I think we all need a little reminder from time to time that everyday, ordinary life continues amidst the chaos of the world in which we dwell.
Last night, my daughter informed me that she had just lost a tooth. “Sweetheart,” I said, “If you lost it, how is it in your hand?” She’s come to expect these rejoinders from her old man. *Eyeroll* “Daddy,” she said, “anyway… It’s a silver tooth.” Then she sauntered away as though that should mean something to me. I believe, in fact, that this is probably her last baby tooth. I think she had this silver tooth going back to early childhood when the pediatric dentist we were taking her to insisted that this particular tooth, even though a baby tooth, should be filled and not pulled because it would be quite a while before an adult tooth would take its place. I ought to know since I’ve been taking her to the dentist her whole life. Apparently when the dentist talks I should “actively listen” and not continue to skim through the four month old office copy of People.
This morning I went into the kitchen to get my morning coffee. It is a well established fact that the glorious extract of the coffee bean has power to improve heart function, lower blood pressure, boost testosterone (thus putting proverbial hair on one’s chest – a shock if one is a woman), energize the neurons in the brain, and wake one up in the morning. Perhaps the first few items in that list I made up. Haven’t had enough java yet.
On the counter near the coffee pot I discovered a large, handwritten note. It said something to the effect of: “Dear Tooth Fairy, Here’s the tooth. It’s silver so you better not ‘cheap out’. I’ll expect my $$$ by the morning. Love, Harvey’s daughter” Succinct. But in fact my daughter and this Tooth Fairy fellow (for he clearly is a very handsome and virile MAN who drinks a lot of coffee) have had a back-and-forth dialogue like this for years. At one point my daughter lost a tooth while on a trip through Ontario. Don’t you know that “TF” paid her in Canadian dollar coins and even left her a note in English and French.
About twenty minutes after I drank my first cup of morning gold, and after a quick trip to the ATM (you know, for like, whatever, I needed cash), the following note had replaced the first.
One of the Psalms saieth something or other about how “at least the honest man can get a good night’s rest.” Well friends, I’m tired. I’m not sure that speaks much to my honesty or not but it’s been a long day. The dog (pictured above, my schizophrenic Jack Russell) and I are headed to slumber town. As I tell the kids, “Don’t forget your night prayers and for heavens’ sake, BRUSH YOUR TEETH!”
Tonight my wife and I head out for our first date night of the new decade. We’re going to see a movie called A Hidden Life about the anti-Nazi martyr Blessed Franz Jagerstatter. If you’re wondering who that is you clearly don’t remember when yours truly dressed as Bl. Franz for a Halloween party five years ago…
I came home from what is more and more the most fulfilling job I’ve ever had and got to work on a carpentry project I’m working on for Christmas. Take a gander.
Of course the Christ Child was born in a manger, not in my garage next to my weights.
I’m not great by any means but I’ve been taking stock lately of a few things. The thing I would most like to be proud of in my life is my vocation as husband and father. On that front all I can say is I am trying every day. I am a teacher and vice principal. After my family, in my adult life, few other things have brought me such joy. I am a writer who has never claimed to be much good although I do know my way around a few decent turns of phrase. I am a man who likes to challenge himself in the gym, not stopping or giving up until I’m satisfied. I will probably never be satisfied and that is just OK with me. It simply means I will always be challenging myself. And I think that goes for every aspect of my life.
On the writing front in particular, I have been reading old posts to my children. It is fun rediscovering our life together; but not nearly as much fun as seeing the joy and hearing the laughter from my children who really get a kick out of my writing. Also on that front, I have noticed that I have at seven separate times in the past few months started writing new posts only to save them as drafts. Perhaps I will one by one finish each post and publish them. I might even provide context.
Until then, the family is beautiful, school is wonderful, I am building back up in the gym and getting stronger, and Baby Jesus has a comfortable place to sleep in my garage.
There is in my home tonight a great excitement that has built. I’ve been doing this teaching thing for a long time but the first day of school (the one with the kids and not just in-service meetings) is always a terrific time for me. This year it’s a bit different. Having walked away from education a couple of years ago this is my first “first day of school” in 2 years. And even though I started working at this school in January it wasn’t quite the same, jumping in mid-year. This year I am the vice principal. This year my nine year-old daughter (she of broken wrist fame) is joining me at this school. This year Netflix will hopefully release season 3 of The Crown but that might just be wishful thinking.
Tonight my sweet little girl and I ate dinner and then began what I hope to be a nightly ritual. We packed our lunches together. I still can’t believe how fortunate I am. All parents are the primary educators of their children. But I get to do it in a very real way. Short of homeschooling this is a great option for me. It combines two things I love – teaching and my kids. I can’t wait to drop by her table in the cafeteria and drop dad jokes on her and her friends. She’s a little nervous but she’s also excited and I think she’s happy because what other little girl gets to bring her awesome dad to school every day?
Speaking of the broken-boned one, we picked up her new eyeglasses today. Before getting out of the car at the ophthalmologist my daughter asked ever so kindly if I could help put pants on her stuffed bear. I don’t even ask anymore. But the cast was getting in her way. I may not be the best dad but I try as evidenced by the picture she took.
The tail has to go through the hole. Don’t ask.
After packing lunch we gathered her uniform and I ironed her shirt and mine. Then she brushed her teeth as best as she can with that cast on and I read her a book before watching her drift off to sleep. This is going to be awesome. My wife and son? They were out shopping, buying us a big bag of fun things to keep in my office like Twizzlers and protein bars. I didn’t see any pony bottles of gin but that might come later.
I got myself a “nun Bell” for recess!
Speaking of my son… I’ve been prepping mentally that I should probably deliver some kind of father-son talk to him one of these days. He’s 11 and it certainly seems appropriate. The only thing is how to do it. I prayed about it and discovered a wonderful (if not someone older) book called Listen Son. The book, written by Cardinal Stritch (yes, Elaine Stritch’s Uncle) in 1952, is a series of conversations between a father and his son. What I like is that it presents the facts in a straightforward way while focusing on the virtues of manliness, chastity, and honor. I can work with this.
Tonight I came in from grabbing a smoke on the porch and son asked “Daddy will you read to me tonight? I don’t care what it is.” Perfect opportunity, I thought. So I grabbed the book and sat down with him. Two things happened.
First, about mid-way through the first instruction my son stopped me and said “It sure sounds like you’re reading a script.” Perceptive, that boy. In fact it kind of is a script. I brushed it off by saying “Yes, son, this is an important topic and I want to get it right for your sake.”
Second, I concluded with the line “remember that what we will discuss is sacred and does not need to be talked about with others.”
For some reason at this point the boy asked “Where’d you get this book.” And without missing a beat and with as much honesty as I could muster I said “Amazon.”
We both immediately burst into laughter.
“A sacred topic brought to you by a minimum wage factory worker,” replied my son.
Since Monday’s post was all about my son I think today’s post should be all about my little girl… right after I relate one additional thing about my boy.
This morning — Tuesday/Day 6 — my son and I did something we rather enjoy doing and that we had previously done three years ago on a trip to the same town. We climbed to the top of the Currituck Beach Lighthouse. See pictures below.
Why wasn’t my daughter with us? That’s because she was having too much fun hanging with her new girls. From the moment we arrived she gravitated to the other young ladies and it seems they’ve been having quite the time of it. They all screamed something at each other in some sort of “girl code” and then took off for the beach to paint their nails or something. I really don’t know and I’m afraid to ask.
This afternoon my daughter proved once again how she can probably make me do just about anything. The girls (by now a sizable pack numbering somewhere between 8 and 12 and with no discernible leader having emerged) were looking for something to do. Stepping away from the other wolves girls my daughter approached me as I was walking toward the beach.
Daddy, where’s your credit card?
I did not like the sound of this.
“What do you need it for, Sweetheart,” I asked.
“It’s just that the other girls want to go get iced coffee,” she replied, looking almost forlorn.
I knew she couldn’t care less about coffee. She was having so much fun with her new friends and worries that if they all went off on a walk to the donut shop and she stayed behind she’d be somehow out of step with them. Hey, I get it. I’m kind of the same way. They call it “FOMO” – fear of missing out. It’s why I don’t like to sleep.
Being the awesome dad I am I hatched a better plan. Instead of coffee we’d take all the kids for ice cream. This way no one would have to pretend to like coffee. Who doesn’t love ice cream? We walked to Dairy Queen and enjoyed our treats while my son regaled us with the history of that franchise. He’s been watching YouTube videos on corporate America.
And while we were in that shopping plaza we spotted a place I almost immediately regret having spotted. “Look girls! That place does henna tattoos.”
I suppose there are few better ways (or worse) that a father and his daughter can bind together than getting inked up. And it’s henna. It will wash off in a week. She chose a llama. They’re big right now. Me? Well, let’s just say I was feeling patriotic.
The rest of the day was filled with more pool time, a wonderful dinner, and great conversation with our friends.
My daughter is happy her daddy is so cool. Her daddy is happy his daughter is so happy. The other she-wolves probably think we are both strange and amazing – a combination that cannot be undersold in life.
For Indian ink and happy memories with my little girl I am most thankful. Let’s see what tomorrow brings…
Dedicated to Annie DeLisle for reasons known to her.
Well here we are again! And by “we” I mean “me” sitting in a hotel room in a strange place, laptop on hand, pictures uploading to the cloud, bizarre canned cocktail nearby, cataloging the day’s memories, and reminiscing about the past – both years past and hours…
By the way, wasn’t it swell of me to start this post with a relatively short paragraph containing just two sentences, the second one ridiculously long and ending with an ellipses? Thought so.
By “here we go again” I mean to say that the very thing that was the catalyst to this blog and the forthcoming book(s) is now underway yet again. All the way back in the summer of 2008 and with a six week-old boy in tow because it would have been kind of wrong to leave him home alone, my darling wife and I set out to take the road trip we had talked about taking since we were dating. Six weeks later we returned to our apartment in Northern New Jersey, the boy now a man doubled in age. For 48 days we criss-crossed the continent reaching the far point of the Vegas Strip. I was a brand new dad and had fancied myself a pro at fatherhood. It’s hard to blame me since I had the best role model. My old man always did not only what was best for us but also made use of what he was good at while doing it. As a result I know every cerebral dirty joke every told. What I was good at (in my mind) was writing. So at the end of day one I found myself in a hotel room in Northern Virginia, playing with a happy infant boy, adoring my life, and reaching for my laptop so I could “pen a few lines to remember the day”.
Those lines exceeded 2500 words.
The next night I wrote another few thousand. And the night after that I did the same. I shared them with my wife who suggested I post them to Facebook where soon enough I had attracted a small army of “fans”. Long story short, I kind of forgot to stop writing. And every time we’ve taken a road trip since I’ve realized what is the bread and butter of this blog – road trips.
So tonight I present to you Day 1 of a new adventure on the asphalt ribbons of America.
Let’s start with the title. Every good story needs an apt title. The purpose of this trip for us is to visit my mother in New Jersey. And since we love my wife’s mother as well and she and my mom are great friends we asked her to come with us. So we’ll have one grandmother on the trip, another on the other side, and a whole lot of fun in between.
Best Mother-in-law ever!
The day began shortly before 3AM when I sprang from my bed, dropped to my knees in prayer, grabbed a cup of hot, black coffee, and hit the shower. My loving wife had stayed up most of the night getting the house ready to be abandoned for a month and packing the car. She insisted I get the rest since I’d be driving. It’s a guy thing. It’s literally the least I can do. I imagine myself in days of old, my family in the back of a coach and me on the bench up front driving the horses. I also imagine horses don’t scare me.
Typical Thursday morning at 5AM, Buc-ee’s Yes, it’s a beaver.
A trip with us is like a trip to the DMV only not terrible or disgusting. However it does take all day to go a few inches. I was going to compare it to trench warfare but I thought it was too soon. Our first stop came just thirty minutes later as we pulled into Buc-ee’s. Click the link to look it up. It is pure Texas and pure awesome. I think we accidentally spent a hundred bucks there. Well, not me. I bought a black coffee and did 25 pushups in the parking lot. Off we go…
Every do push-ups on asphalt?
About two hours later, driving into the rising sun, we crossed the border into the Pelican State (Louisiana) at Shreveport. The kids and my wife slept soundly this whole time. My Mother-in-law Wilma remained awake long enough for the two of us to discover we were both halfway through a rosary (individually) and so we joined forces. Then she crashed. And I drove. Alone. For hours. Don’t feel bad. I got to count all the pine trees in East Texas along the way.
Perhaps it was the excitement of the rushing and mighty Big River but all my passengers seemed to awaken right before we crossed the Mississippi. After a bathroom break and photo op we stopped for lunch at a Cracker Barrel in Vicksburg. I got excited as we pulled off the highway. There, right next to the restaurant, was what looked to all the world like an outlet mall. They do come in handy on road trips for all the articles you suddenly remember forgetting to pack once you’re just out the door. Only this one was different. For starters it was only two strips of stores. And 98% of those were closed. As in, didn’t exist anymore. It was sadder than when my dog died in high school. Thank God for chicken fried steak.
Big River
As we barreled across Mississippi I decided it was time to indoctrinate the offspring by forcing them to listen to playing some selections my older sister made us listen to on road trips when I was their age. Linda Ronstadt, Boz Scaggs… I’m sorry. I almost drove off the road. Let’s listen to silence, kids! Silence sounds good.
Finally we crossed into Alabama where the stars fell. Not sure if that’s a tourist slogan or if a radiological waste site is actually contributing to the ethereal glow. It is a beautiful place. Here’s where it got really fun for me as a dad. When I was 12 my older brother had just graduated from West Point. Yes, that one. He set out on a trip to Birmingham to visit a friend from the Academy who had left two years earlier and was graduating from Auburn and he took me along for company. I remember the trip well and not just because my brother decided to make the 1000 mile return drive straight through but because our hosts took me to the Statue of Vulcan. Someone from Birmingham once visited New York Harbor and decided the Statue of Liberty would be nice overlooking their city. Instead they got Vulcan. Birminghamanians are proud of their city’s industrial roots so entrenched in the iron industry. In fact they’re known as “the Pittsburgh of the South” even though that city’s lifeblood was steel. Came up with that one all by themselves. Their history of segregation? Not so proud of that one. But they deal with that in several other really neat monuments. Hey, nobody’s perfect. Vulcan is really cool too. Perched on a very tall pedestal resembling a lighthouse, the deity looks out over Birmingham with an anvil at his side and an arrow in his raised hand. He’s even wearing a nifty apron round his waist. Unfortunately that apron was cut for a transparently smaller man. From the rear and shining on the Homewood neighborhood with the brilliance of a large celestial object is the exposed backside of a well-sculpted dude. God? Demi-god? It’s his butt. I remembered all of this and simply had to take my kids for the experience. Both kids laughed heartily when they saw it. Then we went to the top. My daughter even climbed the ten flights of stairs with me (had to get my workout in) and gleefully stepped out onto the viewing platform at the base of the Statue. Before freezing in terror.
I love Art Deco.Seemed like the thing to do.Note the abject fear in her eyes.Perfect pose.
The platform was an open steel grid. Boy was that scary. I had to be brave so she wouldn’t cry. Inside I had three heart attacks. Not figuratively either. Ten stories up and a clear view of the ground below. Maybe this wasn’t such a brilliant plan after all.
Nonetheless we got our pictures and drove on. On our way to the hotel just north of town God must have known I hadn’t closed my exercise ring on my watch. An old woman sat in an old car in the middle of a busy street. She had broken down. My wife said “She needs help.” Good observation. I pulled over, jumped out, and like roaches scattering in a kitchen but in reverse two other people and I ran toward her car, dodging traffic, and pushed her a block to a safe spot.
They seem to enjoy this.
Finally in the hotel I “did the Dad thing”, even though I was beat, and jumped in the pool with my children. My wife went for food. Krystal’s. Never had ‘em? I’ll tell you more tomorrow. Wilma? She stayed in the room to pray. I needed it – the prayers that is. Later I closed out the day with a Walmart run. I forgot to pack my jumprope. It’s my daily cardio. I start every day with 30 minutes of high intensity jump rope before breakfast and vacation doesn’t change that. How else do you think I can do all this? Prayer? Oh, yeah that too. Made five trips back to the car for forgotten items, and finally cracked open a drink (if you can call it that) with my mother-in-law.
Alabama what now?
Which brings us to the present. Seems we have some 30 days ahead of us and many more adventures in store. I can’t promise more bareassed statues of Roman gods but I can promise lots of love and plenty of fun and a most thankful heart from this dad of two future saints.
Folks, I got off all that social media nonsense a while ago. Sorry but I'm not on Twitbook, Facepalm, YouHu, WingWang or any of the others. Maybe an event will happen to make me change my mind like Peter and Paul coming down with flaming swords and commanding it be so. Until then, read the blog and if you feel a comment is in order or you feel like sharing a tip or suggestion for a topic, email me at harvey@harveymillican.com.
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Harvey Millican's Blog: Musings of a Trad Dad 