Daddy, Can You Fix It?

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I recently flew with my daughter on a solo flight to El Paso, TX to visit my paternal grandfather for his 80th birthday. It was a wonderful trip where we met up with my parents, who had made the long drive to be there as well. This trip had many learning opportunities for me, but the one I'd like to focus on involved a souvenir my daughter received from my mom that didn't last nearly as long as it should have.


While in El Paso, we visited a store called The El Paso Saddle Blanket Company, which if you are ever remotely near El Paso is worth a visit. This place has a little bit of everything, including beautifully beaded jewelry. My mom decided she wanted to buy my 3 year old a necklace and my daughter was very excited to have the present, so much so that she then wore it for the rest of the trip.

Skip ahead a few weeks and we are back home and my daughter is still loving the necklace and keeps telling us it was a present from grandma. However, due to her "extreme" love for the necklace, my daughter decided to try and wear it as a belt and while sliding in over her shoulders the beaded necklace shattered. Then the tears began. "Daddy," she pleaded, "can you fix it?" And like a dagger the words hit me because I knew that beadwork wasn't one of my talents. I'm not sure who was more crushed, my daughter because her beautiful beaded necklace was destroyed, or me because my little girl mistakenly thought I could fix it.

Just then it hit me, I may not have the skills needed to fix this shattered memory, but I did know someone who could, a mother of one of my students. I got in touch with her as soon as possible and explained the situation and she agreed to take a look, while informing me she could make no promises. After looking over the wreckage, she agreed to fix the necklace, but let me know it would look different since she had no idea what the original design was like. My main request was that it be made of a stretchy string.


I had no way of fixing the necklace, but I knew someone who could and was able to get in contact with them. As parents, we don't know all the answers, and we don't have to as long as we know where to find them. We need to make sure we have trusted confidants with whom we can go in times of need and struggle. By have a group of friends or family members who can help us, we become even better parents and our children do nothing more than benefit from the influence of others. We shouldn't be embarrassed or afraid that we don't know all the answers, unless we aren't willing to look for them.

What happened with the necklace? This parent came through and delivered not only one, but two beautiful necklaces that are very much 3 year old proof with stretchy string and all!

Cross Posted at EdTechBabble.net.

Creating Headlines and Capturing the Essence of Our Family Vacation

Good newspaper headlines capture the essence of an event or story. Great headlines draw a reader in and make him want to read more. While headlines don't share everything in a story, good ones express the most important aspects of a plot. Often, the best headlines not only inform readers, but also entertain them.

One of my favorite thinking routines for helping students' capture the heart of what they are reading is Headlines. This routine asks students to write newspaper-type headlines to summarize and express the crux of the matter at hand. We use this routine often in my 6th grade reading class, and I have found it a useful tool to help me formatively assess my students' understanding.

In my class students create original headlines after each chapter they read in a text. We sometimes share these aloud in class. Often, we ask the writer the follow-up question: What makes you say that?" Occasionally, I ask students to write a headline for the days' learning as their "ticket out the door." We've also used the routine as a way for small groups to report to the class on the core their group's discussion. It's a useful tool, and I recommend you give it a try to make your students' thinking visible. Students need practice summarizing and identifying main ideas, and headlines are a good way to practice.

My school has eagerly embraced the Project Zero thinking routines, and my sons' teachers use this routine in their classrooms, also. Creating headlines has spilled over from school into our home as well, and I love to hear my children ask each other for a headline after a family outing or event.

We are on spring break this week and have traveled to Copper Mountain to ski. At the end of the day Monday, as we were riding back from the slopes, my second grader Andrew chimed in with his "headline" for the day. We liked his so much that Eric, Sam, and I added ours as well. I shared them on Facebook as a way of keeping friends and family updated on our trip. The headlines really do capture the heart of our family vacation. So, we added our girls' headlines and continued writing them at the end of each day. Here they are so far:

Monday, March 11

• Philip: Where's the Ibuprofen?
• Eric: Up Down Turns
• Sam: First Day - A Success I Say
• Andrew: Cold Cold Colorado

Tuesday, March 12

• Philip: No Longer 25
• Debbie: Not As Bad As Yesterday
• Eric: The Journey to the Top Continues
• Sam: Family Fun Skiing 'Till the Day Is Done
• Andrew: The Fast and the Furious
• Evelyn: Getting to Ski with Dada

Wednesday, March 13

• Philip: How Did They Grow Up So Fast?
• Debbie: She'll Be Coming Around the Mountain
• Eric: The World of Turns
• Sam: Bittersweet
• Andrew: Tree Trouble
• Evelyn: Skiing Is Fun

Do you think you have a good idea of what our trip has been like? How might you use this with your family or your children? I'd love to hear your thoughts and experiences about writing headlines as a method for capturing the heart of an event, idea, or concept.


"Creating Headlines and Capturing the Essence of Our Family Vacation" originally appeared at http://philipcummings.com.

On Being One of the Extrinsic Rewards

Most schools are full of extrinsic rewards. Teachers and principals use rewards and punishments to encourage students to do what we want them to do. It's been this way for a long time. It's the way my teachers tried to motivate me, and it's how I originally learned to "manage" my students. Yet, as I've continued learning as a teacher and dad, I've started to reconsider extrinsic rewards.

I'm not much on extrinsic motivation any more. I've read Dan Pink's Drive, and it resonated with me. I've also become a fan of Alfie Kohn, Joe Bower, and Chris Wejr. I firmly believe internal drive is the best motivation and one should do the right thing because it's what he knows is right--NOT because there's a carrot dangling at the end of the stick. I want my students to try because they want to improve and because they feel empowered to learn. I want my own children to have that drive, too, and so I've tried to reinvent the ways I motivate and encourage kids. (I admit I often revert to rewards and punishments when I become reactionary, but I'm working on it.)

I'm a 6th grade reading teacher in an elementary school that long ago fully embraced the Accelerated Reader program. We are all about AR at my school. Last year was my first year in an elementary school. It was my first time to really experience the madness that is AR at PDS. It's over the top. We have all kinds of rewards and many levels of achievement where students receive prizes. The whole thing culminates in an enormous AR auction at the end of the year, and if I gave details of the event you'd claim they were hyperbole.

I understand and appreciate what we are trying to do with AR. We want our boys to read. We want then to read often, and we want them to read well. We hope to develop life long readers, and yes, we have many boys that are amazing readers. And yet, the AR system of extrinsic rewards makes me uncomfortable. I just don't like it.

My son Sam is a 5th grader at my school, and he is an avid reader. He's always got his nose in a book. He gets that from his mother. Sam reads because he loves it. He's a sucker for a good story and enjoys talking about what he reads. I don't doubt his motives for reading, but he also gets pretty excited talking about his AR points, too. I worry that when the extrinsic rewards of AR are gone Sam's enthusiasm for reading will also wane. I hope I'm wrong, but I still worry.

Yesterday, teachers passed out AR prizes. Sam had read enough books to win a certificate allowing him to go out to lunch with the teacher of his choice. He could not wait to tell me about it when he arrived in my room after school, and I did my best to look happy as he reported his winnings. Then, with a big smile he showed me his certificate and said, "And look, Dad, I get to go out to lunch with any teacher of my choice. Guess who I choose?"

I looked back at him baffled.

"You!" he said.

----

I'm still not a huge fan of extrinsic rewards especially in regards to reading. I'm still pretty certain extrinsic rewards are not in kids' best interests, but for the moment--at least for today-- as a dad, I'm okay with being one.

This post was originally shared on http://philipcummings.com.

Daddy, Come Play with Me!

Come play with me Daddy!

"Daddy, come play with me" is a phrase I hear all the time and I love it! I have a 3 year old daughter who is so sweet and loving and yet, I don't always give her the time and attention she deserves because I have "obligations" that must be fulfilled. Now, there are certainly things I do that must be done like going to school, work, or religious duties, but there are also a number of other things I let get in the way of that valuable time with my daughter.

How many times do I come home to an anxious daughter, she literally runs to the door everyday to unlock it so I can come in, only to allow technology or work get in the way? I have found that she is only excited for the first 5-10 minutes and then she loses interest if I'm not able to devout some time to her. It is incredibly sad how frequently I let those crucial moments pass with without playing and enjoying her sweet kindness and love.

How frequently do we allow ourselves the opportunity to "play" with our students at recess? Are we too "busy" to go out and play? Now, I recognize that we can't always go outside and play at recess because as teachers, we legitimately have to use that recess time to prepare for lessons, talk with a colleague, or heaven forbid we need to use the restroom during the day! The question though, do we really need to do those things every recess break?

I am in my 5th year as a classroom teacher and I am embarrassed how infrequently I allow myself to play while at recess! I go out for my recess duty rotation as needed, one time you shouldn't play, but actually be vigilant for safety and concerns of the students, but do I go out and play? Not really and that bothers me. In my first year teaching, I went out to play at least once per week. Once a week! I haven't been outside to play at all this year, we are in March just in case you forgot. We are ⅔ of the way through our school year and I have yet to go out and play. I need to change that ASAP!

I think one of the best thing we can do as teachers is go out and play with our students. Show them we are not just there to teach them academics, but also how to have fun. We should spend time running and playing to show them physical exercise is good for us all, especially as adults! I am going to set a goal of returning to my once a week recess play time with my students for the remainder of the school year so they can see how much fun I really am!

Even more important than the play time at school, is the play time at home with my kids. I think the best thing to do in this case is to make sure when I walk in my lovingly unlocked front door that I am ready to give my sweetheart daughter a couple of my first moments home so she can see how much Daddy loves her!

"Come play with me Daddy" needs to be a phrase I continue to hear for many, many years from this little girl and the only way to make sure that happens is to actually do just that. Drop the work, the electronics, everything and just spend some time playing with my little girl!

Cross posted on EdTechBabble.net

Accidental Parenting and Accidental Teaching

The first 9 months of raising twin girls has been some of the most challenging and rewarding moments of my life. During these months, my wife and I have been such learners as we try to figure out what works for our girls. We have read a number of books and talked to many people about strategies, philosophies and ideas that will help us as parents. One book that has stuck out and provided us with tons of great ideas (and much more sleep) is The Baby Whisperer by the late Tracy Hogg. Her philosophy aligns well with ours (we are not the 'cry-it-out, Ferberizing' style of parents) as we try to listen to what our children are telling us - why are they crying? What cues can we look for? What is that facial expression or body language tell us? It is truly amazing what happens when you actually understand what your kids are telling you!

One of the ideas that Hogg writes about is what she calls "Accidental Parenting" and describes it as:

Start as you mean to go on. Unfortunately, in the heat of the moment parents sometimes do anything to make their baby stop crying or to get the toddler to calm down. Often the "anything" turns into a bad habit that they later have to break - and that's accidental parenting".

Hogg goes on to give a number of examples such as taking your baby for a drive to get him/her to sleep. She explains that this WILL work... but unfortunately it will teach the child that he/she needs motion to fall asleep and will struggle to fall asleep on his/her own. Another one is when an infant wakes up in the middle of the night and parents put the child back to sleep with a bottle. Again, this works but teaches the child that he/she needs a bottle to go back to sleep.

At times, having twins has placed us in survival mode and we have had to resort to types of accidental parenting at times and although it has worked short term, it has definitely caused problems in the following days.

As my wife and I were doing our best to avoid accidental parenting, I could not help but see the obvious link to what we do in schools. How many strategies do we use that work in the short term but accidentally cause problems later on?

Here are some examples of "accidental teaching" that I have used in my career as an educator:

• Rewards, bribes, prizes - if you do this (or do as I say), you will get this shiny prize. Kids figured out very quickly that it was all about the prize and not so much about the task.


• Yelling - I yelled at kids and then they became quiet. Guess what happened after this... they knew that they could be loud UNTIL I yelled!


• Punishments - I used my power as an educator to give consequences strictly on my terms... because I could. I was not concerned for the reasons for the behaviour but more about the statement I needed to make. Kids learned to just misbehave when I was not looking and avoid getting caught.


• Worksheets - kids were quiet and seemed content to do endless worksheets and busy work. If the goal was busyness and silence, then this would have been a great success - unfortunately, the goal was learning so I kind of missed the boat.


• Focus on grades - if you do this, you will get a good grade. Students crammed, copied homework, memorized... and forgot to learn.


• Focus on the result - as a young coach, it was all about the score. When my players faced a tough opponent or were in a big game, they crumbled because they were focused on the scoreboard. Once we began to focus on process rather than result... we, ironically, started to do better on the scoreboard.


• Awards - I have given awards and been part of a number of selection committees. When the focus of players and students moved to the award rather than the process, I realized we had a problem.

In our current system with large class size and challenging class composition issues, teachers often see no other option than to resort to rewards, punishments and other forms of accidental teaching. I continue to catch myself in a stressful situation resorting to actions that do not align with my philosophies. The key for me is that I am catching myself and reflecting upon my actions. I still have a long way to go as I continue to make errors in judgment but I do see myself continuing to grow as an educator and parent; each year I gain tools in my toolbox that help me deal with stressful situations much differently more effectively.

As stated, I realize that parenting and teaching are often very stressful and majority of decisions are done with the best intentions. I encourage you, as parents and educators, to reflect upon the decisions we make with our kids. Are we parenting and teaching for the long term or are we teaching some lessons by accident to help us get through the day?

Originally posted at "The Wejr Board" blog.

Rethinking the Little Mermaid

Dear Brenna,

I watched The Little Mermaid a few weeks ago. I understand Ariel's curiosity. I get the sense of sacrifice that goes with love. I know that the infatuation looked a lot like love. But it wasn't. She sacrificed everything for someone she didn't know and he sacrificed nothing in the process.

When you get older and watch the movie, I want to know the original story, where the little mermaid evaporates into foam.  There are powerful people out there who will woo you with the promise that you'll be part of their world; be it a handsome prince or a high-paying job or the accolades of a top-tier college.

I don't want you to lose yourself. I don't want you to evaporate.

 You should never have to change your identity to meet the dreams of a man. No relationship, no promise, no plot line in a fairy tale story is ever worth giving up your voice. Be curious. Be bold. But cling to your voice with your whole being, Brenna.

Love, Dad

On Courage

Dear Joel,

You would have been brave if you had smashed that kids face into the ground.  And you would have been justified, too.  Bullying is never okay and the victim is never at fault.  But you didn't choose bravery.  You chose courage instead.  You boldly dealt with it with humility and grace.  You talked to me about how it felt.  You talked to your teacher about why it was wrong.  Then you moved a step further and chose forgiveness and you proved, at a young age, that love is the most courageous route possible.  Thank you for the reminder about what matters.

Love,
Dad

Pixar Paradox

I'm not a fan of most children's movies.  However, I am often surprised by the ability of Pixar to create a collective cultural mythology.  They understand how to use the medium effectively, creating an entire multimedia world that is timeless and accessible to all ages. I'm often impressed by the paradoxical nature of their movie themes:

• Finding Nemo: Safety is found only when you are no longer trying to be safe.
• Wall-E: The technology we design to save our lives is the very thing that destroys our ability to live
• Cars: Success is found only when success is no longer the goal
• The Incredibles: The "boring" life turns out to be the real adventure.  
• Up! Your protagonist becomes your hero
• Monster's Inc: The only thing to fear is fear itself (sorry for the cliche there)
• A Bug's Life: The humble are exalted and the powerful are humbled. 
• Toy Story: You can't lead until you learn to serve

I haven't figured out a paradoxical theme of Ratatouille yet.

From Homework to Home Learning

"Can I tell you a story?" Joel asks.

"Okay."

"So Santa Claus is delivering gifts on Christmas when he gets stuck."

"He can't get stuck," Micah interrupts.

"No, he gets stuck . . . "

"He has magic."

"He's not magical enough to lose weight, Micah." That quiets Micah for a moment.

"So Santa gets stuck and his feet dangle down. He kicks off his shoes and he's left there with his socks hanging down. So the kids get up and say, 'Look, we have new stockings.' And when they look inside, they scream, 'Oh my gosh, these are feet! These are feet! Santa gave us feet instead of candy!' So Santa starts yelling at them and they say, 'Wow, the feet are talking to us.' They pull and they pull, but it doesn't work. So they saw off Santa's feet. Then they never get any more stockings on Christmas, because they didn't listen to Santa Claus."

It's a violent story filled with irony and even a touch of justice at the end. I admit that I'm a biased parent, but I think the story is clever. It's possible that Joel is simply a smart kid. If so, he inherited his intelligence from Christy. Yet, it's also possible that young children are more capable of critical thinking, creativity and irony than adults assume.

So, it has me thinking about the topic of homework. Often, teachers send home practice worksheets for students to fill out. It becomes a toned-down, boring version of a rote-memorization exercise in class. I'm not opposed to children learning at home. Playing the "how did you get to that number" game or the "tell me a story" game or "make up a story that has these four topics" are all examples of learning that we do at home.

We do science experiments. At some point today, we're going to get a tub of water, weigh the tub and way an item. Then we'll add the item to the water to see if a floating item increases the weight of the water by the same amount as the item.

What if schools redefined homework to home learning? What if they sent students home with games, ideas and activities that parents could (emphasis on parent choice) use if they are struggle to engage their children in critical thinking? I hate getting a packet of worksheets. However, if the teacher sent my son home with an erector set (might be a little expensive) or a list of fun mental math games, I would embrace the idea.

Getting to Know My Daughter

I am really enjoying getting to know my daughter.

Yeah, obvious and often thought of as obligatory.

With the exception of my daughter, I have never been with someone every single day of their life.



Seeing mine and Kari's physical, emotional, and personal qualities in our daughter is frightening and exhilarating, for both real and imagined reasons.

However, seeing her unique traits come to the surface is what I mean while writing I am enjoying getting to know my daughter.

As most of you know, there is a simple, hard to describe joy in watching our children grow up. It is more like joy mixed with contentment.

Intoxicating.

This wonderful mix of simple, contented joy influences other areas of my life. Certainly diet, spending habits, and my thoughts on all things education are put into sharp relief when I watch my daughter giggle after going down a slide.



Yeah, obvious and often thought of as obligatory...

But I am really enjoying getting to know my daughter, and myself.

I Heart Dadding

One of the reasons I adore fatherhood is because it is the definition of what Paulo Freire called praxis. Unlike the other things in life that often involve theory and practice being mutually exclusive, fatherhood lets me engage my pedagogical learnings as a professional educator and shake them into a cocktail of reality.

Oh, and lest I forget autonomy. My most frustrating times as a passion-driven teacher or artist have always involved negotiating difficulties with collaboration, bureaucracy, or politics. Thanks in large part to my goddess of a wife, I rarely have these incidents of creative blockage.

I approach my teacher-dad life as science and art. What about you?

5 Free Gifts from Colorado

It's a gift to walk where there is no pavement

When we go to Colorado, my kids have a chance to experience a few things we miss in the suburbs:

1. Mortality: When we spend time outdoors, we ultimately run into death.  It might be a fresh carcass or dried bones, however it ultimately leads to a discussion about life, death and why we exist. Perhaps a dried carcass sounds morbid and maybe there's some validity in avoiding the morbid.   However, I'm thinking that maybe it's crazier to hand a child a hunk of flesh shrink wrapped and placed on styrofoam so that he never fully comprehends our relationship with other organisms. I want my children to believe that death is real and that life matters.

2. Stars: When living in the suburbs, the sky becomes manageable, the universe tame.  The moon never moves beyond a horizon, creating the "optical illusion" of being larger than life (though I might argue that it's more of an illusion to think we can shrink the moon by framing it between two skyscrapers).  I want to see Joel and Micah gasp at the vast canvas of innumerable stars and I want to watch Brenna reach her hands out and attempt to grasp the universe with reckless abandon.  I want them to be bold and humble.  Stars play a role in this.

3. Open Space:  My kids live in a place of constant freedom.  They've turned a suburban backyard into a mud pit, a dragon fortress, a baseball field, an edible jungle and a Jedi Academy.  In Colorado, they get to run as far as they want without running into a fence, looking both ways to cross a road or questioning who the land belongs to.  Right now, it's their land.

4. Affectionate Parents: Sometimes we get into a habit of playing zone defense with the kids.  We multi-task.  We compartmentalize. And if we're not careful, it feels a little less like a relationship and more like running an efficient organization.  Then on a road trip, I'll slip my hand around Christy's side or she'll place her hand on my knee while she drives and I watch Joel or Micah take notice.  They study it silently - the gestures, the eye contact.  We don't spell it out for them, but they sense intuitively that we're in love - which might ultimately make for the greatest sense of safety they can experience.

5. Uninterrupted Play: I had the chance for 3-D, interactive, educational games without worrying about laundry or cleaning the kitchen.  My favorite Luddite App so far?  The story app allows us to collectively tell either a shared experience or an entirely fictional narrative.  I want them to internalize the message that even if there are ugly, contentious moments in cramped-up car rides, there isn't anyone I'd rather be with on my free time.  Fuck the test or the Little League win or the popularity pissing contest.  You'll always have a place here, kiddos.

Bonus Gift: At some point, I won't pay attention. I'll hurl a careless word and I'll come alongside Joel or Brenna or Micah.  I'll help pull out the shrapnel.  I'll wipe away tears.  I'll hold them tightly and I'll tell apologize.

My Daddy Can't Whip Your Daddy

"Hey Stortz, I'll get you a copy of Baseball for Dummies next year" my coach -friend jibed.  My son's last game of the season had just ended.

"Yeah, sure.  Sounds good," I sort of half-way grinned.  Like I need someone to tell me how much I don't know about sports.  My glaring gaps in all things sports cuts me out of much guy conversation.

My son had a good season this spring.  It was his first time on an organized baseball team.  He had a good season because he had good coaches and a good team.  He worked hard at practice and learned good skills.  I'm glad he likes playing sports.  I'm really glad he's pretty good at them.  But it isn't because of me.

There was a time when I liked baseball.  My second grade little league team was my first (and almost only) experience in team sports.  I really did like it for a while.  Until I realized how bad I was at it.

When I was a kid, nobody wanted me on their team- the classic last pick.  And, rightfully so.  I stank something fierce.  I was an uncoordinated goof.  There was a good reason they stuck me way out in left field on that second grade team.  Baseball, basketball, football.  You name it and I've botched it.

Later, my friends coaxed me onto the 8th grade softball team at my small Catholic school.  It wasn't any better.  Strikeouts, missed throws, dropped catches.  It's painful to know that you are the worst person on the team.  It's even more painful to not know what to do about it.  I was bad.  My friends knew it and I knew it.  I figured out my suckage pretty early on, but honestly, it would have been nice if my dad would have helped me out.

This is my fear now that I'm a dad.  I fear not being able to show my kids.  I fear not being able to teach my kids.  I fear not being able to help them out.

*     *     *

I remember the playground pissing contests between the boys about their dads:

"My dad drives a monster truck that goes a hundred miles an hour!"
"My dad is over eight feet tall!"
"My dad makes a million dollars a year!"
"My dad shot three deer in one day!"
"My dad can throw a ball across two fields!"
"My dad can whip your dad!"

I wonder what my sons will say about me on the playground.
"My dad can wash the dishes better than your dad!"

I'm not a man's man. I can't teach my boys to fish or hunt. I can't teach them to ride a motorcycle.  I can't teach them to change their own oil.  I can't teach them to swing a hammer.  I can't teach them to throw a fastball or punt a football.

About all I can teach them is love and encouragement.  I hope that's enough.  God, I hope that's enough.

Calm and Endless

I am standing on the bow of a garish tourist boat called the Phi Phi Cruiser III. My mind is flush with memories and anxiety. Kaia stands in front of me, her hair alive with the wind, shines a shade of gold reserved for fairy tales. Below us on a lower deck a gang of young tanned young men bask in the ease of irresponsibility.

The ocean is calm and endless. I see such beauty in its bleak emptiness. Kaia seems a bit bored; she squints her eyes and stares forward searching for the islands I promised her. Last time I was in this spot of the earth, I was leaving Phi Phi a bit shell shocked. I am not sure why I need to go back. Not sure what I hope to see.

I spark up a conversation with a rosy red rotund woman from South Africa. She compliments Kaia on her manners and beautiful eyes. I thank her, as if I have had anything to do with either. The conversation travels to Mozambique, Madagascar and the her trip on a fifty foot catamaran leaving the Seychelles. She seems to have a difficult time deciphering our life. Usually where are you from is so much less eventful- born in Iran, raised in California, wife from Milwaukee, met in Mozambique, one daughter born in Malaysia, the other in Qatar, now living in Jakarta. 

I can't help but tell her about the Tsunami. Not sure why I do it. People seem to weave such drama about that day, and who am I kidding I enjoy it. To see their eyes light up as they place themselves in the halo of what happened to us. I guess I have never really felt as blessed as how others feel when they hear our story for the first time. They concocted tales of faith and destiny. She is silent. The wind blows. I am not sure if Kaia heard the story, if she did she doesn't say anything.

"You are doing good work," she says at the end of her thoughts. "I don't know you, but I can see it in your face and your voice, by your lovely daughter, whatever you are doing...it is good and important."

I feel loved. Here is it, on this perfect Tuesday morning, but by this complete stranger I feel loved. It feels nice. "Thank you," I say. "I am doing the best I can."

"You should write a book!"

"I am!" I cannot control the excitement in my voice. We stare at the sea in silence for a few minutes more, before I head back down to the lower deck to get Kaia out of the sun. She said that she would look up my name, so she can look for the book, but I do not see her again.

Phi Phi itself was quiet and drab. The luster and the shine left behind in nostalgia and broken memories. We ate a mediocre lunch. I walked Kaia out into the lagoon, looking at where the wave came in and thought about luck. It all sounds too dramatic even for me. I was here years ago and I am here again now with this beautiful young child, what else does this story need?

Coda: The back of the boat is crazy as Arabs and Indians who have never swam, scream jumping onto the dead reef. They are covered in clothing and head scarves. Kept a float not by any sense of buoyancy, but by artificial orange devices none of them seem to trust.

Kaia and I quietly put on our masks and fins in a corner. I jump in and ask her if she is ready. She places her mask on her tiny face and deftly makes sure there is no hair at the edges,  just like I have taught her in the pool.  She nods her head. I can tell she is scared, but before I can double check, she is in the water and swimming away from the crowd. I can see her little finger pointing at the school of fish who flock to us and our soggy pieces of bread.

We swim away from the crowd and I have never been so proud. Here is my beautiful little mermaid swimming all on her own, without a life jacket because she said it made it hard for her to swim, in the wide open ocean. She takes a few dives and bobs effortlessly at the surface.

"Look dad! There are thousands of them."

We swim a while as I watch her gain confidence. I think about fear and what a wasted emotion it is. I watch the others bob like orange turtles stuck in their shells. I think about the work I do.  I sum it up in one simple line, "Live fearlessly."

Later, some guy jumps off the deck. A little five foot jump, but I can see that Kaia has noticed. "You wanna jump? I'll hold your hand." Hands in her mouth, nervous, smiling devilishly, she nods.

Standing on the edge, holding hands, I say, "You don't have to you know. I know it feels scary. All I have to say is that sometimes, usually actually, when we do something that scares us, it feels really good afterwards. It is your choice. You have been brave enough for one day."

I am holding her hand and we are ten feet underwater. We kick our feet and shoot to the surface and hear a cheer from a young couple who watched us jump. "Atta girl!" The man shouts. Kaia smiles and asks if we can do it again to show mommy.

Who know, maybe the lady was right. Maybe I am doing something right.

Cross posted at Intrepid Flame

Universal through Particular

Stephen here...

James Joyce once said "in the particular contains the universal". My daughter had a particular experience recently that has made me think about and ask universal questions.

Last Wednesday, Jocelyn and I were playing in the backyard before Kari came home. Jocelyn was bouncing back and forth between her scooter, swing, drawing easel, and her empty plastic pool.

I do not remember how it happened, but next thing I knew, we are by the hose and she turns it on.

Jocelyn loved it. She was not jumping up and down, giggling and all that. But she was completely captivated with the hose and water. This is not the first time she has played with the hose and water. She does that just about every weekend.

What was different this day was her exploration and imagination appeared elevated. In the past, she would be content playing with the water coming out of the hose. On this day, however, she wanted to direct and purposefully use the water.

My heart about melted when she began watering her pacifier.

It was as if she thought that by "watering" it, more pacifiers would be produced. I'm not going to get into all the learning theory she is actively engaged in and all that. I know she was learning.

I could have sat there all day and watched her play with the water. I certainly spent hours playing in the front yard of my parents house, making dirt race tracks and using the hose to race leaves down the angle of the driveway. (I never had hot wheels tracks...was never really interested in them!)

This experience of Jocelyn playing with water for at least fifteen minutes has caused me to think...

How do I teach my 21-month old to be responsible with water and all of earth's resources?

My parents never talked to my sister and I about these topics.

I am certainly not a fan of the marketing campaign to "Go Green." In addition, I must admit that I have not treated the earth's resources in a responsible manner over the years.

I know I can just turn off the water and have us walk inside. I also get that she is only 21-months old and I am likely over analyzing things here...

But I do want to have these conversations with my daughter. But how? When? Will she judge me for being a hypocrite? How do I teach something I know NOTHING about and, to be honest, have not bothered to even think about until this week?

This post is cross posted at Rush the Iceberg.

Wild Things

The role of the writer, as I see it, is to harness the inexplicable and give shape to the unnameable. The trouble is that the act of creating images from fleeting moments of wonder is an impossible feat. Many have tried, some more successful than others, but reality is simply too grand in scope to be portrayed using petty tools such as words.

How can language ever be enough to share the feeling of riding a motorbike through the jungled roads of Phuket with your five year old daughter gripping your hands, as the tender golden soft light of the sun falls from the leaves like drops from a balmy rainstorm? Robust clouds of white and grey give chase, the wind on your faces as you whisper, "Are you okay?"  You give the accelerator a gentle pull. Coming down the hill the vast ocean sparkles and waves caress the patient earth. She takes her helmet off as you stop to admire the sea. How can these words possibly explain the confidence with which she swings her hair and carries the helmet on her wrist?

Back on the bike, you smell burning garbage and coconut rusks, the grilled shellfish and roasting chili peppers. You are aware that this very moment is being engraved onto her consciousness and shaping her dreams. The notion of risk taking has been forever altered as you check and re-check the mirrors, make sure to slow down around each turn, but you cannot ever be too careful. After all it is adventure that gives these moments their brightness, you know this, but her safety comes first. Never again will you throw caution to the wind and do things just to see if they can be done.

You think back to the freedom of youth, amazed you were able to navigate the vast loneliness of all that space. You are coming down the hill, "You know I love you right?" The wind is howling, so you whisper again into her ear. The giant red helmet nods affirmative. Men often gripe about domestication and the staleness of family, but you know that these are the moments of rebirth and second shots at childhood. You will show her the world, every inch of it, in all it's wonder. She will be there to grip you tight and nod her head in affirmation every step of the way. Not only a receptacle of your devotion, but also an active agent of love. She is your anchor, your friend, your partner in this reincarnated freedom.

You pull the accelerator once again and howl as tears pool up in your eyes. Beyond the sound of the engine and the wind you here her voice echo what you already know- the things you can never explain. 

Cross posted at Intrepid Flame

Father's Day Flipped

On this Father's Day I am certainly thinking about my dad and two grandfathers and all the ways in which they have influenced my life.

However, I am realizing more and more that I am thinking about my daughter this Father's Day. I am thinking more about what it means for me to be a dad.

Earlier tonight I received the single best Father's Day gift I could ask for: an unsolicited hug.

Some background.

My daughter is 20 months old and is in a phase right now where she likes to say "No, Daddy, No!" with chin up, pointing her index finger at me. When mom is around, she does not let me hold her. I get sad; but, it is so cute and I know it is temporary.

I know she loves me and wants me to be around her all the time.

If I leave the backyard and go to the garage, I can here her yelling "Daddy?! Daddy?!" and am greeted with smiles and laughter when I return to the back yard. I am awakened each morning with this, too!

When Jocelyn was three months old, she had RSV and was in the hospital for seven nights. Very scary and not fun. Part of the treatment was to give her nightly breathing treatments. This went on until a few months ago.

Every night Kari holds Jocelyn while sitting in the rocking chair as I sit on the foot stool in front of them holding the respirator so Jocelyn could breathe in the medicine.

Well, we know longer do the breathing treatments, but we still have the same seating arrangements.

During this time, we talk reflect about the day, say our prayers, and generally have a good time with much laughter.

Lately, Jocelyn has been pointing to the door, saying "NightNight": instructing me to go to bed so mom can begin humming "Silent Night" (yes, even in June! It is the ONLY song she will fall asleep to...)

Tonight, after we reflected and prayed, Jocelyn grabbed my face and started to name my nose, eyes, ears, and all that. She then pulled me down and placed our chins, yes our chins, together and began humming. It was so neat, and silly! I completely forgot about her telling me "no!".

Smiles were abundant.

Jocelyn looked at me, smiled, said, "Daddy..."

"Yes, Jocelyn?"

Smile creeps though a pacifier...

Arms spread out...

Un-solicited hug; best Father's Day moment.

Cross-Posted at Rush The Iceberg.

Somewhere Between

Note: This was not an easy to post to write. Just couldn't get what I wanted to say quite right. Hoping there is something worthwhile in my textual wrestling match. Perhaps someone can help me in the comments.

A few days ago, I posted a letter I had written to my five year old daughter for her to read when she is older. I was feeling emotional and overcome with pride and needed a space to unload some emotions; they felt warm and soothing; I didn't need to put them down, but still I felt the need to share them publicly. Perhaps I feel that sharing positive emotions like pride and love can help others feel. What you might ask? Perhaps, I think that sharing our lives can help others feel connected, not necessarily to each other, but to our shared emotional pool, or maybe I wanted you to see what a caring father I am, can be, so that your admiration might negate the occasional feeling of guilt I feel for the times I am curt and frustrated and angry with my girls.

I received a few quick tweets about what a great dad I am, and instead of feeling a sense of validation, I felt like I was being dishonest for highlighting only the photoworthy events of our lives. I guess this post is my attempt to balance the notion that fatherhood is all pretty pictures and good times. I hope this post doesn't tarnish the earlier emotions or the perception that people may have of what kind of father I am, but rather I hope this post can be an honest attempt to take a closer look at what it is like to be a dad. To explore the complexity of fatherhood. It is easy to read lists like this and pat ourselves on the back. It doesn't take a father of the year candidate to understand that you should enjoy spending time with your kids. Really, I need to be reminded to tell my kids I love them? Even we can make lists of verbs list like the one below describing what it means to be a great dad:

Listen, understand, hug, ignite, play, inspire, love, guide, comfort, soothe, challenge, entertain. We can add a few inspirational photos and voila! Happy father's day to everyone.

But let's be honest, there are times when we scream and yell and say things that make our kids feel small. It isn't right or good and the  side effects feel terrible. No one likes it when we see the effects of our frustration and anger reflected in our children's faces- mirrors of ourselves when we were kids. Nothing like breaking promises we made to ourselves as children, "I will never do that to my own kids!"we said!

The reality of fatherhood lays somewhere between the Hallmark card and the PSA about emotional abuse. Like most things in life, I am learning that raising children is about vulnerability and honesty. It is about not needing to win all the fights. It is about empowering others before ones self. It is about building up and giving wings. It is about patience, understanding, oh oh here come another list…Fatherhood is about learning how to let go of ego. Isn't everything in life?

It is about letting go of selfishness. For as long as I can remember, my life has been all about me. I think most men can relate to this need to be babied and adored. Who knows, maybe it is beyond gender, but women appear to have an easier time caring for others before themselves, at least the women in my life always have. This male selfishness has been the demise of many relationships. This selfishness has resulted in many lonely nights and hundreds of mediocre poems about being misunderstood.

A few years ago, I made a resolution to once and for all, try to put my selfishness to bed. I vowed to put my daughter in the place that had always been reserved solely for me. No longer would I think of my own needs before hers, but what I am learning is that it takes time and practice to be able to care for others the same way we take care of ourselves. This is what fatherhood is all about- balance. I am learning.

As I get older I am learning how to find a balance between who I am as a man and who I need to be as a father. I think this is where many men struggle. It is for me, the hardest part about being a dad. The realization that my life is no longer just my life alone; that it needs to be shared with my family has not be so easy to get my head around.  I made the vow years ago, but the reality is harder to actualize. There are times when I am doing something, it can be as trivial as uploading a picture or finishing up an email, and my daughter, who may be hungry or tired and whining demands attention. I catch myself saying something like, "Just give me a minute!" I don't take pictures of those moments or write letters about them, but they are also a part of being a dad.

That is all I am trying to say.


cross posted at inrepidflame

Lessons from my father

Cross-posted at "The Wejr Board"

Seeing how Father's Day is tomorrow and I am a new father myself, I felt that I would take this time to reflect on some of the key lessons that I learned from my dad, Glenn Wejr.

My dad has spent his life bouncing from career to career but this was not because he fared poorly in that specific career but because he wanted to try something different; he has worked as a retail clerk, teacher, coach, business owner, school board trustee, realtor, and real estate developer. Through all of these ventures, he learned some key lessons; the following is a list of lessons that he shared with me that have impacted the way I lead my life and what I hope to share with my children:

1. Keep your head up when you cross the blue line, head down when you are teeing off; keep your elbow in when making a jump shot and you elbow out when swinging at the pitch. My dad was my coach in almost every sport. He was the official coach for many and the behind-the-scenes-late-at-night coach for others sports. As an athlete he excelled in basketball, baseball, and curling and for sports like hockey, he learned the sport and volunteered his time to coach the teams in which I was involved.


2. Pick your team based on their personality and character, not based on their present ability. Every year that my dad came home from the meetings where they place players on teams, I would always be upset because I would say, "they have all the best players, why didn't you pick any of them?" Every year he would respond in the same way , "the players on our team are coachable, you wait and see." Every year we would start out losing to the other teams but by the end of the year, because of the focus on effort and attitude, we would end up being victorious and proud as a team.


3. Praise effort, not ability - don't praise too often, don't be afraid to offer feedback on improvement. As a child I was always frustrated because my dad never told me I was a good athlete or I was smart. He just talked about working hard and spending time practicing. I could go out and score a hat trick and on the ride home he would say, "you played really well, you worked hard, now make sure you don't stop back checking once you get to the neutral zone." Sometimes I just wanted him to tell me I was the best hockey player; now that I know the importance of praising effort (through my experience as well as listening to experts such as Carol Dweck), I am thankful for the way he praised me.


4. Give back to your community. My dad has been heavily involved in volunteering to coach and organize endless leagues as well as giving his time to things like the volunteer fire department and the International Order of Canadian Foresters. Through his modeling, I became involved in coaching in high school and this carried right through until recently. I still take opportunities to work with kids at lunch and after school and these 'coaching' moments are often the best part of my day.


5. See people for who they are. As a very young child, I remember being afraid of people who appeared to be different. A man named Alan always used to come into my dad's sporting good store and visit with him. Alan had a mental disability and appeared very different to me. In order to help me understand, my dad often invited me to come along and do things with the two of them; by doing this he showed me that yes, Alan was different - but he was also an amazing person. Another example involves a man named Franco. Franco also had a mental disability and, too, spent many hours just visiting with people in my dad's store. Franco ended up being almost a part of our family; he played ball with us, watched my hockey games, and ended up curling on my dad's curling team. Unfortunately, both Alan and Franco left us far too early but the lessons they taught me will remain with me forever. To see the tears from my dad as he gave the eulogy at Franco's memorial service made me not only proud to call him my dad but so thankful that he introduced me to Franco.


6. Tell people you love... that you love them. My grandfather never told my dad he loved them until he was 75 years old and in his final years. My dad has never been afraid to let us (my sister, Lindsay, and I) know how important we are to him and although we probably already knew it, it sure is nice to hear it.


7. Some lighter lessons: Snakes are the scariest things on earth and it is ok for kids to see you protecting yourself with a lawnmower, Canucks will win the cup... eventually (so close this year!), you will learn not to stick a key in an electrical outlet after only one attempt, eat your vegetables (except onions), consumer debt is bad, have your money work for you, and a sense of humour can get you through a lot of challenging times.

By no means is my dad perfect. He has made many mistakes just like everyone else; what he has taught me through this is that it is ok to take risks, make mistakes, learn from them and use these to become a better person. My dad and I are now closer than we have ever been and it is because of all these experiences and lessons that our relationship has become so strong. As I reflect upon myself as a father, I truly hope that my kids have a father like I had.

This may be the first and last blog my dad ever reads (he still does not believe in using bank cards) but I just wanted to let him know how much I appreciate all that he has taught me.

Friending My Father

A cross-post from the Living Facebook Experiment:

A few weeks into this project, Javi the Hippie and I run into my parents on the way to a pint-sized collaboration session.  I'm not sure how to navigate the two worlds colliding - both of them having a view of one another based entirely upon my own interpretation.

"They seem really nice," he tells me, "but it seems as if you're on slightly different frequencies."

"What do you mean?"

"Like a similar station, but they're AM and you're FM.  Just different waves, that's all.  Similar message, but a very different delivery."

It's a rare moment when real-life matches Facebook (I keep using the term "real-life" as if Facebook is a realm inhabited by unicorns, gnomes and other fantasy creatures).  On Facebook, my mom is my friend.  So are my old college classmates, childhood friends, former students and distant relatives.  I approach conversations unsure of which world will enter this vaguely undefined space.

It was strange for me the first time that my mom appeared as a friend.  Not that she's unfriendly.  It's just that I hadn't seen her as anything other than my mom.  I had to rethink this concept of friendship for a moment and reconsider how our relationship had changed.  The conversations had become deeper.  I was hiding less.  And somehow, when she would stop by and we'd talk, I knew that she saw me as a grown-up and we shifted toward being equals.

So I call my dad up and ask for help with the sprinklers.  Within minutes, I admit that I don't know what I'm doing.  Instead of shame, I experience a vague sense of relief. Instead of talking down to me, he talks as if we're equals.  We're working on a complicated project and I haven't reverted back to an insecure twelve year old trying to prove something to someone who never once asked me to prove anything to him.

I think I sometimes missed that when I was younger.  I saw my dad as respected and competent and yet somehow rugged.  I didn't see how someone who was so externally rough could be so internally gentle.  But he is.  In a very masculine way, he's one of the most tender-hearted guys I know.

We share collective disappointment in leaky valves and collective joy when the sprinklers finally work.  We're both impatient at moments, but we give one another the permission to be impatient.  I ask too many questions.  He gives directions with too many steps.  We're imperfect together and for the first time I see that this is as good as it gets with my father - to be together, truly present, working toward a goal together.

I'm never truly comfortable with the work.  I never feel entirely at ease with dirt under my fingernails or long periods of conversational silence or the recognition that I am a bad student and a slow learner in something so vital to my family.

My hands still feel clumsy, but the relationship isn't.   It doesn't have that ethos of an awkward man hug.

As we drive toward Home Depot, he shares a part of him that I've never seen before.  No tears or anything.  Just a few honest thoughts about life.  He talks about aging and health and his future.  For a moment, I forget that he's my dad.

On the drive home, we venture into politics.  It's a verbal spar that got me into trouble at a younger age.  However, this time it's different.  It's humble.  The give and take is intense, but it includes common ground and nuance and paradox.  We both ask more questions this time.  More importantly, we give one another the permission to disagree.

As we enter my home, I'm struck by the fact that I like my dad.  I've always loved him, but I've wondered if we'd be friends if we met as strangers in a workplace.  Right now, though, I'm thinking we'd become friends.  Maybe he'd even become my mentor.  I'd come home and tell Christy, "I met this cool old guy at work.  He's smart, but he's practical and even though we see the world differently, there's this strange sense in which we are so much alike."

Quinn the Business Bohemian once defined a friend as someone who looks out for your best interest whether it feels good or not.  At the time, I blocked parents from the definition, but now I'm realizing that they fit this as well as anyone else.  So without an automated message, I managed to friend my father.

That evening when my kids are asleep, I flip on my Pandora station.  I listen to The Format's "On Your Porch" and then I shut off the station, find the song on my iTunes and play it on repeat.  Tears stream down as I recall the memories of my childhood: playing on the boulders at Shaver Lake, late evening games of catch when he was wiped out from work, playing the "Snafu" on the Intellevision, funny stories and footsie pajamas, icy cold games at Candlestick Park and the sense that my dad was so clearly present and loving and strong.

And he still is.