Life & Times of a New Dad

The Kid Is Too Good

It figures that on the heels of writing a blog about letting kids be kids – the parenting world is all a rage about a nine-year old who is acting anything but his age. Turns out the kid can throw 40-mile-per-hour strikes in a youth baseball league that is used to pitches much, much, much slower. In an effort to level the playing fields (literally), the league has taken most unusual action and has banned the kid from pitching.

So sad. The kid is great. The kid has huge potential. And, a bunch of parents have decided to respond by banning him from playing. One team went so far as to forfeit their game when the kid took the mound. The other teams simply put down their gloves and bats and walked off the field. What kind of lesson is this?

Before we go there, however, let me point out that according to the story, the kid is a great pitcher. He’s not wild. No players have been hit by any of his fastballs. So, check the “dangerous” arguments at the door. So, I ask again, what kind of lesson is this?

Seems to me the lesson being taught is, “Oh, we can’t win if we play against this kid, so we’re going to quit and walk off the field.” Seems to me that there is a HUGE opportunity to teach much better lessons.

I remember when I was a kid playing Little League. I was a great fielder, but I basically sucked with the bat. So, anytime I faced one pitcher in particular, I just put the bat on my shoulder and let the balls fly by: Strike one. Strike two. Strike three. Sit down. One time, as I approached the plate, my dad said, “Remember, Todd, you can’t hit it if you don’t swing.”

A funny thing happened. I struck out on three pitches. But, I swung at all three of them. I tried to hit the ball. I even fouled one off. Striking out never felt so good. Unfortunately for a full league of players, they’ll never have a chance to learn how to strike out. Instead, they are all being taught that “when the going gets tough, make sure you get rid of the tough and keep the going nice and easy.” Heaven forbid our kids strike out.

In a way, I guess there is some relevance to the post I put up yesterday. The very same parents who often spend all their time bragging about their kids, are often the same ones who probably wouldn’t want their Little Billy to strike out.

And what about the poor kid who happens to have a unique skill? What’s his lesson in all of this? If you try your best and you’re really good at something – you’ll be thrown out of the league. I’m thinking that nine-year old feels pretty badly at a time when he should feel really great. His parents are seeking legal advice. As parents, there are so many times when we just can’t get out of our own ways.

This is just the most recent time that parents have gotten competitiveness thing all messed up. There was the league that canceled its All-Star game, as the Mayor of the town felt such teams made the non-All-Stars feel badly about themselves. Let kids learn. They bounce back.

I’m not a hyper-competitive person. As a kid, I was one of the “how you play the game” kinda players. I was mad if we lost a big game, but it wouldn’t last. And, my dad wasn’t the crazy parent screaming from the stands. He just wanted me to try. Didn’t matter that I missed. What mattered was that I took my shot.

That’s what these kids deserve.

Who are we making feel better - our kids or ourselves?

Northern California is famous for a few things. We’ve got Lombard Street, Wine Country, famously liberal politics (for the most part) and Joe Montana. We’ve got beaches, forests, great skiing and views for days. There’s enough amazing stuff to make the cost of living seem reasonable (almost). But, what we are also known for – especially in the area where we live – is crazy parents who are convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that their kids are all heads and shoulders above any others. And, while we all think our own kids are great, what’s with the incredible fascination to make our kids…adults?

There was an article in the local community magazine about a couple who started a fantastic cause to help teach kids about Global Warming. The article detailed how they got started and the effect the program has had in elementary schools, etc. The usual stuff. But the article also included quotes from second and third graders that were clearly not from the mouths of such babes. These quotes had clearly been cleaned up and enhanced for the magazine (heaven forbid our kids sound like kids, after all).

“I love Cool the Earth. It made me want to get involved. Once I heard the information, I said, “Mom, I want to help the earth by changing the light bulbs and not wasting water.”

I just can’t imagine a kid saying, “…once I heard the information,” or “…it made me want to get involved.” Maybe I’m wrong, but those sorts of statements just seem adult. Not so kid-like. I don’t know, maybe the kid is already media trained. Perhaps that’s just one of the subjects being taught in today’s elementary school.

I know it’s probably not such a big deal to doctor a kid’s quote to make the both the kids and story sound better. (With such quotes it’s easier to say, “Look how important our cause is and just look how dramatically our kids are being affected.”) My point is that I simple don’t understand the somewhat pathological need to make sure everyone thinks our kids are the best, brightest, smartest, most athletic, or now…most environmentally aware children on the planet.

K-Man is pretty smart. K-Man is fairly athletic. He’s tremendously coordinated, but he’s not the smartest, most athletic or even most coordinated. I’m fairly realistic about that. That’s not to say I won’t help him go after all of his dreams. But, I can be honest about what he can and can’t do. And, I’m pretty sure that when he’s in third grade, he won’t be giving media soundbites worthy of the most seasoned politicians.

It’s no secret that parents brag about their kids. It’s no secret that we’re all guilty of outlandish statements and hyperbole when describing our offspring. I just feel like it’s an unhealthy epidemic to brag and brag and brag. I feel like it puts unfair expectations on the little monsters. They can’t possibly measure up to they hype that most parents are creating for their kids.

When I see a kid doing something amazing, I’m the first to say, “Wow. K-Man wouldn’t do that – he’d just be too freaked.” I’m not suggesting that he’ll never be able to do the feat at hand, just not now. It doesn’t make him any less special, or any less perfect to me. But, I’m so very tired of conversations that go like this,”

“How’s K-Man doing? What’s he up to?”
“Oh, the usual. Digging the fire trucks and playing his guitar.”
“Guitar? You should see Billy play his guitar. He’s already being scouted by Carlos Santana to sit in on his next recording session.”
“Isn’t Billy three-years old like K-Man?”
“Yes, but he’s very advanced for his age. He speaks seven languages, including Swahili…”

And so on. Let the kids be kids. The bragging thing is getting out of control.

So Sad

Although I’m not always successful, I do try not to be (overly) judgmental of other parents and their parenting styles/choices. There is, after all, a good chance that half the time (or more?) that I’m ragging on some parent for something they did (or didn’t do), that I’ve been guilty of the very same “infraction.” For every time I’ve snickered about a parent engrossed in a phone call instead of watching their kid, I’ve probably done the same. We just don’t know all the details. We just don’t know who is on that phone call. As a result, it’s not really fair to judge. (Among a host of other reasons.) That being said…

I was at dinner tonight with a client in LA (yes, another business trip, though this one was only for the day, which is nice). A couple of tables away from us sat a dad and his 14,15 or 16-year old son. A fairly typical scene. At least it was until the father pulled out his iPod. For the next hour, father and son sat in absolute silence. The son doodled on the butcher paper “table cloth” and the father listened to his whatever. (For my guess, I’m thinking book on tape.)

The whole situation made me so sad. But, it enraged my client. She wanted to go talk to the dad and ask him what the hell he was doing! Didn’t he realize he was sitting with his SON?!? Didn’t he realize the damage he was doing to this poor kid? She wanted to basically slap him silly and wake him up to the amazing opportunity that he was blowing in his silence.

And, while I agreed with her, I also couldn’t help but wonder if there were some deeper story. I mean it did appear as if the son was just as bored with dad as dad was with son. (No doubt a defense to what he knew was coming – nothing.) The kid just kept his head down and buried in whatever artwork he was doing. Maybe they had only recently had a big falling out. Maybe they had suffered some kind of tragedy that they hadn’t yet come to grips with. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

Or…Maybe my client was right and this dad was just a total a-hole.

He was sporting the most heinous hat I’ve ever seen. It wasn’t really a cowboy hat or a baseball hat. Sort of something in between. Some kind of collapsible safari with a drawstring. It was awful. So, while that alone might make him into some kind of weird guy – the fact that he was ignoring his son only made him worse.

Obviously, my client was upset, as she was thinking about her son, who is just a few months younger than K-Man. And, I was sad because I was thinking about K. I just didn’t understand how any dad could get to this point with his son. I had a flash forward and thought about K and I out at dinner – is this how it was going to be? No, of course not. That could never happen. We’ll always have the same kind of special bond that we have today. This, at least, is what I told myself.

Before this dinner I was determined to keep my relationship with K-Man as warm, loving and mutually caring. Now, perhaps I’m even more determined to do so. I don’t know what caused this father and son to break down so tragically. But, for their sakes, I hope they figure it out and get it all back on track.

I can’t wait until my kid wakes up in the morning.

Hero or Zero?

I’m not one for doing the blog-retread thing and simply reporting on a story that ran somewhere else (though I do think about it quite a bit). But then I saw the story about some parents who have let their kid drop out of high school to pursue his dreams of…(wait for it)…becoming a professional Guitar Hero video gamer.

At first, it seems kind of insane. Asinine. Stupid. Silly. Crazy. Idiotic. And any other words that seem to fit accordingly. But, then, as we sit and watch the Olympics, which are rumored to still be going on despite the fact that Michael Phelps is no longer competing (though, I think he could probably win a few other events, as well), is letting a kid chase his Guitar Hero dreams any different than letting a kid chase his Olympic swimming dreams?

Again, on the surface? Insane (and so on). The fact of the matter, however, is that gaming may very well be (with apologies to one of the great movies of all time, “Say Anything”) “the sport of the future.” (By the way, if you can tell me what he ACTUAL “sport of the future” was in the movie, I’ll send you an autographed copy of my book! First comment with the right answer wins.)

All kidding aside, video games are huge business with Electronic Arts pulling in more money than some major movie studios. The new releases like “Madden” and updated versions of “Guitar Hero” or its “Rock Band” counterpart are front-page news – in the business, lifestyle, music, entertainment and sports sections. Like skateboarding, poker and so many fringe sports before it (can you say X-Games?), video games are only just beginning to hit their stride.

In case you don’t want to read the whole story, I should point out that the kid wasn’t doing well in school anyway, didn’t seem to have many friends and, all in all, was on a path filled with a sketchy future. According to his parents, he now has a tutor and generally seems more interested in his work.

So, I ask again – are the parents of this kid visionaries or fools? Is the kid destined to be a hero – on the cutting edge of a pop culture phenomenon the way Tony Hawk was all those years ago – or a zero like…like…ummmm…well, that’s the point, isn’t it? A zero like so many people who have just dropped out never to be heard from again.

Well, you “know me.” I’m all about the dream. And, if the kid has found his passion in this video game – I say go nuts. If he’s turning his life around because of this game – I say, “Encore!” His parents deserve to be on the cover of Parenting Magazine (yeah, like THAT would ever happen).

But, seriously, if this kid turns out to be some kind of superstar (like a Tony Hawk or Michael Phelps), don’t his parents deserve the same kind of love and recognition that Phelps’ mom has been getting during the Olympic coverage. If this kid wins some international competition, earns endorsement deals from Gibson Guitars and ends up on the cover of Entertainment Weekly, People and Rolling Stone, shouldn’t we be looking to his parents for self-help advice?

I know it’s a long shot. Everything about this story is a long shot. The most important piece of the entire story is just this, though: The kid is feeling better about himself. For that, as far as I’m concerned…both he and his parents are heroes.

Rock on, brother!

Being in the Moment

As the struggle to balance continues, I had a bit of an epiphany while hanging with the kid tonight. Actually, I didn’t have an epiphany, as much as K-Man taught me an interesting lesson about the concept of time. Every once in a while, as we know, our kids bust out with gems that are as genius in their naiveté, as they are simply genius.

K-Man had a rough night last night, so we kept him home from school today. He was fine with this. He had a relaxing day of playing around the house, watching his favorite movies and drinking lots of milk. (Given the number of times he threw up last night, it’s not surprising that he wasn’t too eager to eat very much.) Since he’s pretty much 100% recovered (he has an immune system we should all want) and completely “normal,” after a day of recovery, he wanted to go bye-bye. Unfortunately, it was time for night-night – not bye-bye. Needless to say, K-Man was not pleased.

In the midst of his being upset, I decided I would tell him about all the great things we’re going to do this weekend. As I told him about birthday parties, parks and swimming pools, he seemed to get more upset. I asked him why he was crying even harder and he said, “I want to go to V’s b’day party now.” It turns out I was torturing the poor kid. I was teasing him with promises of the future. He’s three-years old (almost). He hasn’t learned the fine art of future-tripping. K-Man is all about the moment.

When he calmed himself down, which didn’t take too long thankfully, we had a long discussion about the days of the week. Well, it wasn’t so much a discussion as an experiment on my part. He knows the days (not necessarily in order sometimes and not necessarily all of them all the time), but his concepts of “tomorrow” or “next week” aren’t fully developed. I’ve written quite a bit about the joy that comes with childhood, the unbridled enthusiasm for play that comes with being a kid, the unquestioned forgiveness and unconditional love, but I’ve never really thought about how Zen childhood is.

It makes a great deal of sense, though. I’ve just never thought about it in this framework. When we’re at a park and it’s “time to go,” there are times that K-Man simply doesn’t want to go. He’s enjoying his moment. After a few more minutes, he’ll be done and say, “I want to go.” His moment is over and he’s ready for the next. He’s not thinking about what’s going to happen in one hour or two hours or tomorrow. He’s only interested in what he’s doing right then and there. What a gift.

So much of my own life-balance challenges are rooted in an inability to remain in the moment. Yes, I’m trying (as I’ve started leaving my Crackberry at home, which removes the distraction of email when I’m with K-Man). And, I now realize how funny we look when pushing our kids on a swing with one hand while typing out emails with the other.

Not only that – we miss so much when we’re not in the moment. One of K-Man’s favorite things to say is “Did you see that?” He never misses a fire truck, a police car, a tow truck (or “Mater” as he calls them), or a motorcycle. He always sees the sun, the moon, the stars, dogs and babies. He doesn’t ever miss anything that he’s interested in. I’m not talking about a fire truck driving right next to us, either – they may be far, far away. He’ll see it. They are all part of his moment.

We are constantly worried about how to teach our kids about this, that, or the other. We are always trying to figure out how to affect, tweak, or change our kids’ behavior. And, there’s good reason for all of that. There are definitely some right and wrong ways to do things and some right and wrong ways to act. But, they also have much to teach us and we have to make sure that, just as we sit them down for “a little talk,” we pay attention to what lessons they may have for us. The lessons may be more subtle, but they are no less important.

The Balance Beam

Oh, dear (insert your favorite deity here) – not another post on the challenges of life balance. Please, don’t write yet another rambling diatribe about the difficulties that parents face to find time for work, family and fun (which isn’t to say that work and family can’t be fun, too). Whatever you do, Mr. Skadaddle, please, please, please don’t bore us with some sad story of how there aren’t enough hours in the day. Sorry. Can’t help it.

The truth is that I’ve had a particularly difficult week. I knew it was going to be like this way back on Monday. (In fact, I even posted a status update on my Facebook page on Monday, which read, “Todd thinks he’s in for a long week.” Currently, it reads, “Todd is worked.”) There are just many balls in the air concurrently, and it seems that as I keep throwing more into the air, none actually come down. (Makes me think that, while I’m impressed by the Olympic athletes, I think “multitasking” should be an Olympic sport. Parents would dominate the events!)

It’s just been “one of those weeks.” We have them. We all have them. They aren’t bad, per se. They are just crazy busy. They don’t include enough sleep. They include bad diet habits. There isn’t enough time to exercise. Patience is on short order. It’s one of those weeks where it’s not so much that things aren’t going right, they just are going at such an extraordinary pace that catching up is impossible.

I remember weeks like this before the kidlet came along. I’d manage my way through them because I knew the weekend was coming. That meant, I could sleep in and, if I wanted to, never even get out of bed. I could just lay around and watch crappy movies all day. “Catch up on my sleep.” Remember “catching up on sleep?” No. Neither do I really. Seems like a distant fantasy during weeks like this.

But then…

I have a weekend of father-son activities planned with the K-Man. Tomorrow morning we’re going to the park, out to breakfast, maybe to Train Town (one of his favorite places) and then to his friend’s b’day party. Sunday will be spent at the same park and then swimming at his friend’s house. There will be much running around, bonding, playing, laughing…and I’d rather do that than sleep in all day.

So it makes me wonder if balance is really what’s missing. I wonder if it’s more just about rest, relaxation and enjoying the moment. I wonder if it’s not so much a balance question as it is just chilling out a bit. I’m not totally sure. I know that I’ve made great strides in my efforts to slow down and have (gasp, if you can imagine?!?) left my cell phone at home during many recent weekends. I figure there’s nobody I really want to talk to when I’m out with K-Man. So, this allows me to focus more on him. Actually do one thing at a time instead of 10. Seems to help in the whole balance equation. (There have even been weekends when I’ve avoided my computer. That’s Olympic medal worthy.)

It’s hard not to try to do it all at the same time. There’s a kind of pressure that comes with the times we live in, and depending on where you are, the communities we live in. The pressure builds as we throw more and more balls into the air.

But, I think this week it may have finally hit me that if I try to throw just one more ball in the air – they’re all going to fall.

You Can't Handle the Truth!

It’s one of those classic “guy movie” scenes – a showdown between box office super heroes: Tom Cruise and Jack Nicholson (in “A Few Good Men”). Yes, women may like this movie too (just as a few of them may like “Caddyshack” or “Fletch,” but it’s really a “guy thing” more often than not). Regardless – male or female – we all know the exchange as Cruise’s character pesters Nicholson’s on the witness stand. Finally cracking, Nicholson blares, “You can’t handle the truth!” Can our kids?

As I was driving K-Man to school today, he said, “I don’t want to go to this school. I want to go to a new school.” I reassured him that we would look for a new school, as soon as we could.” This was basically a lie. The other day K-Man wanted to see fire trucks. I told him that the firefighters were likely out on a call and if they weren’t, that the fire trucks were sleeping after a long, hard day. This, too, was basically not so true. It got me thinking about what we tell our kids and how truthful we are with them. Sure, some of the information we tell them is sometimes designed to help them understand (e.g., the doors at the firehouse are closed because the fire trucks are sleeping) why they can’t get something they want. But…is it bad?

There are an absolute myriad of “half-truths” that I tell K-Man each and every day. They range from information about his school to treats he might want after dinner. The goal of every single one (or most anyway) of my made up stories is to avoid upsetting the kid. And, no…it’s not that I’m trying to give him what he wants whenever he wants it, it’s more about what I wrote earlier – trying to help him understand something that he might not otherwise be able to figure out just yet.

But in some ways, I feel like I’m doing the kid a disservice. Perhaps I’m not giving him the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps I’m not giving him a chance to understand the reality. “Sorry, K-Man the fire station is closed.” Period. Perhaps I should be giving him the opportunity to meltdown and then learn from that experience. “No. We’re not going to have treats after dinner tonight.” (Versus telling him that we will and then diverting his attention so that he forgets.)

I have noticed, as he’s gotten “older” and a bit more able to comprehend things, that I’m more open to telling him “the truth.” For example, one day when he noticed the doors closed at the fire station he said, “Oh look, the fire trucks are sleeping.” At that point, I did explain that they weren’t really asleep, but instead the fire station was just closed. He replied, “No daddy. The fire trucks are sleeping!” He was adamant. At that point, who was I to argue?

It just seems like such a fine line – one of many we face as parents, no doubt. It’s just another balancing act (like work and family). How much “truth” do we tell our little ones? And how much can they actually handle? I’m sure the answers to these questions has much to do with the age of our kids. But, since K-Man seems to like the idea of the fire trucks being asleep, does he tell his friends this? And, if he does – is that even a problem? I have no idea.

Then again – some of our most basic traditions are based on stories, which are pretty much lies. You know what/who I mean: The Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy, Santa Claus, Hanukkah Harry. So there’s that whole debate, too. Are those stories okay because of their deep seeded roots in our cultural traditions? Again…I have no idea.

In the meantime, I do think it’s time I start giving him the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps it’s time to let him decide whether or not…he can indeed handle the truth.

A Bite Worse Than the Bark

On most days, the conversation after I pick up K-Man from school goes something like this: “What’d you do today in school, K-Man?” And he replies, “I played.” Then, in a precursor to what life will be like when he’s a teenager, we spend time prying additional details from him. Who did he play with? Did he do any art? Was there any music? And so on. Yesterday, however, the conversation was different. “What’d you do in school today, K-Man?” He replied, “E bit me.”

This wasn’t the first time that K-Man’s classmate E had bitten him. But, it was the first time that E had bitten K four different times. K-Man’s back was quite literally littered with teeth marks. The poor guy looked like he had survived a shark attack. Adding more injury to injury, K-Man’s best buddy Chuck was also bitten by E yesterday.

Upon discovering that our kids had been bitten, Chuck’s mom (we were at Chuck’s house for dinner) called the school to talk to the owner. Chuck’s mom explained what had happened and the owner was stunned. Shocked. Mortified. How could such a thing have happened? When would it have happened? Why didn’t Chuch and K-Man tell her? Then, of course, she started in with the reasoning that the teachers can’t watch all the kids all the time. And so on.

For starters, our kids are three-years old. It shouldn’t really be incumbent on them (or expected for that matter) for them to tell. If they start crying (and I’m certain that after four or five bites on the back that K-Man was crying), perhaps you should go find out what happened! This is the part where I start to go nuts. This is the part when I start to overreact and start thinking about taking K out of this school. This is the part when logic goes out the window.

I know that kids will be kids. They will go through their phases when they hit, push and unfortunately, some will bite. In many instances, they don’t have the words to express their feelings and frustrations, so they may bite. I get that. At the same time, it’s one of those rationalizations that you keep in the back of your head just in case it’s YOUR kid that does the biting. Instead, when your kid is the one bitten, it’s easy to forget that kids will be kids and go apoplectic. (I wasn’t really that upset, but just like the word.)

The irony (probably not the right word) is that K-Man wasn’t all that upset by it – at least not hours after the incident. Was he mad at E? Nope. Did he still like E? Yep. As parents, though, we just can’t stand the idea of our kid being bitten by another kid. Realistically, though, and I’m not sure if this is bad or not – I’d almost rather be the parent of the kid that got bitten than the parent of the kid who did the biting.

As mad as I felt that this happened (and, understand, I was more upset that the school didn’t know E had bitten K-Man than I was about the fact that E had bitten K-Man), I felt really badly for E’s parents. None of us ever want that call, “Ummmm…E bit two kids today in school. This isn’t the first time and we’ll be watching him closely from now on.”

Biting is a symptom of frustration. Of something being wrong. So, as parents, we instantly blame ourselves, right? We instantly wonder what we’re doing wrong. Why would our kid(s) bite other kids? Why was our kid upset? With a three-year old, we can do our best to explain that biting is bad and hope that it will take. I don’t blame E and I certainly don’t blame his parents (they are good people). It’s just a tough situation.

So, E’s bite is worse than his bark. K-Man got over it. So can I.

Washing the Car

I will never be accused of being the guy with the clean car – inside or out. I have my parents to blame for this. Well, mostly. We simply weren’t the family that had the spotless cars (though my parents did tend to keep their cars relatively clean inside). Obviously, with kids, keeping cars clean is so difficult it could be an Olympic sport (with corporate sponsors and all). So, once K-Man came along, it was pretty much a given that any hope I ever had of keeping my car clean was long gone.

Recently, my car has gotten so dirty (how dirty was it?)…It had gotten so dirty that those random people who write, “wash me” in the grime were likely afraid to touch it for fear of contracting some kind of disease. It had gotten so dirty that birds stopped aiming for it (“Nah, that’s just too easy”). It had gotten so dirty that G finally said something needed to be done. (Now, in my defense, my car is outside all day, every day). Okay. No. That’s not much of a defense.)

So, instead of taking the car to the car wash, I decided to go old school and wash the thing in my driveway. It had been a long time since I had hand washed a car, but I used to love it. Hand washing cars is one of those memory triggers. Just like a song can remind you of life’s milestones, the second I pointed the hose at the Prius, I felt like I had hit a button in a time machine as was transported back to the LA suburb in which I grew up.

There I was, no longer in my driveway in the Bay Area, but back in LA. I instantly remembered washing my own car (a beat up VW Scirocco in high school) and, better yet, helping my dad wash any of the cars that we had while I was growing up – from the VW Dasher to the Nissan Maxima station wagon (the absolute bane of my high school days). And, who could forget the algae-green Plymouth Duster, the orange Volvo wagon or the powder blue family wagon. (G-d knows what kind of car THAT was. The “family truckster” might be the only way to describe it.) The flashback was so vivid it was almost scary.

I was snapped out of it by a little voice (a voice that in my head could have been my own), “Daddy, I wanna spray.” K-Man wanted to help wash the car. This was, after all, the very reason that I didn’t take the car to the car wash. I knew that he’d want to participate in the process. This is a kid who has single-handedly increased our water bill by a zillion percent. There was no doubt about the fact that when the hose was pulled into the driveway that K-Man would be close behind.

What a simple moment: washing the car. Never in my wildest dreams did I think it would affect me as much as it did. It was such a strange feeling to flashback and remember being 10-years old, while simultaneously register the moment of the first car wash with K-Man. But, I guess so much of parenting is like that, in a way. There are all kinds of moments when we remember a certain activity as a kid – at the same time we experience them as parents. And, as K-Man gets older, I know that I’ll have more and more of these. (Most likely the biggest will come when he puts on a soccer uniform for the first time – if that’s what he wants to do.)

But this day was about washing a car with my kid. He didn’t totally grasp the entire concept of washing the entire car, but man, did he ever clean the one spot on the front hood. And, he didn’t completely understand that after the car is dried – there’s no reason to soak it down again, but we’ll get there. I have a feeling this car wash was just the first of many to come.

At least I hope so. For the car’s sake. And mine.

Going for Gold?

The Olympics are here. The opening ceremonies are a mere hours away. The pageantry of international competition is upon us…and I couldn’t care less. And, it’s not just about China and its (misguided) politics. It’s about what the Olympics represented 100 years ago when I was a kid versus what they are all about now that I have a kid. The Games have changed.

When I was a kid – the Olympics were every four years (as opposed to every two years now), but more importantly, were about everything that was right in sports (as far as I knew). These were amateur athletes who trained like mad to represent their countries. If they were lucky, they might make a little money. If they were REALLY lucky, they’d end up on a Wheaties box. But for most…Olympic glory was about just that – Olympic Glory.

Nowadays, the Olympics are about politics, big business and about professional athletes. It just sort of sucks all the fun out of it. (True, some of my feelings are the result of being older, “wiser” and more aware of the realities of the Olympics, versus being a naïve little kid.) But, I’m not here to pass judgment on what the Olympics are or aren’t. Really, what I meant to write about was the role that sports plays in a dad’s relationship with his son.

K-Man is too young to really care about having any sort of rooting interest in a team, or too young to really care about winning and losing (which is all good). On the one hand, I keep up with sports. I know which teams are winning and which are losing. I tend to know which players are studs and which aren’t. But, on the other hand, I certainly don’t let sports guide my day. I won’t stay home to watch a game when I could be outside on a beautiful day or taking K-Man on some kind of adventure.

But then…I think about all those great times with my dad back in the day. All those days spent watching the Dodgers, Angels, Lakers and Rams. I remember the stories about his days in New York going to Yankees games. Or his stories about the City College of New York (CCNY) basketball and soccer teams (the hoops team would go down in infamy for a great point-shaving scheme). He tried to get me to watch hockey, but I just couldn’t do it!

In the most recent Sports Illustrated, there’s a story about a children’s DVD that’s been produced to help parents (I assume mostly dads) teach their kids to have an allegiance for a certain team. The programs are hosted by celebrities. (For example Alyssa Milano talks about the LA Dodgers and what sports meant to her as a kid. Besides being famous for her acting, she’s also allegedly dated half of Major League Baseball. So, for her, watching baseball with her dad had a bigger impact than it maybe does on most.)

The thing is – back when I was growing up, most athletes were role models. There was no ESPN. These were guys you could pretty much look up to. Not only that – you knew all the players on your favorite teams (because they stayed there from year to year). I could always count on Garvey, Lopes, Cey and Russell in the Dodgers infield. It’s just not the case anymore.

I can’t root for the Dodgers anymore, cuz I just don’t know the Dodgers anymore. I follow the Giants a bit more closely because this is where I live, but I certainly don’t really care if they win or lose.

Which brings me back to the Olympics. I want to care about the medal counts and I want to feel that huge national pride, but I don’t. For me, and its too bad, the Olympics have become a show. I don’t want to see Kobe Bryant representing the U.S. I’d rather see some college kid. But, that doesn’t sell jerseys. Maybe K-Man will discover the Olympics on his own, and if he does, I’ll support his desire to watch and learn. Maybe he’ll even erase some of my jaded attitude about this stuff.

If I had my choice though, I’d rather he go for goals than go for gold.