Category Archives: Kids

Harvey Millican Is a Complete Idiot: Part II

Posted on March 24, 2019 | 2 comments

I am sure the vast majority of men (indeed of all humanity) and particularly of Catholic men do not recognize the inherent sinfulness of laziness. St. Don Bosco is famous for chiding the young men in his care to remain physically active. “Laziness teaches us all kinds of vices,” the great patron of youth would say. Of course, he would say it in Italian but you get the point. As a further warning, laziness is enshrined as a capital sin under its more severe form called “sloth”. Also, for those in the know and as Fulton Sheen would attest, it’s pronounced /slōth/. With a short “o” we’re talking about the lazy, three-toed tree-hugger from Brazil.

Do Something, Anything, but Avoid Being Idle

Going back to that theme of doing hard things I had made it my quest to lift hard and heavy and often, to run, jump, and planche forward so that I could be better. I knew that laziness had no part in this plan and that it would, in fact, sink any effort to be more manly (in a truly Christian sense). I became cognizant of all the times I had given up time I could have been doing hard things in order to do no things. And I determined to do more of the former and less of the latter. Besides, I thought, being more active would set a better example for my ten year-old son who’s been exhibiting his share of wanting to “do nothing” lately. Hey, I was a ten year-old boy once. I get it. Doing hard things is, well, hard. But the payoff is huge – huge gains physically and eternal life ultimately.

Over the past year I started to notice myself getting physically stronger. This means nothing except that I would now have a benchmark so I would know I was progressing and progress is good. Stagnation is a benchmark of laziness. I noticed as well that my prayer life was improving. As I forced myself out of bed early simply to deny myself sleep I would use the time to pray. I prayed as I poured my coffee. “Dear God, get this caffeine into me NOW! Amen.” I prayed as I struggled not to get back into bed. “Dear God, the floorboards are so cold. WHY?! Amen.” I prayed as I got into the shower which, thanks to Exodus 90 is a cold shower. “Dear God, Take me swiftly into thine eternal light! Amen.” On that last point I often wondered as to the propriety of praying in the shower. I reasoned, of course (of course), that the Good Lord created me naked so He probably wouldn’t be too embarrassed. But boy was that water cold.

I came to embrace the sacrifices because I wasn’t merely giving things up – time, sleep, my body to the pain – but I was gaining. I gained time with Our Lord in prayer. I gained satisfaction in improving myself and setting a better example. I gained a few lbs. of muscle which was cool. Regarding that benchmark I mentioned, I noticed I was lifting heavier weights. When I started I struggled to do biceps curls with 25 lb. dumbbells. Now I start a “rack run” with 55’s. I feel good. But it must always be seen in context. I drop the weights and thank God I can do these things. I drop the weights and I ask God to strengthen me to protect my children. I drop the weights and realize my big foot was just a bit too far in front of my body. 55 lbs. of iron on a big toe really, really hurts.

Shedding one’s laziness is a lifelong endeavor, at least for me. A year into this mindset and I still fight the temptation, when offered a choice of doing something active or doing something sedentary, to force myself toward the active. Example: I come home from a long day of work (at my first of two full-time jobs) and, having picked up the kids from school, the question is posed “Daddy, will you go on a bike ride with us?” or “Daddy, will you do gymnastics with us?” or “Daddy, will you do flips on the trampoline with us?” What the children are actually asking is “Daddy, will you run alongside while we ride our bikes for three blocks until we get tired and make you carry the bikes and us back home?” or “Daddy, will you move furniture in the living room to put down the mat and do handstands for our entertainment?” or “Daddy, will you bounce on the trampoline while we sit in the middle of it and let your weight propel us high in the air?” The answers are yes, yes, and yes. The reward for this sacrifice of giving up watching the evening news is the joy of spending time with two awesome people who seem to think I’m Joe Weider.

A COMPLETE Idiot

So let’s talk about my progress with calisthenics. You didn’t think I mentioned the gymnastics mat and the trampoline for nothing, did you? About three weeks ago I set out trying the basic wall-assisted handstand. Like my experience with pull-ups about a year ago I knew that this would take a bit of time until it “clicked”. In other words, I had to figure it out by just throwing myself into a flip against the wall until I got closer and closer to actually doing it. When it clicked it would be a recognition in my body’s muscle memory and then I wouldn’t be able to “un-do” it. Think of toddlers learning to walk. They struggle but they don’t give up because it’s hard. And then one day they shed the last bits of their fear – in this case fear of not holding onto anything – and they take that step and Shazam! They don’t seem to ever forget how to walk after that. When I figured out pull-ups it was about figuring out which muscles to activate. And then I got better and better. Pushing past my fear of falling on my head I started tumbling headlong on the mat toward the wall in my living room. What stunned even me was just how quickly I “got it”. Within a week I was able to hold a handstand against the wall for 30 seconds. I’ve been working at it for about fifteen minutes daily the past two weeks now and starting to work in something that resembles a handstand push-up. And as for that trampoline? Here’s where you learn why I called myself out as a complete idiot in the title. Remember Aristotle’s definition of virtue and how it stands in the middle? Sometimes in life we gain so much confidence that we exceed the virtue and head right back into the realm of extreme vice (or in my case stupidity). Two nights ago, with my wife still out of town (she was winding down a week-long business trip) I picked the kids up from school and play practice. I was so enjoying the time I had been given with them that I took them for pizza (meatless, it was a Friday after all). We came home and were joined by my college-aged nephew who goes to school nearby. And then came the shouts of “Daddy! Bounce us on the trampoline!” One of these days I’ll get them to bounce me.

Standing on the springy blue “floor” of the trampoline I heard all kinds of things. I heard laughter. That’s beautiful. I heard music. I had brought a bluetooth speaker into the yard so we could have a dance party. I heard one of the kids implore me “Daddy, do a flip!” On a trampoline I’ve done these flips a hundred times.

But this time was different.

I thought about it. Let’s tie it all together. 1) Sacrifice yourself for the kids. 2) Do hard things and be a man. 3) Avoid laziness like the plague. 4) Make it a prayer.

“God, help me amuse me children and gain strength. Amen.”

I bounced. I bounced higher. I bounced even higher. Then I launched and lurched forward. But something was different. Normally there are only three of us on this thing. Today my nephew was on it too. I don’t know if I was distracted or simply not paying attention. I flipped and did not roll forward enough. I landed on my head. I heard the most ghastly snap like when a person cracks his knuckles. And then I lay motionless for 45 seconds while the kids and my nephew laughed thinking the old man was playing a prank. Finally my nephew was able to hear my gasps. “Help… Me… I… Can’t… Breath…” It hurt like nothing I’ve ever experienced. He cleared the kids out and helped me roll off the trampoline. I could stand and walk, though with much pain, so I knew I wasn’t paralyzed. I’ll spare you the details of the rest of the evening except to say that I took a painkiller left over from my last surgery and rested as comfortably as I could. The ER on a Friday night would not have been able to do anything for me.

The next day I finally decided to go to an urgent care center that only handles orthopedic injuries. I was still in tremendous pain. Because of the previous spinal fusions in my lower back I wanted to insure I hadn’t done anything too damaging. A X-ray revealed a pretty nasty fracture of a vertebra in my mid-back. Turns out the lumbar fusions prevented me from rolling out of that flip the right way, hence something had to give. And there’s nothing they can do for me other than painkillers and rest.

There you have it, kids. Daddy sacrificed his body for your entertainment.

I literally broke my back (albeit this time unintentionally). And believe me, God has given me the grace as a father to know just how to use this bit of information to guilt you guys into a virtuous life. “Son, you won’t take out the trash? I guess I’ll do it… Owwwwww! No, don’t worry, my boy, it doesn’t hurt that bad. It’s just a minor – ouch – inconvenience. Not like I didn’t do that back-breaking flip for you…”

But did I hit the goals? I already mentioned 1) having sacrificed my body. 2) A 41 year-old man with titanium hardware in his spine doing a flip on a trampoline counts as “hard”, so, check on that one. 3) I didn’t say no when they asked me to play with them so I’m good on the “avoid laziness” thing. And I even said the following: 4) “Jesus, are ya’ comin’ for me?” as I lay immobile on the trampoline so, prayer, done.

Not a radiologist? I circled the break.

Sacrifice, Lent, the Passion, and True Joy

When I was growing up I was always captivated by the mosaic of the second station of the cross in our parish church in New Jersey. Jesus accepts His cross. In the tiled image Our Lord is depicted with arms outstretched and an expression of joy as the cross is presented to Him. He looks like a young man who has just encountered the woman he’ll marry and he recognizes the joy of love at first sight or like a parent, separated from a child at birth who is finally meeting that child.

This image of joyfully embracing the cross is the finally piece of the puzzle. Yes, I take physical pleasure in lifting weights and in laughing with my kids and in doing hard things and seeing hard gains. I thought of that image and began to ask God, naked in my cold, morning shower, to help me this Lent. “Father, if You will it, I can be made whole. I am a sinful man and Your Son sacrificed Himself for my salvation. I don’t fully understand what I’m asking but please, in Your mercy, let me suffer with Him.”

On this Lenten Friday, missing my wife, rejoicing in my genetic minions who grow more and more like their old man each day, grateful for all He’s allowed me to accomplish, striving for perfection, hoping in His grace… On this day He broke me. But He broke me because He loves me and He gives me a chance to feel that death I must undergo in order to rise to new life. I won’t overdramatize it; but this hurts. I will now have to sacrifice working out because I simply can’t if I want to heal. I’ll have to devote that time to even more prayer and meditation. I might lose those precious gains of which I was so proud and thus exhibit only three abs instead of six at the beach this summer and then I’d have to embrace humility. And it HURTS.

But I’m sure Our Lord’s back was broken under the weight of that cross and he received it with a smile.

Amen.

For those wondering what any of the things I’ve been trying should ACTUALLY look like…

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Posted in Catholic Blog, dad blog, Dad Stuff, Faith/Theology/Spirituality, Family, Fitness, health, Kids, Parenting, Prayer, weightlifting

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Harvey Millican Is a Complete Idiot: Part I

Posted on March 24, 2019 | 1 comment

There, I’ve said it. And you can take that to the bank.

Setting the Goals

Harvey Millican is also a dad who adores his kids. Allow me if you will to drift for a moment to a place in the not-too-distant past. I was in my late 20’s (41 now) when I really began to give up on the hope of ever meeting a woman who shared my faith, got my sense of humor, and was stunningly beautiful. While I figured there were still a few solid Catholic women out there who hadn’t joined the Nashville Dominicans and I was pretty sure there might be a handful of women who would find my absurdist rantings mildly amusing I was not sure that any of the beautiful women of the world would be willing to offer an act of supreme condescension and go out with me.

You see, I wanted a family. I had, just a few years earlier, been studying for the priesthood and had been prepared to make the sacrifice of giving up family life. When I left the seminary I was filled with the fleeting thought that perhaps God’s plan for me was now to follow in the example set by my wonderful parents and raise a family of my own. But whom would I marry; or rather, who would ever marry me? See above paragraph for the genesis of this conundrum. It’s a vicious cycle.

Jacked St. Joseph. Model for MEN, model for ME.

In my final act of desperation I turned in prayer to the patron of impossible causes – St. Rita of Cascia. I began a novena at her shrine in Philadelphia. Nine days later I met a woman with strong faith, a questionable sense of humor, and poor eyesight. Bingo! We got married at that shrine in due time and within the first two and a half years of our married life God had blessed us with a son and a daughter. I have no idea what happened after that. We promised to be open to children and we always have been. But I guess God had other plans for us. We started taking road trips with the kids. I started documenting these trips and a blog was born.

A few years later the ticking time bomb that is my spine exploded and life sort of came to a grinding halt for a bit. I had a second lumbar fusion. I got depressed for a while thinking of how I wasn’t being the kind of dad I wanted to be to my kids. I’ve never been athletic. I’ve never been really strong, agile, quick. Having kids highlighted these deficiencies. I really felt it the first time my kids wanted me to play Twister, ride bikes, and squat 450. They’re pretty demanding kids. But after a few years of doing nothing about it and gaining weight and starting to feel sorry for myself and remorseful for my wife who had to look at me every day I decided to do something. Anything at all.

Figuring It Out

I tried running like a co-worker was doing. He was pretty jacked. That was a disaster. Apparently “You can’t run that extra mile if you’re puffing away on those cigarettes.” I had to choose. I chose tar and nicotine.

I tried Greco-Roman wrestling like my older brothers had done in high school. They were pretty not-jacked but strong as oxen and impressive. Apparently this should not be done with strangers in the produce aisle at Kroger. Also, those singlets are obscene.

I tried that little paddleball thing you buy at the dollar store like my mom. She’s got phenomenal eye-hand coordination. Thanks to genetics, I was good at it but burned negative calories.

In fact I tried anything and everything until I settled on some advice I found from a most reliable source – a meme. Under a picture of a typical 98 lb. weakling listening to Charles Atlas was a caption that read “What’s that? You want to get huge? Pick up a bunch of heavy stuff, put it down, repeat.”

Identifying with the dork in that cartoon I determined that weightlifting would be my thing.

Quests and New Quests

And for the past 14 months I have been lifting weights. It wasn’t until I heard a sermon from an amazing priest, though, that I realized this needed to be a spiritual pursuit in order to be effective. In other words, I should not do this for me alone. I should do this for me AND for my wife and kids. Lifting weights isn’t about gettin’ swole so you can preen in front of a mirror (although that’s kinda’ cool). Lifting weights should be about God’s purpose for manliness and fatherhood. I should do this specifically because it’s hard. Doing hard things is the hallmark of true manliness. And we do hard things to discipline our bodies so we can discipline our souls. And we discipline our bodies and souls so we can give away our lives without thinking to our wives and children; so that the hardest thing in life to do – dying for the sake of another – comes freely, quickly, and with total love.

With that in mind, weightlifting became both a quest and a joy. I’ll admit, it’s fun. I really enjoy it in the same way I hated running. No lungs exploded. I could wear fairly comfortable clothes. I started to get swole. Heh. That last part was particularly gratifying. Again, see above paragraph about why any woman in her sober mind would have given me a second glance. And I say that only half in jest but I’ve certainly never thought very highly of myself and even there more from a desire to tamp down pride through a humility that is sometimes self-effacing but very often false.

Along the way as I was putting on muscle and burning off fat I began to look for more “difficult” things to do. Remember, doing the hard things because they are hard is good for us guys. I had to remind myself not to get too into this. There were nights I could have skipped the gym to spend more time with the family but I always thought I was doing this for them. As for those “gentle” reminders of which I spoke, believe me, on the occasions where I’d be super proud of my accomplishments and post a video or two of me knocking out a dozen pull ups in the gym or attempting some other such thing that I simply couldn’t do yesterday (and that 99.9% of men half my age can’t do today) I’d always get the one or two snide comments insinuating that it was “no big deal” or that the commenter “was able to do three times that many and with better form” and I’d find myself knocked down a few pegs. and it was all good.

But those other things? Well… I picked up a jump rope one day. Not knowing what this strange device was and unable to find a pair of shoes large enough to lace with it, I hit it against a rock. Then I looked up a Youtube clip and discovered a cool trick. Apparently you can swing this thing over your head and jump over it. I got really good at doing that.

I busted out my old trusty kettlebell. Remember that thing? Developed by the Pontifical Swiss Guard in the 17th century to punish heretics, the kettlebell is also good for building strong bodies. Again, thanks to Youtube (and in this case Instagram) I began to incorporate explosive movements into my workouts. I got really good at that as well.

And finally I discovered the thing I just spent 1,069 words to get to. Sorry for that. While scrolling through both Youtube and Instagram I began to notice a whole lot of posts about people doing calisthenics. OK, my first thought on hearing that word was of Jane Fonda in a ridiculously high cut leotard prancing about to Let’s Get Physical. Patently, calisthenics is not that. Not exactly. Calisthenics has to do with using bodyweight movements to build strength, endurance, you know, all that good stuff I was looking for. Remember, the whole point was to do hard things so I could be a better man and in so doing be the best dad I can be to the two saints-in-training God gave me. Hell, He only gave me two of them. He must have felt I needed the time to work on getting this right. Ultimately, though, what calisthenics looks like is not Jane Fonda but badass dudes who are certainly shredded but not in any kind of “Sammy Sosa on roids” way, doing incredibly difficult-looking things. The first time I saw a series of posts on Youtube of one of these guys doing handstand push-ups and planches I was sold. Sure, I didn’t think there was a snowball’s chance in hell of me actually doing these things what with my twice-fused lower spine; but if I’ve learned nothing over the past few years it’s that God’s grace is truly sufficient and for everything else there’s Percocet. So I prayed like the Dickens and had my pills at the ready.

“Father in heaven, I thank you for sharing Your gift of paternity with me, your humble servant. In St. Joseph, you have given me an example of a truly good man who cared for his family, for Your Incarnate Son and His Immaculate Mother. I pray through his intercession for a clean heart, a pure mind, and a chaste body. I ask for the gift of great physical strength that I might protect and provide for my family. Hitting the Powerball would also be nice. Amen.”

My daughter has a gymnastics mat and we have an 18′ diameter trampoline in the yard. I started to think I could tackle this. I watched dozens of videos on the topic. I set a few goals. While continuing to “lift heavy stuff” in the gym and “jump over the flying rope” I would attempt first to master a wall-assisted handstand. After that I would try the same but add in push-ups to the handstand. Then I’d try freestanding handstands. I didn’t know if any of this was remotely possible and I may have been consuming a glass of box wine when I dreamed this up. Lastly, I would try to nail a backflip by year’s end. I reached out to an old friend who informed me that I “probably know more about fitness now than he does” and the he “wouldn’t be much help”. He then said he had to wash his hair or something and take his daughter’s rabbit for a walk. I reached out to a newer friend who’s been part of my Exodus 90 prayer group. This guy was, of late, a gym teacher who specializes in calisthenics and in particular handstands. When asked if he could help me figure out the basic handstand his words to me were “No.” I think he might come round.

See, I even kept my shirt tucked in (and on).

Where on earth is all of this going and how does it involve the Passion of Christ? I never said it did.

But it does.

You’ll have to wait for part II.

*Update: You can now read Part II by clicking here.

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Punking Your Kids: How a Chrome Extension and the Eucharist are Helping Me “Dad”

Posted on January 28, 2019 | Leave a comment

I’ll admit that technology sometimes serves me well as a “babysitter”.

I hate that.

I work two jobs. My wife works the equivalent of about thirty – albeit from home but that sometimes makes it harder; with she and the kids in the same physical space. Typical scenario: I pick up the kids from school, bring them home, get them a snack and started on any homework. Wife is working in her office. I get called for my next job and have to run out the door. Wife is on a conference call. Kids somehow end up using my laptop, her phone, or some jerry-rigged amalgamation of tin cans and a LAN cord and the next thing you know they’re on Youtube.

Don’t get me wrong, Youtube is kind of a go-to for me these days. We cut the cord. For those of you not in the know, that means we have no life cable TV. But truthfully, I’m not dissatisfied with what I have to watch on Youtube. And the Youtube seems to know me well, too. For instance in my suggested watch list is a series about conspiracy theories (heavy on the JFK stuff), talks by Fr. Chad Ripperger (an exorcist), and anything having to do with flying, landing, or even the crashing of airplanes. Don’t judge.

For my son it’s usually Super Mario Bros. “walkthroughs” where some loser gamer literally plays a Mario game for hours explaining how he’s making it through those levels. For my daughter it is a brain damaged twit named Wengie. Wengie hurts my brain. Wengie lowers my IQ. I tell my daughter this. Despite my hatred of her tweeny-pop saccharine nonsense and penchant for unicorns, glitter, slime, and glitter-slime unicorns I’ve still memorized the lyrics, music, and dance steps for her hit song Icing on the Cake and I sing the same to my little girl when I wake her up for school.

The reality is they really aren’t on these “devices” for too long of a stretch and my wife and I do keep pretty good eyes on what they’re seeing. But here’s the problem. Even the best eagle-eyed parents cannot monitor this stuff completely. My first clue was when my son dropped something he had heard on a Youtube video. The vile, hateful, vulgarity coming out of his innocent mouth made me cringe.

“Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone.”

I could take it no more.

I had a conversation with a friend the other night. We’re part of a Catholic men’s group called Exodus 90. It’s one of the reasons I’ve been posting sporadically of late. Go look it up. Guys, if you’re looking for a kick in the rear, give this a shot. It’s like “Hey Catholic man, we know you love Lent… But wait, there’s more!” One of the goals is to break the things to which we are enslaved in life and for many of us the internet in all its nasty forms is one of those taskmasters. Ergo, we try to stay off EVERYTHING that is deemed non-essential or work-related. This friend mentioned how he had installed a Chrome extension to block his favorite sites. No, nothing to do with what you’re thinking. At least I hope not but even so, all the better for him to break that insanity. No, we’re talking things like Facebook, the Drudge Report, and cagneyandlaceyfanfic.com. I don’t judge. Also, the extension is capable of redirecting the browser to a different site…

So this morning I got this brilliant idea and I installed the extension on my laptop and then later on the other laptop we have. It’s slower but that’s a total first world problem.

This afternoon my lovely little girl plopped herself down on my bed with my Macbook, flipped open the lid, and looked around. She gave me a knowing glance as if to say “Something’s up here, Dad… You’re too calm given the fact I just absconded with your laptop and didn’t even ask.” I gave her a look as if to say “Just you wait, genetic minion, just you wait…”

I heard the tapping of little fingers.

And then I heard:

“ARGHHHHHHH! Daddy what did you do?!”

How’d she know it wasn’t a glitch?

I had long since made myself scarce by ducking into my closet for fear I’d laugh and ruin the whole thing. Stepping out I heard her, now in the kitchen, yelling to her brother:

“Daddy blocked Youtube!!! When I tried to watch Wengie I got sent to a livestream of Adoration at some monastery in England!”

That’s right, kiddos, I’d drop to my knees and start humming the Tantum Ergo if I were you.

Ah, technology and Jesus… For moments where Our Eucharistic King (even on livecam) makes an appearance in my day and helps me keep my children safe from predatory nonsense, I am very grateful.

O Salutaris Hostia… Protect my kids from low IQ tarts.

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The Return of Super Moon!

Posted on January 20, 2019 | 1 comment

In May of 2012 I wrote the following post about an unusual lunar phenomenon. Tonight I had a chance to revisit my words and God’s grace. I hope you enjoy this trip down the uneven path that is my memory lane…*******

The Original Super Moon

Last evening, my wife and I set out on a journey with our kids.  The purpose of our journey was to seek out a Mexican restaurant for a proper celebration of Cinco de Mayo.  Our conversation at one point went something like this:

wife: “Is there anything on the other side of the highway?”
me: “I see a Chili’s.”
wife: “That’s not Mexican!” (wild laughter)
me: “It has a giant chili pepper above the door.  Aren’t chili peppers Mexican or something?”
wife: “Yeah, well there’s a Walmart right next to that.  I guarantee that’s more authentic than the Chili’s.”

Ultimately we settled on a place nearby that turned to be great.  They handed out fake mustaches as we entered.  Not sure why.  But the kids had fun with them.

That super yellow dot is the moon.

On our way home, my wife looked skyward and asked about the moon and why it appeared so large.  I told her that it was called the “Supermoon” and that I had seen a story about it on the morning news.  It happens when the full moon occurs as the moon is closest in her orbit to earth.  It causes the moon to appear about 15% bigger and about 30% brighter than normal.

And then, as if the earlier conversation hadn’t been strange enough, thing really  got weird.

me: “Could you imagine if the moon were 50,000 miles closer all the time?”
wife: “I think that would be cool.  Hey… would that, I mean, the moon doesn’t…”
me: “What?”
wife: “The moon isn’t hot, right?  I mean that wouldn’t make it really hot on earth?”
me: “No, the moon just reflects the sun’s light.  (slight pause)  It would definitely screw up our tides, though.”
wife: That would be awesome!”
me: (long pause)  “Um…  What?”

We went on to discuss that for such a situation to be feasible, houses would need to be chained to the ground so that they could “float around when the inevitable 400 mile high tide brought the Gulf of Mexico into Dallas twice daily and then returned at low tide.  This way, the houses would roughly stay in place.  According to my wife, for some reason, this would also necessitate flying cars.

wife: “Of course.”
me: “Of course.”

The Return of Super Moon

Flash forward to this evening. We are almost six years removed from this post and some things never change. Except the kids. They’re older, exhibiting more of the quirks of their parents’ genetic codes and even more of their own “super” personalities. Their mom is napping because she’s had a long day and it’s a perfect mid-winter evening for that sort of thing.

Me: Kids, come outside quickly”

Kids: “Why?”

Me: “Just do it!”

Kids come to the porch.

Me: “What do you notice about the moon tonight?”

Son: “It’s closer to the earth by a few thousand miles making it appear larger. I heard it on the news this morning.”

Daughter: “It’s also a full moon and there’s a lunar eclipse tonight. Can we go inside?”

Me: “Nit until you two get next to each other and pose for a picture for Daddy’s blog.”

Daughter: “But I’m cold. AND he won’t stop bothering me!”

Son: “I’m not bothering her. She was bothering me!”

Me: “I don’t care who was bothering whom! How often does a father get to take a totally staged picture of his kids gazing at a super moon in wonder and awe?”

Kids: “Wasn’t it like March of 2012 and you totally forgot to take the picture then too?”

Oy… I can’t fault them for having my memory and my wife’s practicality.

And for moments like tonight where God gives us super celestial nudges that are just really cool, I am super grateful.

God bless!

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The Lion, The Witch, & the Nutjob

Posted on January 8, 2019 | Leave a comment

I originally started writing this post about my experience reading some books to my daughter in mid-November.  Having finally the time to finish it, I publish it now.  Keep in mind we’re currently on The Silver Chair.  The fun never ends.  With apologies to C. S. Lewis

I need a break.

Yesterday I got called to drive to Lubbock.  Lubbock is a city of about a quarter-million souls in the Texas panhandle.  It vies with Amarillo for the title of “Jewel of the Panhandle”.  I suppose that’s better than it’s former moniker: “Notch #3 on the Bible Belt”.  It’s actually a very nice city; it’s just that there’s literally nothing between here (the Dallas-Fort Worth area) and there.  And it’s a five hour drive without stops or traffic which, believe it or not, can pop up on the remotest stretches of I-20 without rhyme or reason.

I received my marching orders from my boss around noon yesterday for a package that needed to be delivered no later than 8:30 this morning.  Now go back and read where I said that Lubbock is five hours away.  Ordinarily I would have taken that information and made use of it.  My plan was to grab the kids from school, workout, and hit the sack.  If I could be in bed by 7, I figured, I’d get about seven hours of sleep before leaving home at 2AM for the long drive out west.  But you know that wasn’t going to happen…

About an hour before the kids got out of school I took my pre-workout meal which consists of a bowl of cream of rice mixed with a tablespoon of almond butter along with 50g of whey protein.  For funsies I like to add a shot of bourbon or two.  It takes the sting away when I realize by the time I’m taking my post-workout meal that I haven’t made much of a dent in my progress.  And the cream of rice is so tasty!  I almost wrote that without laughing.

My favorite Narnian, Puddleglum. He’s such a downer but Lewis nailed something distinctly human here.

Even though it’s been cold with temperatures in the 30’s I headed out the door to get the kids wearing my running shorts and a hoodie.  You have to know from that fact that I was never going to get to workout.  I got called to run a different job at 4:30.  Then I was informed that the thing I’d be taking to Lubbock wouldn’t be ready for pickup at the airport now until 10:30.  One thing lead to another and before I knew it, it was 2AM, I hadn’t slept a wink, and I was heading off to Lubbock.  This was not going to be fun.

I delivered the package ahead of deadline, grabbed some coffee, and headed back home taking in the now-familiar cotton fields and oil wells along the drive.  I’ve now done this Lubbock run often enough that I know what’s off every exit.  Need a Chick-fil-A?  Wait until Weatherford. Clean bathrooms?  Try the Allsup’s in Abilene.  Heading out the final 90 mile stretch on US 84?  Check the gas gauge.  There’s only one station between Roscoe and Post.  My God when did I become this man?

I walked into my house just shy of 3 this afternoon. I took my belt and shoes off, climbed into bed, pulled the covers over myself, and slapped my hand twice on the mattress next to me.  That signaled my Jack Russell, Buddy, who dutifully came running in from the family room, hopped on the bed, and curled up next to his master.  Man’s best friend indeed.

The Chronicles of the Chronicles

A few hours later I woke up.  You’re probably wondering about the title and the Narnia reference.  Patience is a virtue Eileen.  I’m gettin’ there.  I got out of bed and had some dinner.  I even tossed a scrap at Buddy for being such a good boy.  He, being a terrier, took the morsel and then snapped at me before walking away muttering something about getting some money together so he can “get outta here and find his own place.”

This is a story about one of my kids and our fascinating relationship. My daughter is very much like her old man in many ways. By that I mean that her brain seems to process interpersonal relationship in the same way I do. This can be a good thing. But one area where I think we diverge in our thought patterns is how we pay attention to another when that person is reading to us. OK, so I can’t say I’ve had anyone “read” to me as such in many years but you get the point.

Two years ago I endeavored to read the seven book “Chronicles of Narnia” to my son. I had read the first three when I was young. I’m glad I got through all seven with him. I thoroughly enjoyed the series as did he. Within the past month or two my daughter asked when I would be reading the series to her. It seems she cannot be left out and if he got something, she wants it too. For instance there was that time she wanted her tonsils out just like her brother. Or how about the time she demanded life would be no good unless she could also play basketball. I still think it odd that she asked why she hadn’t been circumcised.

Or I could look at it as “she wants some time with Daddy”. And for that I’m happy.

We zipped through the first book in the series. And for the record, the ONLY way to read them is in the order in which they were written. The effort of some publishers after the fact to rearrange the series into some kind of chronological order, to me anyway, does not work. Forget for a second that Narnian time does not work like time in England. There is something to be said about reading such an epic tale in a way that leaves mysteries – past and future – intact. So many times I find myself saying “Ah… so that’s why that happened so many books ago,” even though it was an event in the “future”.

As soon as I returned The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe to the library I picked up Prince Caspian. This one took a little longer to get through. We were into a season full of distractions like Halloween. Try settling any 9 year-old down to hear about a barbarous battle on a fictional hill after demolishing a bag of Kit Kat’s. But we trudged on right through the scene were Glenstorm and Trufflehunter savagely attacked Rum Tum Tugger and Mungojerry before beating Miraz to death with a the severed arm of a centaur named Bobby.

All the while my precious darling was doing her level best to pay attention to all the details. In fact, she followed the story quite well. Her brother had a better time following but that’s because he didn’t stop to ask questions. With her it’s “Wait, Daddy, why did the White Which do that?” or “Wait, Daddy, Where was the train station located? Like couldn’t they find it again and go home?” or “Wait, Daddy, do you think unicorns can really poop glitter?” You know, esoteric comprehension stuff like that.

Finally, Caspian the Tenth restored to the throne of Narnia and the Telmarines (I hate them) returned to whatever pirate island they came from, we moved on to The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. Night after night we read a few pages at a time. I didn’t mind because I was enjoying the time with my baby. Her observations are amusing and she really seems rapt in the sound of my voice. It’s a sweet picture of a sweet girl and her old man.

But those observations do tend to make me reach a breaking point when I’m tired. She had already asked about how the dragon died on the island. “I don’t know.” She had asked about why Caspian was sailing on this voyage again. “Let me recap the entire first five chapters, dear.” She had told me that a friend at school has an iPhone X and it’s not fair because she gets everything. “You know what she doesn’t have, lady? A freakin’ father!” Oh wait, that wasn’t supposed to be verbalized. Falling asleep in her bed one night I read the following line from Cousin Eustace: “Well, anyway, I looked up and saw the very last thing I expected: a huge lion coming slowly towards me.”

As I read the words between yawns I could see my little girls hazel eyes (same as mine) grow wide with excitement.

“I know! I know! I bet it’s Aslan, isn’t it!?!?!”

I slammed the book shut and said “Well who the hell did you think it was?! He’s the only lion in the whole damn series!”

And because she has inherited my sense of humor she took this not as a rebuke but for the humor it was and we laughed.

I read a few more pages. Eustace stopped being a brat. And my daughter drifted off to sleep.

And this is why I love being a dad.

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