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.

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

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?

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.

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.