baffled. I can answer the math questions, but the lessons of how to arrive at one sum or another have vanished. On the social scene, he's learning how to be an individual, and how to "fit in" all at the same time. I stuttered through phone calls with girls until my college years. He's fielding those same phone calls like a Lothario. I try to remember to pick my battles, whether it's on the length of his hair or the favorite jeans that are now more holes than fabric. Somewhere (the Upper West Side of Manhattan) my parents are chuckling about generational revenge.

Our kids will follow their own path in life. They'll make mistakes, some of the ones we made and are making today, and some brand new mistakes they can truly call their own. As complex as his life is today, Nick will trade 2010's complications for those of 2030 and beyond. I'll try to protect him from the inevitable hurts, and hope he learns from his forays into the complex world of reality.

What's Your Comfort Food?

I can feel the lump in my stomach. Hours after an invigorating workout with weights and cardio combined, I've just submarined my fitness efforts with a two-hotdog lunch. The warm buns, mustard (and ketchup) remind me of skipping school for the cheap seats and baseball's opening day, making sure to evade my father who was sitting in the box seats! Cold and cloudy days like today remind me of growing up in Western New York. According to NOAA, Denver (my home today) averages nearly seven of every ten days with sunshine. Rochester, where I grew up, has one sunny day for every one with clouds, 51% days with sunshine to be exact.

I'm not blaming the hotdogs on my upbringing, convenient though that would be. But that lump got me thinking about our "comfort" foods. Are they regional? Do they help us make a link (hotdogs, "link", get it?) to our childhood? Do we choose them, or do they choose us? Mine are the aforementioned frankfurters, along with mac 'n' cheese, chocolate ice cream and my mother's pot roast. Had I chosen them, I like to think I would have chosen more wisely. Broccoli anyone?

I hope my kids will be comforted by many things as they grow older. Perhaps the scent of a cologne, or their mom's homemade burritos. With a nod to the 21st century, it might be the nearly imperceptible hum of their Nintendo toys or laptop. As odd as it sounds, one of the most comforting reminders in my life is the smell of a slightly mildewed garage. That takes me back to my maternal grandparents and their home in Muncie, Indiana. Once in awhile, that same smell visits in our own garage. Some 40 years later and I'm right back playing in the front yard with my little plastic toy soldiers.

The things that comfort us probably choose us, not the other way around. Memories, like hotdogs, are probably best when they are mixed infrequently with our present, and our future.

As Ricky said to Lucy, we Dads "Got a lotta 'splainin to do!"

Between Tiger Woods and his fooling around and Mark McGwire with his steroid usage admissions, my kids are asking some pretty tough questions. How do you explain to an 8-year old what infidelity is? Or why a professional athlete chooses to cheat? With the latter, it's been tougher to explain his media blitz "explanation parade" than it has to explain why he wanted bigger muscles.

All this reminds me of my favorite quote about truth and self-deception. I wish I recalled the source, but the essence is "Character is who you are when no-one is watching." Don't you love the simplicity of that? Whether we choose to cheat on our spouse or flick a cigarette butt out the car window, we exercise what my son Chris refers to as "free will."

An athlete may decide to blame the era in which he played, or the pressure of performing in front of millions of fans. In the end (pun intended) he only has himself to blame for injecting performance-enhancing drugs. I have no doubt that Tiger Woods feels tremendous pressure on and off the golf course, but we've learned more about his character in the last month than from any putt he's ever made.

Whether you're in the middle of a crowded arena or alone in the car with your thoughts, you are constantly acting on your free will. The character you display is truly the measure of the man you are.

I feel like the groundhog on February 2nd. All I want to do is pop my head out of my den to see if the loud noises and fireworks are over. Then some stranger comes along and yanks me out, naked, for all the world to see.

Okay, leaving the holidays behind and getting back into a routine isn't quite as startling as Groundhog Day must be for Punksatawny Phil. Still, my first full day of work in the New Year felt like "back to reality" day. I noticed this with my sons as well. Both boys return from their school day lately with a glazed look in their eyes, nodding off into their dinner and barely staying awake until bedtime.

When the days are short, and cold, as they are here in Denver, it's easy to fall into hibernation mode. All you want to do is make it from sunrise to sunset, and then back to bed. As a Dad, the challenge is to keep yourself from turning into a sleep-addled zombie. Now is the time to throw your habits a curveball. Here are three ideas:

1. Have the kids make dinner for you. As the restaurant chain slogan goes, "no rules, just right". See what they come up with!

2. Change your workouts. Lift weights? Take an aerobics class! Run in the mornings? Go the local rec center and see how many laps you can swim.

3. Complete a genuine act of self-less gratitude for your spouse or partner. A card tucked under their pillow, flowers, a gift certificate or a simple hug and sincere "I love you" will do wonders for them and for you.

Think of it this way. In the darkest days of winter here in the Northern Hemisphere, our friends in the south are sweating out the dog days of summer. Making small changes in your behavior and being alert to the needs of others gets you focused on something besides yourself.

Just Joking Around

We hosted one of Chris' friends for a sleep-over recently. One of the beauties (and curses) of winter break is that every day becomes a Saturday night. "John" arrived at about 6:30pm, with pizza and cherry pie fueling the pre-Tween festivities. Without my darling wife Terry here (off on a trip to her folks' in New Mexico) I was left to fend for myself. So I did what any well-adjusted parent would do. I locked myself in the bedroom and watched a Humphrey Bogart movie.

My take on sleep-overs is that unless there is blood seeping under a door, or screams in the middle of the night, the kids can take care of themselves. After a peaceful night, I fixed chocolate chip pancakes for the boys and John's dad arrived (on a white stallion if I'm not mistaken) around 10:30am and we sent them on their way.

What I've realized lately is that as complex as toys and video games can be, my sons can be amused and enthralled by the simplest things. A conversation about bodily functions can lead to non-stop giggles for an hour. A game of "Go Fish" makes us all giddy. Knock-knock jokes with non-sensical punch lines reach from the early morning into the night.

One difference between the current generation of parents and parents of the past, is that today we seem to want to plan every excursion, or fill every minutes of our kids' time with swim and guitar lessons. Scheduling in un-structured time to enjoy each other's company might help our children understand that the simplest pleasures lead to the most lasting rewards.

I Never Had a Christmas Tree

Okay, so technically that's not true. Despite our Jewish roots, I do recall badgering my Mom and Dad into buying a Christmas tree one year. This was probably 1967 or 1968, somewhere in that turbulent decade (I blame all of my pre-teen idiosyncracies on the Summer of Love). Growing up in a predominantly Christian city, with holiday advertising and media all around, it was frankly hard to understand why we should be any different than the families of all my friends.

One of things I'm proudest of as a father is that my kids are growing up with a strong sense of who they are. My wife is Mexican/Catholic, I am Jewish/French/Polish/German/Russian. Our two sons know that they represent a melding of cultures and beliefs. I'm amazed at how easily they slip from culture to culture. One moment we're lighting Hannukah candles, the next we're sitting in church as communion is taken. I've been the beneficiary of many lectures from the booster seats in the back of the car on God and spirituality, each one delivered with the passion of true faith.

How we teach our children to be proud of their heritage is paramount to how they define themselves. Where previous generations of parents may have found subjects like this "taboo" or too "complicated" to talk about, 21st century parents have the opportunity to challenge kids intellectually. The more I discuss real-life issues with my sons, whether it's politics or the dalliances of Tiger Woods, the more I realize that my kids are growing up fully capable of making decisions about values for themselves.

Since we embrace all the cultures of our family heritage, we celebrate both Hannukah and Christmas. It's nice to have a tree again!

The Bongo Beat of Learning

I've read that kids who are involved in music show an increased ability to concentrate on their studies. My two siblings are great examples of this correlation; I couldn't be prouder of their accomplishments! My sister Julie played the cello for many years and later graduated with honors from Harvard Law School. My brother Tom has a Masters from the University of Washington in Chinese studies, he played the cello as well. More important than their academic achievements however, they along with their spouses actively encourage their kid's' musical ambitions. As an aside, I lasted in piano lessons for six months.

Yes, that's a limited focus group, but as our sons have expressed interest in playing instruments, we've supported their passion wholeheartedly. Nick can pick his way through "Smoke On The Water" on the guitar, and Chris will drum anything that's not moving. Including my belly during a recent Sunday afternoon snooze. Still, with expensive lessons and equipment, their favorite instrument to play is a worn and ancient bongo drum. Not even bongo "drums" because it's just one bongo. Or drum.

I've written about the need to feed your children's passions before, even when those passions are fleeting. It's important for kids to experience the excitment of trying something new. Just as important, it's vital for them to understand that exceptional talent in music, or in anything, comes when they match their passion with practice.

Perhaps there is a bongo drum in your house right now. Or a squeaky violin. Or a recorder that can't manage low notes but hits the high notes with alarming frequency. Smile when your kids want to show off their talents, and listen carefully for the sounds of their passion and purpose in life. They're not trying to make it at Carnegie Hall, they're just trying to secure their place in your heart.