What a horse's ass I turned out to be this morning! It seemed like a fairly innocent comment. At the very least, it was one that was meant to be funny, with a touch of father-to-daughter "love you no matter what" thrown in for good measure.
Avery, 12 years young and new to the wonderful world of junior high, was struggling with a fine case of bed head. Her mom was in the bathroom with Avery and they were tag teaming to tame the menacing mane. I just happened to walk by at the very moment Lynda had lassoed Avery's hair. I couldn't help it, it reminded me of a horse's tail, so that's exactly what I blurted out and chuckled as I did. Avery burst into tears and Lynda shot daggers at me with her eyes. I scurried off to empty the dishwasher. I understand that a whole lot more than I do the fairer sex.
Normally, my attempts at such humour are met with rolling eyes or maybe even slight smiles that daughters 1 and 2 attempt to hide from my view. (Avery has a 14 year old sister, Kendall.) God forbid that either of my offspring should ever have to admit that their father, whom they've come to call "Didi", actually made them laugh out loud.....I guess to be hip I should use LOL or ROTFL.
Keeping up with the tween and teen Jones's is proving to be too much for my middle aged (and then some) self. I realized this a few months ago. As a dad who is heavily involved in his kids' lives as a sports coach, chef/fast order cook, and taxi driver of the teen horde to and from the mall, I believed I was the bee's knees, the #1 Dad, No doubt I had earned the prestigious label of "cool dad". My bladder burst when my girls informed me that, in their world, cool was actually an acronym that stood for Constipated-Overrated-Outdated-Loser. They ROTFL! I cried on the inside.
As for her hair, Avery won the battle by employing some sort of double bun combination. She looked cute as a button. It turns out it wasn't really her hair that made her upset and that it was other things. I didn't pry. I'm learning.
I drove Avery and Kendall to school but we arrived late. I asked if they wanted me to come to the office with them to explain to the staff why they were late. "No", blurted Kendall, "that's cool." Off they went to join the hundreds of other,s all born since the new millennium. What do they know about the real world? Meanwhile, I'm off to Starbucks to write my blog, have a bran muffin, and a Tall Dark Roast. Hmmmm???? I think the kids could be right, I just may be one cool dad after all!
Friday, September 26, 2014
Monday, May 19, 2014
When Kids Cry....I'm Likely Close-by
So I took a swimming trophy back from a little 10 year old girl at a recent meet! I didn't mean to give it to her in the first place. I had mistakenly thought that she had done just that (as in finished in first place). Surely she didn't feel too embarrassed? After all, there were only a few hundred people in the stands watching all of this. She's young, she'll get over it. I say that in hope, but I know if it happened to me that I probably wouldn't.
And why the gigantic alligator tears from the grade 5 kid at last week's chess tournament? Surely it wasn't because I chose to use "rock-paper-scissors" to eliminate either him or his opponent after several games lead to neither claiming victory. Stalemate was not an option. If I hadn't resorted to a more expedient means of deciding a victor then we'd still be in the school gym waiting for one to finally checkmate the other and I'd be the one crying. Was it fair? Probably not. Would I have felt the same as that little boy and cried a river? You bet.
I fancied myself a pretty good hockey coach, always believing I had the best interest of the kids at heart. My last coaching stint left a lasting impression on me and taught me that my best effort may not be good enough. Sure, most of the boys had a great year but there was one who slipped through the cracks. I had no idea that he was so unhappy and that he considered it to be his "worst year ever". Once again, my actions precipitated the opening of the floodgates. Those tears drowned whatever desire I may have had to continue coaching.
Hockey, chess, swimming.....and I'm only scratching the surface on just how good I am at making kids cry. I've coached basketball and softball too. Maybe there's a message there somewhere?
My own family is not exempt from Jim - The Tear Jerker! On any given Sunday, my brother Bill, his wife, and three young children come over for a family gathering so we can all scoff down whatever feast (must include gravy) mom has prepared. Now his kids are age 6 and younger, so one never knows what mood and manner each will be bringing with them. Inevitably, I (Uncle Jim) will swing one around too fast, bop one little head off another, or scare the daylights out of one or all three because I happened to shout too loudly at my older brother Gord or one of the dogs. You guessed it, tears begin to stream from my nieces or nephew. They often continue unabated until Grammie comes to the rescue with visual distraction, also known as a homemade chocolate chip cookie.
Perhaps this tendency to induce tears comes naturally to me. As a kid I did more than my fair share of shedding. There were sports teams I didn't make, awards I didn't win, got beat up, broke bones, bitten by dogs, stung by bees, bike accidents, two brothers and a sister to learn to live with, parents, and the mind and body altering teenage years. No wonder I balled so much! No wonder mom made such good chocolate chip cookies. They were her tasty, edible pacifiers.
Perhaps the wisest thing I have ever did was to move back to Newfoundland in 2004 after being away for fifteen years. It's no coincidence that this move occurred not long after Lynda and I had children of our own. It was also no accident that our home construction plans included a living area for Grammie. My children, Kendall and Avery, are great kids and were phenomenal babies. But even phenoms cry and with me as their dad they were guaranteed to do more than their share.
Grammie's cookies have saved the day for us on numerous occasions. They put a stop to the waling and balling that came naturally with being so young, as well as for those instances when I may have done something to accidentally induce the tears. There have been a few times over the years when the cookies failed to do their magic. Perhaps I shouldn't totally blame Grammie's baking abilities. I may have had something to do with why her secret recipe was not able to hold back the tears of my children (her very precious grandchildren).
How was I to know that little kids would get upset when their dad took back their cookies and ate them? I figured, being not long past the rug-rat stage, that they'd get over it. Also, they were so young that I believed it was likely they'd never remember that I re-gifted the cookies anyhow. Turns out I forgot one important thing - Grammie remembers. Since those days of my gluttony, all chocolate chip cookies are now taken straight from her oven, packaged and delivered to Kendall and Avery for their sole consumption. None for me, ever. I could just cry!
And why the gigantic alligator tears from the grade 5 kid at last week's chess tournament? Surely it wasn't because I chose to use "rock-paper-scissors" to eliminate either him or his opponent after several games lead to neither claiming victory. Stalemate was not an option. If I hadn't resorted to a more expedient means of deciding a victor then we'd still be in the school gym waiting for one to finally checkmate the other and I'd be the one crying. Was it fair? Probably not. Would I have felt the same as that little boy and cried a river? You bet.
I fancied myself a pretty good hockey coach, always believing I had the best interest of the kids at heart. My last coaching stint left a lasting impression on me and taught me that my best effort may not be good enough. Sure, most of the boys had a great year but there was one who slipped through the cracks. I had no idea that he was so unhappy and that he considered it to be his "worst year ever". Once again, my actions precipitated the opening of the floodgates. Those tears drowned whatever desire I may have had to continue coaching.
Hockey, chess, swimming.....and I'm only scratching the surface on just how good I am at making kids cry. I've coached basketball and softball too. Maybe there's a message there somewhere?
My own family is not exempt from Jim - The Tear Jerker! On any given Sunday, my brother Bill, his wife, and three young children come over for a family gathering so we can all scoff down whatever feast (must include gravy) mom has prepared. Now his kids are age 6 and younger, so one never knows what mood and manner each will be bringing with them. Inevitably, I (Uncle Jim) will swing one around too fast, bop one little head off another, or scare the daylights out of one or all three because I happened to shout too loudly at my older brother Gord or one of the dogs. You guessed it, tears begin to stream from my nieces or nephew. They often continue unabated until Grammie comes to the rescue with visual distraction, also known as a homemade chocolate chip cookie.
Perhaps this tendency to induce tears comes naturally to me. As a kid I did more than my fair share of shedding. There were sports teams I didn't make, awards I didn't win, got beat up, broke bones, bitten by dogs, stung by bees, bike accidents, two brothers and a sister to learn to live with, parents, and the mind and body altering teenage years. No wonder I balled so much! No wonder mom made such good chocolate chip cookies. They were her tasty, edible pacifiers.
Perhaps the wisest thing I have ever did was to move back to Newfoundland in 2004 after being away for fifteen years. It's no coincidence that this move occurred not long after Lynda and I had children of our own. It was also no accident that our home construction plans included a living area for Grammie. My children, Kendall and Avery, are great kids and were phenomenal babies. But even phenoms cry and with me as their dad they were guaranteed to do more than their share.
Grammie's cookies have saved the day for us on numerous occasions. They put a stop to the waling and balling that came naturally with being so young, as well as for those instances when I may have done something to accidentally induce the tears. There have been a few times over the years when the cookies failed to do their magic. Perhaps I shouldn't totally blame Grammie's baking abilities. I may have had something to do with why her secret recipe was not able to hold back the tears of my children (her very precious grandchildren).
How was I to know that little kids would get upset when their dad took back their cookies and ate them? I figured, being not long past the rug-rat stage, that they'd get over it. Also, they were so young that I believed it was likely they'd never remember that I re-gifted the cookies anyhow. Turns out I forgot one important thing - Grammie remembers. Since those days of my gluttony, all chocolate chip cookies are now taken straight from her oven, packaged and delivered to Kendall and Avery for their sole consumption. None for me, ever. I could just cry!
Wednesday, April 09, 2014
Southern Charm - Floridian Tales
I am presently in Florida. No, I am not telling you I am half a continent away so that any would-be B&E artists amongst you can violate the sanctity of my home. I respect my readers too much to even think that. Also, I recruited the kid from Home Alone to house sit (the one from the first two movies, as he was definitely more creative and vicious than those in the umpteenth sequels.
I share my geo-location only because it is relevant to the telling of this story. Even more relevant is the company I am keeping. Of course Lynda, Kendall and Avery are here, but joining us on this adventure are: my mom (Grammie); my mom-in-law (Nanny); and Lynda's brother, Adam West (Batman).
My stories almost always result from the things people do or say. That is what I find most compelling. People never fail to disappoint. They always provide excellent material. You just have to watch and listen. Of course, it doesn't hurt to stir the pot sometimes either, just to make the story in waiting that much more tasty, albeit not necessarily more tasteful. I digress. Here are a couple of incidents from early in our vacation, compliments of my daughter Kendall and Grammie. I have labelled them as Funny and Not So Funny, but whether they are is ultimately up to you. I am but the messenger.
Funny
All seven of us were on the can't miss ride, It's a Small World. I think it looked exactly the same as when I first came to Disney in 1972. Surely the words to that song become implanted in everyone who rides in those boats on rails and to all who become entranced by the vivid colours and the global, heart warming theme of the experience. Everyone in our boat, as well as those folks nearby, were all quiet, perhaps even reflective. That was when the silence was broken by my 13 year old daughter. She loudly exclaimed, with partial disgust and iPhone in hand, "Hey! There's no WiFi down here.". She has a point, it is supposed to be a small world after all.
Not So Funny
Typhoon Lagoon took on No Holds Barred Grammie and won the day. Determined to do whatever rides her granddaughters do, and do them better, Grammie donned her not-so-bikini after a six year absence from all things swimming. She warmed up well. The Swirling Beast was no match for her tenacity. In retrospect, riding on top of an inflatable rubber life raft perhaps should not be considered such a mean feat.
All seven of us were on the can't miss ride, It's a Small World. I think it looked exactly the same as when I first came to Disney in 1972. Surely the words to that song become implanted in everyone who rides in those boats on rails and to all who become entranced by the vivid colours and the global, heart warming theme of the experience. Everyone in our boat, as well as those folks nearby, were all quiet, perhaps even reflective. That was when the silence was broken by my 13 year old daughter. She loudly exclaimed, with partial disgust and iPhone in hand, "Hey! There's no WiFi down here.". She has a point, it is supposed to be a small world after all.
Not So Funny
Typhoon Lagoon took on No Holds Barred Grammie and won the day. Determined to do whatever rides her granddaughters do, and do them better, Grammie donned her not-so-bikini after a six year absence from all things swimming. She warmed up well. The Swirling Beast was no match for her tenacity. In retrospect, riding on top of an inflatable rubber life raft perhaps should not be considered such a mean feat.
With confidence assured, Grammie
followed along as we ascended the many steps to the top of the next adventure -
a virtual free fall down a tube of white water.
No rubber rafts this time.
Grammie was equipped only with her wits and her millennium era swim
suit. I made sure to precede Grammie so
I would be able to capture the spectacle of her splashdown. Instead, what I saw was my 75 year old mother
arriving at the splash pool at the end of the "ride" and remaining submerged and
remaining submerged and.....
Grammie reminded me of Jack, as he followed the Titantic to the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean,
arms waving, no panic to be seen, just acceptance. I watched, waiting for her to standup - the
pool was about 30 inches deep, but she didn't, and she didn't and she
didn't. My mom was drowning!
As Batman looked on, I jumped in front of the lifeguard, who was
not doing that job at that particular moment, and pulled my mom from the not so icy
depths. She was unflappable. Grammie said she thought it was all just part
of the ride, although she said she couldn't have held her breath any
longer. There's no way Grammie would
ever surrender to fear or a near death experience. For her, it was, "What ride are we doing
next?". Unflappable! I put my glasses back on, tucked my cape back into my Speedo, checked in my superego, and returned to being just another nameless face in the crowd.
If there's a lesson here, it is that Grammie needs to learn, that when submerged, to be a bit more "flappable". At least a little bit so that the lifeguard will notice. We don't want to lose the one and only Grammie. A world without Grammie would be a too small world after all.
The End
About the Author
Jim continues to vacation in Florida, where there is no snow. Earlier today he received a call from his lawyer. Apparently, he is being sued by both the propane delivery guy and the NL Power meter reader. Each sustained significant injuries while approaching the Nixon house over the previous two days. The perpetrator is reported to be a 30 something year old male, who says his name is Kevin McAllister. The police [presently have my house surrounded and are trying to get him to come out. The cops say they may use water cannons, but it's a last resort because it has a history of not working. (No kidding! Can you say - Leo Crockwell?) My lawyer tells me that everything will be okay, after all, Kevin is Home Alone.
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