I Think Therefore I Dad

You Can’t Throw Away a Memory

If you haven’t yet, at some point in life you’ll look around and ask yourself, “How did I get so much stuff?” A trinket here, a souvenir there, a thing you really didn’t have a use for but you never know so you put it down in the basement but never actually touch it or look at it again. These things pile up. Add kids to the mix and that amount of stuff multiplies quickly. A vast majority of stuff kids use is not long for this world. A good amount is just junk they never needed in the first place, but even the best stuff, their at one point in time favorite stuff, is inevitably outgrown. Possessions, whether once prized or or immediately discarded, are temporary. Despite their inherent transient nature they seem to have a habit of establishing squatters rights in your basement or garage. One of the more satisfying things I’ve done recently is get a dumpster and evict them.

This summer while the kids were having a long weekend at Grandpa’s, my wife and I really lived it up without the kids. We cleaned. While me from ten years ago would be so disappointed in present me, present me was equally disappointed in me from 10, 15, and 20 years ago for not just throwing away their crap at the time. Sure, past versions of me had their reasons for hanging on to whatever it was they decided to keep. Most of them came down to a memory. A keepsake of an event or a reminder of a specific time in life. Who wouldn’t want to hang on to something to help immortalize a key memory? The problem is two-fold.

We Can’t Tell What Is Really Important

First, we are really bad judges of what is important enough to keep. In the moment, saving every ticket stub to every movie or baseball game I ever went to seemed like a neat idea, a fun keepsake that I could look back on later and say “Hey, remember when you went to see the Tigers play Cleveland in 1997?” And yes, I do remember that. And the memory of me lustily booing Albert Belle is fond memory indeed. Then I threw my giant pile of ticket stubs away, and wouldn’t you know it, I still remembered it. Was it a fun time? Absolutely. Was it important enough to justify keeping a tiny scrap of paper tucked away in a box in my basement for the last 30 years? Absolutely not.

And neither was almost everything I had stored up and taking up space. Cardboard boxes and Rubbermaid bins full of stuff that seemed at least moderately important enough to keep at the time all meet the same fate. The bottom of a dumpster. The stuff that really mattered enough to keep didn’t take up much space at all. Actually just one locked box with stuff like birth certificates, marriage license, the mountain of paperwork I got when we bought our house that I never really read or understood but assume I need to prove I own my house. That’s about it. Everything else could go, since it’s only value was that it was in some way connected to a memory.

Forky is trash — Yes, Forky, you are trash.

While it was easy to realize I didn’t need to keep a giant over-sized novelty penny to help me remember my 8th grade field trip to Washington DC, I have to admit it gets much harder to determine what is important enough to keep once stuff from my kids comes into play. On one hand, I fully understand that their worksheet on how to write the letter B is not as important as a card they made me for Fathers Day (which is definitely a day worth creating some core memories around). But on the other hand – look how cute they made their little Bs! And the stick figure self-portrait they made, might as well get that piece of trash Mona Lisa out of the way to make room in the Louvre. You can see my dilemma, I’m sure.

What makes it hard with getting rid of your kids’ stuff is that they aren’t attached to a memory the same way an old t-shirt is. Most of the stuff you decided to hang on to was associated to an event – a vacation, a football game, a high school dance. But your kids’ old toys aren’t attached to the memory of a time they played with the toy, they are attached to the person they were when they played with the toy. And that is what you want to hang on to forever. My oldest daughter is about to start middle school, so while I don’t need to keep coloring sheets she did in pre-school, I wouldn’t mind storing that pre-school version of her somewhere safely locked away. Sealed somewhere in a waterproof airtight container like a mint condition baseball card. Actually, that is a bad example, because I threw away my baseball cards too. I had to face the fact that my Chris Gomez rookie card didn’t turn out to be a lotto ticket I can cash in. So let’s say frozen in time, so that I could thaw her out like Encino Man and pick her up and throw her in the air a few more times. For all the times your kids ask you pick them up and get annoyed by it, remember this, there will come a day when they stop asking, but even worse, there will come a day when you just can’t.

Which brings me to my second reason why connecting physical stuff to memories in hopes it will last forever is waste. I hate to break this to you, but nothing lasts forever. Neither cold November rain nor the youth of children. Or also perhaps Guns ‘N Roses references? Hopefully at least one person reading this picked up what I put down.

Your Memories Die With You

All physical stuff is inherently impermanent. It falls apart, it fades, it decays. I know you may love it now, but the odds of a future civilization unearthing your sticker covered Owala bottle and thinking it was of any importance are extremely slim. Even if those stickers remind you of that time you went to place and did that thing, I promise you it will be lost in a meaningless heap of trash sooner or later. So you might as well be the one to put it there rather than make your kids figure out what to do with it after you die.

Because people aren’t permanent either. My stuff may have meant something to me, and I’m sure you have stuff that feels special to you, but to quote George Carlin – have you noticed that their stuff is shit and your shit is stuff? My memories are mine and yours are yours, and they are likely not the same. The coconut pirate head that I have on my desk reminds me of the Pirates of the Caribbean ride and trips to Disney World as a kid. And that is fun for me. But will it have any special association with for my kids? Let’s say I never throw it away and after I die my kids find it in a box. Are they going to have any special attachment to a thing from a vacation they didn’t take or sat on a desk that wasn’t theirs? Or are they going to wonder why I saved a creepy looking pirate head? They can’t ask me, I’ll be dead. If they throw it away, it can’t possibly hurt my feelings, I’ll be dead. I can’t put memories in a will, so the best thing I could pass down to my kids is an absence of crap they’ll have to go through.

So I’ll hang on to the memories, but let go of the stuff. I’ll make more of an effort to create memorable experiences. And also be present in those experiences so I absorb it all and lock it away somewhere in my brain for later use. It may not be fun, but if you do chose to buy stuff to commemorate occasions, I highly recommend buying extremely practical souvenirs. I regret not bringing home a spatula from our trip to Hawaii. We’d absolutely get our use out of it, and some day years from on cold morning I could make myself a hot stack of pancakes and be transported in my mind back to eating pancakes by the beach, even if outside there is a cold November rain.

Playing Catch: A Dad’s Solemn Duty

A lot of parenting is doing things you have to do. Do you want to clean doo doo off your kid’s entire back when their blown out diaper goes up to their shoulder blades? Absolutely not, but you have to, so you do it. Some of it you want to do. Do you really need to buy matching Christmas pajamas? Not really, but who can pass up so much whimsy? Not me. Every so often, you get to do something that needs to be done and you also want to do it. Like playing catch.

We got our kids baseball gloves last summer, and there was initial interest, but nothing sustained. My son was 5 at the time and liked practicing throwing the ball up in the air to himself, but never really asked to play catch with somebody else. My daughters are a little older and would play for a bit, but only when I brought it up. Nobody was really able to get past the fact that their gloves that were days old were not as well broken in as my more than 25 year-old one is. Frustrated by the number of catchable balls that popped right out of the stiff glove, catch sessions never lasted too long. But that was last year.

An amazing thing happened a few days ago. It was a weekend evening and we were going to settle in to watch a movie and have dessert. The kids picked the movie and I made myself comfortable on the couch with a German chocolate cake in my lap. And before you ask, no, it was not the entire cake. There were a few little pieces taken out for the kids already, so it was like 85% of a cake. A few minutes into the movie my son stands up and says he wants to go play catch. My first reaction was to say no. This was based on two factors.

First, we were watching a movie that he specifically picked to watch. Downright begged to watch. It was Disney’s Dinosuar, which while not terrible, isn’t a favorite. I wasn’t going to give into their requests, knowing that it probably wouldn’t hold their attention that well, and also has some intense parts and my kids are very wimpy when it comes anything too dramatic or scary in a movie. Second, I believe I already mentioned the cake in my lap. My cake time is my cake time.

So I told him no and proceeded to pay full attention to my cake and half attention to the movie. He got up and went outside anyway. My annoyance at him giving up on a movie he said he wanted to watch didn’t last long, and was pretty quickly replaced with a blend of respect and pride. In an age where we are worried about how much screen time kids get (and rightly so), here this kid is making the choice to get up from the TV and go outside and play. Good on him. And not just to get outside and do anything, but to play catch, even if only with himself.

Just as quickly as annoyance turned to respect, that respected turned to guilt. Who the hell am I to not go outside and play catch with my kid? When I found out my wife was pregnant with our first child, playing catch with them was one of the first things I wanted to do. I don’t know what it is, but the act of throwing a ball back and forth is an essential bonding moment. It is baked into our DNA somehow. I’m pretty sure after creating fire, the next thing on primitive man’s to-do list was to toss a rock to his offspring. And look how far we’ve come. Now after firing up the grill, a dad’s next instinct is to throw a ball at a child. It was my job, my pleasure, my responsibility to go throw a baseball to my son.

My cake time is my time, but as much time as my kids possibly want should be theirs. Here my kid is not only asking to go outside and play rather than watch something, but to go outside and play with me. In the alarmingly-not-so-distant future, my kids probably won’t want ever ask me to do anything except give them rides to places, so I put down my fork and picked up my glove. We played catch, he took swings off the tee, I hit him some grounders, we (and by “we” I mean “I”) discussed the importance of a proper stride and loading the hands in the swing. Quintessential dadding. It was like something out of a Kevin Costner movie. Except instead of moving to the western frontier and living with a tribe of Native Americans, I was having a catch with my son.

For my son, I hope the occasion will end up being one of a countless number of times he played outside with his dad. For me it served as a reminder of priorities. We only get so much time, and while I will argue that eating cake and watching a movie is an excellent use of time, it wasn’t how I needed to spend that time on that day.

In a wonderful bit of fate, or cosmic timing, or whatever you want to call it, a day later I came up on this bit of wisdom in “That One Should Disdain Hardships”, a collection of teachings of Musonius Rufus;

There is still another wrong in connection with eating, when we indulge in it at an unseasonable time, and although there is something else we ought to do, we put it aside in order to eat.

Guilty.

I think it is funny how we can justify the time we spend away from our kids. If we work long hours, we can tell ourselves we are doing for them. If we spend time on our hobbies, we tell ourselves that we deserve it because we worked all week. Projects around the house are things that need to get done. While all of those fall apart pretty quickly once you start to examine them, it is much harder to justify crushing baked goods instead of playing your kids. Work-life balance is important for sure, and if I think it is a great thing that there is more focus on it now that in the past. But life-life balance? That one will sneak up on you. It is much easier for me to make sure I am done working in time to get to my kids from school or get to their soccer practices than it is to make sure I’m done with my own personal time to turn our individual personal times in to family time.

That’s the job though. The ball must be thrown, it must be caught, and a dad must be the one to do it. It was carved into the job description on a cave wall somewhere right under cooking meats on a fire, and has held true ever since. All we’ve done for the last couple thousand years is over complicate it.

Yes, There is a Father’s Day

Not all holidays are the same. I get that. I mean, what did you do for Earth Day this year? Have a big President’s Day party did you? There is a hierarchy for sure, and I know exactly where I rank. At least according to my 6 year-old son. Which is to say, dead-ass last.

As I write this, it is two days until Father’s Day, so Mother’s Day was just a few weeks ago. While talking to my kids about what they want to get their mom for Mother’s Day, my son asked me – “They have a day for moms, but not for dads?”

“Actually, they do. It’s Father’s Day.”

“Oh yeah.”

Taking a day to show some gratitude and acknowledge your father – a completely forgettable reason to have a holiday. Lumped right in there with Arbor Day and Flag Day where the only way you know it’s happening is because you see something on Facebook or the news that says “Today is Arbor Day” and your only response is “Oh yeah.” You certainly didn’t plan anything for it and you’re definitely not about to run out and buy any celebratory arbors. I get that my son is 6, so he’s only had a few Father’s Days at this point that he realistically would remember. But, c’mon. It’s not like when I was talking to him about Mother’s Day I had to remind him that the day existed before I fielded the inevitable suggestion of getting mom a scented candle. It was just reflex – oh, of course mom should get a day that we can celebrate her and we should absolutely get her a candle! Duh.

Now, I’m not saying boo-hoo for me. My wife is still going to make me a cake on behalf of the kids, so even if they all forget I can drown my hurt feelings in frosting. Though knowing how much my kids love to celebrate just about anything, it stings a little. These are kids who ask to put sprinkles in their oatmeal to celebrate such momentous occasions as the last day of school before mid-winter break and enjoy themed parties to commemorate a new movie coming out on Disney+. Hawaiian charcuterie night was a big hit when live action Lilo and Stitch hit streaming. Shouldn’t the man who sired them be as much a reason to celebrate as a day off of school or a Disney movie? Actually, when I phrase it like that I can really see their struggle.

Of course I would like to say that every day with kids like mine feels like Father’s Day, and every day my kids have with me as a dad is a holiday. I’d also like the Detroit Tigers to win the World Series and the Lions to win the Super Bowl, and yet here we are. I wonder, is somebody simply holding the status of father a reason to celebrate that person? Father’s Day is still Father’s Day for dead beats. Part of me wants my fatherly recognition to be merit based. Let the quality of gifts my kids get me be an accurate reflection of my fathering for the year. Like an annual review. I’ll lay out my successes and explain why I deserve tickets to a baseball game and a trip to a brewery for dinner and my kids will either confirm or suggest I cook myself some hot dogs and stream Rookie of the Year. Disappointing? Maybe. But I’ll know to step my dad game up next year.

Every restaurant is packed on mother's day, but they want us to grill on father's day.

I also think Father’s Day falls in rough place in the schedule, especially in our family. We came out of a two month stretch that had my son’s birthday, my younger daughter’s birthday, Easter, my birthday, my wife’s birthday, and Mother’s Day. My kids are burnt out on thinking of what gifts to buy people. They are also looking ahead a few weeks to 4th of July and my older daughter’s birthday which are in the same week. Father’s Day just gets lost in the shuffle. I think we should reschedule. On one hand, it is a nice time of the year to fire up the grill and make dad cook his own dinner on his special day (which by the way, could you image what hell would be unleashed if on Mother’s Day we replaced going out for brunch with having mom make a lasagna for everybody?), but I think it would do well so push it back to August. Can still enjoy summer activities, dad can grill his own dinner, and is far enough away from the onslaught of the fall and winter holiday season which somehow feels like it starts September 1st.

So with their well of gift ideas run dry and their minds now completely occupied with summer vacation, I understand that picking out a scented candle for their dad isn’t top of mind. And yes, dads like scented candles too. If you’ve got a problem with olfactory ambiance, I don’t know what to tell you other than I feel sorry for you. But I won’t feel sorry for myself. I will enjoy my Father’s Day regardless of how much of an afterthought it is for my kids. Mostly because this year, I’m not even spending Father’s Day with my children.

That’s right, my Father’s Day gift to myself was putting a hundred and fifty miles between me and my kids. They are spending the long weekend at Grandpa’s house. Which is my Father’s Day present to him. No refunds or exchanges. The kids will be back at some point in the afternoon on Father’s Day, so I won’t be completely without them that day, but long enough for their hearts to grow fonder for their dear old dad so they can truly appreciate the day in which we celebrate my successfully impregnating their mother. Yankee Candle has gotta have scent for that. A deep musk.

Girl, You’ll Be A Woman Too Soon

When my wife was pregnant with our oldest daughter, I didn’t handle finding out about the daughterness of the child extremely well. I don’t think I handled it as bad as my wife tells me I did, but it was already not one of my best moments as a father. I was ready to have a kid, but I wasn’t ready to have a daughter. Safe to say I’ve grown since then, and having two daughters now has been great. However, as kids tend to do, they have grown as well and I once again feel not ready to have a daughter.

The daughter that I was once seemingly unprepared to have in the first place is about to finish the 4th grade and turn 10 years old. Aside from marking the fastest decade ever, it also marks two big transitions for her – middle school and, ya know, lady stuff. A few weeks ago her teacher sent home a note saying that they would be starting health science topics in which the girls would be separated from the boys and they would be discussing their changing bodies. I remember a time when I was in grade school when that happened. All the boys when into one room and all the girls in another. We played paper football and watched part of The Neverending Story. I didn’t ask what went on in the girls room.

The note said that if we would rather her not be part of those discussions in school, we could sign a form and opt her out if we preferred to handle talking about it with her at home. We did not, though I had to wonder if there was some form that I could sign to opt myself out of these discussions. I mean, from a science standpoint, I get it. If my daughter has straight up scientific questions, I am perfectly capable of providing scientific facts. However, I admit that I am unprepared for anything beyond textbook definitions. As much as I am here to fight back against fatherly stereotypes, I have to admit that this time it hold true for me. Would I talk with my daughter about her hormones and her changing body? Out of obligation I must say yes. Am I much more likely to pull out the old “ask your mother”? Absolutely.

Not to fall back on gender roles, but to me, that is just something a mother should do. She handles anything related to our daughters’ puberty and I clean the hair out of the shower drain. She handles feminine hygiene and I kill spiders. Fair is fair. I also don’t think it would ever be something my daughters would come to me with anyway. They come to me for permission and boo-boos, two places where they’ve learned that their mother has no sympathy. They go to my wife for lady things, places they’ve learned that dad has no understanding. The yin and the yang, and household in perfect balance. Now, if my son has questions about his yang, those are on me and I understand that. And in a few more years when the ladies in the house all get synced up and the perfect storm rolls into our house every month, we’ll get the hell out of there and play paper football.

I also feel pretty unprepared for the social aspects that comes with middle school and all these early hormones starting to fly around. Cliques, frenemies, boys, each one worse than that last. Let’s face it, middle schoolers are generally dopes. I suppose all I can hope for is that my daughter is a well-meaning and kind-hearted dope. I can put in my effort to raise her to be a good person even if I can’t relate to what is going on with her and can provide helpful insight. Being a good person is universal, and I can help instill that in a hormone addled daughter the same as I can anybody else. Sure, I may get more eye rolls in response, but I can also take screen time away from a hormone addled daughter the same as I can anybody else.

My kids aren’t just growing, they are growing up. I get that. I don’t like it, but I get it. I’m sure I’ll adjust and grow and get used to all the changes, just in time for them to change some more.

Trick Your Kids Into Being Kind

Like any good parent, I often bribe my children. Any illusion that I had of my kids behaving just because it is what they should do has long been shattered. I want my kids to be able to go a whole day without one of them making another one of them cry, and they want rewards. But more than wanting them to do things they should be doing anyway, we wanted to give them rewards for intentional acts of kindness. For a while, my wife used to do “Kindness Wednesdays” with the kids, where they would take some time to do something kind for somebody. What we soon found out was that these acts of kindness quickly became them wanting to buy a treat for somebody. Which is to say they had Mom buy a treat for somebody. Most of the time that somebody was their teacher or me. As much as I enjoy a surprise latte, having my wife buy me a coffee really didn’t drive home the point of kindness we were trying to make.

To step the kindness game up, we decided to steal. Don’t worry, we didn’t steal actually stuff, just an idea. Which perhaps is most valuable thing you can steal now that I think about it. I mean, if I stole a coffee instead of have my wife buy one, we are talking $5 in value, but ideas are priceless. Boy, now I kind of feel bad. How many ideas have I stolen in my life? I guess it doesn’t really matter now since AI is going to steal all our ideas anyway and feed them back to us until we lose the ability for original thought and become completely dependent on their algorithms having lost all of our critical thinking. Skynet is happening people.

Anyway, in their classrooms at school, the kids’ teachers have jars that the kids get things put in when they get compliments on their behavior. When the jar gets full, the class gets a reward. School sanctioned bribery, an excellent idea to steal, uh, I mean, imaginatively re-create, for use at home. We started a kindness jar that the kids put little beads into when we see them doing something kind for somebody. It is working for the most part, but has also brought out the competitive sides in them, which can be a little unkind.

When the beads in the jar reach a certain line, they all get a reward. To prevent a somebody from not really participating and just getting the reward that others earn, whoever puts the most beads in the jar gets to pick what that reward is. This has brought out the competitors in them. In the first few days of using the jar, my wife or I would happen to notice them doing something nice and we’d tell them to put a bead in. Ya know, the way you’d expect it to go. After a few days, our intended consequence of inspiring more acts of kindness started to take hold. The kids were actively looking for opportunities to do something nice. I love it when a plan comes together. However, not all the kids were as quick to seize the opportunities for kindness, and wouldn’t you know it, kindness gave way to jealousy.

My younger daughter was a little quicker to catch on and started doing more nice things around the house. Naturally, her older sister felt the need to call her out on it, accusing her of only doing those nice things so she could put a bead in the jar. Blinded by her jealousy, it didn’t seem to dawn on her that, yes, that is exactly the whole point of all of this. You weren’t doing nice things on your own, so we are manipulating you into doing nice things. I wonder if there was ever a moment where one of Pavlov’s dogs barked to another, “ya know, he only gives a treat because that bell rings and not because you’re the goodest boy.”

But wouldn’t you know it, that jealously has proven to be a motivator for more kindness. Not to be out kinded…kindnessed?…kinderd?…let’s go with kinded, my older daughter sprung into action. Unasked for yard work was done. Snacks were made. I’d like to say rooms were cleaned, but this is a work of non-fiction, not fantasy. At last bead count – because of course they pour the beads out of the jar to count them so they can know exactly how many each kid has – my oldest daughter had taken the lead. But the younger ones were not far behind. They have all gotten better at lending helping hands and thinking of what they can do for other people, even if the only reason they are doing it is get their own reward.

But that is part of learning, right? Bribe them with rewards now until it becomes second nature. If it worked with using the toilet, surely it can work with being good humans. In much the same way successfully not peeing your pants becomes its own reward, I trust that they will find the intrinsic benefits of being nice to other people. I also think the universe has a way of rewarding good behavior anyway. Call it karma, ju-ju, or the holy spirit, kindness comes back around. I went to the store the other day, and it was very windy. Some anarchist didn’t put their shopping cart back in the corral and the wind was blowing it around the parking lot. As I was making my way from my truck to the store, I could see it coming full steam at a the row of cars next to me. I adjusted my path to put myself in position to intercept it, and snagged it a few inches before it barreled into a truck and put it safely in the corral. A passer by in his car gave me a knowing, appreciative head nod. A guy putting his groceries in his truck complimented me on the excellent save. Highlight of my day. Hands down. I mean, it really doesn’t get better than a head nod from one Dad to another. You’ll never feel more seen than when another dude takes enough notice of what you’ve done to move his head a few inches. Who says men can’t communicate? Who needs to when a nod says it all.

Anyway, it’s the little things, you know. Today it is bribing my kids to put away some laundry even if it isn’t their shirt so that in a few years they may take a second to stop a rougue smart-cart from becoming self aware and destroying all the cookies in the store because the algorithm determined that humans have gotten too unhealthy and all delicious treats must be destroyed, even at the cost of the human lives they were actually trying to save.

A Dad’s Letters from Hawaii

Travel has always been an inspiration for writing. I recently took a trip to Hawaii, and I’ve collected my daily thoughts here. While stopping in various gift shops, I noticed that Mark Twain also chronicled his own trip to Hawaii. I’m not saying I’m similar to Twain, though we can both totally pull off a mustache, but maybe someday somebody somewhere will read this and get the urge to write their own experiences out in the great wide world. Travel inspires more travel for sure. I know I came back with an itch, both swimmers, and for travel. Unlike our adventure to Disney World, I did not take my kids on this trip. This trip wasn’t for them, it was for me and my wife. Though thoughts of them were often near, their bodies, attitudes, and bed times were far, far away. It was nice. Anyway, here is where my mind went each day.

3/1/2026: Hey, I’m In Hawaii

As I write this, I am on a hotel balcony looking out at a green mountain stretched up to the clouds, who scrap its peaks as they drift by. Pretty neat, huh? I hear birds that aren’t crows. They may just be Hawaii’s version of crows, but to me they are tropical birds of paradise. We got to Hawaii yesterday, but I don’t think it sank in. Between the travel and time change, all the rush and hurry, it didn’t hit me. But I’ll let the warm wash over me. Let the sight of palm trees replace the sight of a Chinese man hocking a loogie into a napkin in the middle of the Dallas airport. Who am I kidding, nothing will ever bleach that from my memory. Either way, I am here. I am present. I am relaxing. I am unplugging. I am realizing these birds are eyeballing my protein bar. Regardless, I will experience this, I will enjoy this, I will savor this. To say I earned this sounds like a shitty kind of thing to say, but I worked for this and I planned for this. If this isn’t worth the time spent in a 9 to 5, then what is? Don’t take it for granted and don’t rush time. This is a moment in a lifetime of moments, and yes, all moments should be enjoyed. But this is the stuff those other moments build to. Be grateful you are here. Enjoy the day.

3/2/2026 – Lifestyle Aspirations

Officially, fuck birds. Not content with eyeballing my breakfast yesterday, a pigeon stalked me for my dinner as well. In a restaurant. At my table. Sure, it was open air, but respect some boundaries bird. Yesterday really felt like vacation and no longer traveling. I have arrived, and I have immediately fallen in love with the lifestyle. Tommy Bahama is my spirit animal. I wouldn’t go as far as to say the ocean calls me. I am a firm believer that that the ocean is constantly trying to murder you. But it sure is fun to be next to. I get what Jimmy Buffet was singing about. Yesterday I sat in an infinity hot tub drinking a mai tai and a pina colada. I am not sure what the Buddhists think nirvana is like, but I am pretty sure I figured it out. Enlightenment is an ocean-adjacent cocktail. But I wasn’t lazy, I set a record for most steps taken in a day. Living is an action verb. Experience live, and even take vacations, in motion. It will either move right past you, or you can move along with it. Time to relax is great, but going out and doing is essential to a healthy life. So go live. Go see. Go do. In comfortable shoes and a shirt with flowers on it. It is your life, live it in your style.

3/3/2026 – Who Brought All These Kids?

I am on this vacation without my kids, but it seems a lot of other people here didn’t have the same thought. I guess I’m surprised how many little kids I see. I don’t think it ever occurred to us to pack up little kids who need a minivan full of stuff just for a weekend trip no Nanna’s and take them across a country and and ocean. Yes, I have to share experiences with my kids and enjoy vacations together. But the key word there is enjoy. If diapers, feedings, or tantrums come into the equation, then it isn’t much fun anymore. It is a chore. It is the task of parenting, not the art of vacationing. Walking past the kiddie pool at the hotel, I can’t help but think – thank God I’m not here. The adult only pool deck is preferable. Though, yesterday two kids, maybe 5 or 7, came in the adult hot tub. It wasn’t my place to politely tell them to get the hell out, so I didn’t. I figured an embarrassed parent would be by to scoop up their kids shortly. The parent did come by, but he got in the hot tub with them. Listen buddy, you made the questionable decision to bring your kids here, don’t rub that off on my good time. Choices have consequences, now go back to the kiddie pool and listen to the screaming. I’ve got a mai tai to drink.

3/4/2026 – You Bring Yourself on Vacation

Of all the things you pack for vacation, you is one of them. Including your digestive and immune systems. Emily caught some sort of bug and was sick yesterday. Put a bit of a damper on the whole being in paradise thing. Kind of broke the 4th wall of reality. The real world is out there, but we’re not supposed to acknowledge it. But perhaps it also created a special new memory. First time in Hawaii and the first time I watched my wife throw up in a to-go box that still had a half-eaten muffin in it. Who says we’re an old married couple? Look at us doing fun new stuff! So she was in bed sick, but I was still on vacation. I went to the brewery while she slept. Seat for one at the bar for happy hour. Met a nice couple of fellow mid-westerners at the bar. We made small talk about sports and PJ Fleck. “Where is your wife?” they asked. Well, let me tell you. She was still her. I am still me. We are us in paradise. Latitudes may change attitudes, but they don’t change your body. The question is how can I bring that attitude back home? How can I use a vacation not just as a temporary escape, but as an experience I can use to shape myself and grow and appreciate life in the normal everydayness of it. Perhaps I could institute own personal happy hour at home? Create my backyard version of hanging out by the ocean? Wear more clothes built for comfort and less for fending off frostbite? We’ll see, but if our real selves crashed the party of our vacation selves, it only seems fair for our vacation selves to return the favor.

Things I do alone in Hawaii while my wife is sleeping in the middle of the day: hang out at the pool, shop for Hawaiian shirts, drink some beer, take in a sunset.

3/5/2026 – You Gonna Eat That?

Does how I eat on vacation make me a food snob? To be fair, I was already leaning toward the snobby end of the food eating spectrum, but I think vacationing brings it out more. One of my biggest disappointments of this trip so far has been that the coffee shop on our hotel is a Starbucks. Not only that, but I had it once. Might as well get dinner from McDonald’s while I’m at it. Now this is not to say I have some crazy high bar. We had dinner last night and coffee this morning from food trucks. Lunch today was from a little cafe. I don’t need the fanciest thing on the menu, but I do want a local and unique menu. Isn’t that part of vacationing? To get something I can’t get at home? I think so. I had some locally grown and made chocolate today. I will never look at a Hershey bar the same. Trash candy. And I don’t know if I’ll be able to eat frozen fish from Aldi again. I mean, I will, but it will taste a little sadder than before. I have expanded my tastes and developed my palate. I want the good stuff. And Taco Bell. But mostly the good stuff.

3/6/2026 – The Canadian Tugboat Captain

The people you meet on vacation – a real mixed bag. I find myself looking around and wondering what these other people do for a living. Like, oh that guy is staying at a nice resort, he must have a really good job. Or that guy has a really nice shirt, I wonder what he does for a living. I guess I just assume that everyone else here is wealthy. Vacation impostor syndrome. I’m here too. Is anybody looking at me thinking that I must be rich to be here? Probably not. And it is interesting to see where people are from. You make a little small talk and find out who is from where. Lots of couples from the Midwest escaping the cold. Lots of people from California escaping California. And at least one Canadian. Tugboat captain. Just spent a good 15 minutes minutes in the hot tub chatting with a friendly man from Vancouver. He asked what we did and where we are from. He couldn’t have given a bigger shit that I work in marketing, but it isn’t everyday I meet a tugboat captain. We talked about his job, not mine. We had follow up questions. He had none. He recommended where to eat, he told us to just tell the people at Duke’s that it is your birthday and they will give you free cake. I got the distinct impression that he has gotten free cake there on days other than his birthday. And he seemed like the type to color outside the lines. My first hint was that when I told him I grew up just across the river from Canada and went over there from time to time, he immediately cracked a joke about smuggling blow. I now question if he is also transporting undocumented cargo on his tugboat. After we chatted, he let us know that if we were done with our access bracelets that we could just leave them under that rock over there. His was getting faded he said, and he didn’t want to have to pay for a new one. Guy isn’t even staying at this resort. Just wearing a recycled wrist band to into the hot tub so he can chat up the source of his next access bracelet. I expected better from a Canadian. He invited us down to the beach for some POG and vodka. Pass. I don’t want a beach side cocktail with strings attached. I think I’d rather to go back to not knowing anybody or what they do than finding out that they are Canadian tugboat captains out to score a pool pass. And possibly some blow.

In sharp contrast to the shady maritime Canuck, I also met some lovely Canadians who happened to be the owners of my favorite clothing company. There I was standing by the pool when a lady comes up and asks me where I got my shirt. I told her it’s from a company called Tentree, and she was like, I know – that is my company. She asked if I was from Canada, probably assuming I found it is a store there, but seemed genuinely excited to hear I am from the states and found their clothes online. Maybe 20 minutes later I also ran into her husband, who was equally super nice and super thankful that I like their clothes. I pointed him and his little son in the direction of the hot tub. I don’t care if it is adults only, he deserves it.

3/7/2026 – Well, That Was Fun

All good things come to an end. The view of palm trees and whales peeking out of the ocean has been replaced by the view of the back of the seat in front of me and pitch darkness out the window. I am currently in the air and about 7.5 hours away from landing at our layover. Much less exciting to retrace your steps back home than to make them the first time. Not that I’m not excited to be back home for some things – my own bed, my kids, my own brand of soap, not paying inflated sums of money for everything I eat and drink. Can’t say I’m looking forward to going back to work on Monday. But at least I’ll have some fresh motivation to work – so I can afford my next vacation. I hope I can bring home a bit of my travels and add some of the things I’ve experienced to my normal life. I think that is an important part of traveling. Don’t just bring home a t-shirt, bring home some perspective, some knowledge, some appreciation, and some culture. And a hat. And a mug. Do gotta love a good souvenir. And now I wonder, where to next?

The Impression That I Give

There are some pretty high stress moments you experience as a parent. Starting with having the kid in the first place, and on to first days of school, first trips to urgent care, and the ever present helping with math homework – there is almost always something your kids are doing to add at least a little bit of stress to your day. For me, going out to eat can be a bit stressful. It has definitely gotten better as the kids have gotten older. I don’t remember the last time I had to carry a kid on the verge of a meltdown out of a restaurant, or worried that if the food didn’t come soon one of my children would explode, which I think are situations all parents see coming. But life with kids is always bringing something new, and I just discovered a source of meal-time stress that I never anticipated – eating at a table next to your pastor.

In a mostly empty cafe, naturally my kids chose to pick a table right next to somebody. Because that is what anybody who was clearly there to get a little bit of quiet and get some work done wants – to be next to children who are almost certainly going to argue over who sits where, and who was being rude, and who keeps bumping the table. Though this wasn’t just somebody, this was the senior pastor at our church. A local celebrity in my children’s eyes, who they naturally pointed out to us in not-so-whispered whispers. Why is that a child’s whisper as two distinctly different volume settings? It is either unintelligible, or somehow louder than their normal speaking voice, but in a lower register. Either way, as soon as we sat down I got a sense of dread that my kids were going to impose themselves all over a nice man’s peaceful cup of coffee. I felt a bit sorry for him. I’d be willing to bet he was here to get out of the house for an hour to himself for some quiet focus away from his own kids. I do the same thing. I’m writing this from a coffee shop right now because my kids don’t allow me the time to sit and type without asking when its their turn to use the computer. Anyway, his quiet morning was going to get a bit louder, and my only thought was, “please don’t let us end up as an anecdote in a sermon.”

I could just see it, the next time he spoke on the fruits of the spirit, he’d have a funny little sorry about patience. Perhaps a real world example to add to a story about the dangers of sparing the rod. Almost certainly, we wouldn’t leave a positive impression of a well behaved family who could sit still long enough for a quick prayer before eating. Not that we prayed just because we were pastor adjacent, but it felt like an occasion to pray for something more profound than being grateful for the size of the chocolate chips in the muffins. Though I will say, the quality of the muffin could have been a saving grace. My kids are baked good snobs, and it wouldn’t be out of the question for one of them to be reduced to tears if the muffin didn’t match their quality expectations.

I have to say, the kids were as good as they realistically could be. We made pleasant conversation. Not a temper was flared nor an outburst had. I enjoyed an egg sandwich as much as one could while eating it under the watchful eyes of Pastor T.J. Eckleburg. Still, it was oddly stressful. Kind of like fixing something around the house when your own dad is there. You know what you’re doing. You’ve done this countless times before. But, this time you really want to do a good job without accidentally swearing in front of the kids.

And I wonder, what does it matter who I am making a parental impression on? What if we were sitting next to a total stranger? Would I have been fine if my kids were less well behaved? The standard is the standard, is it not? It probably should be, but that just isn’t human nature. It mattered more to me to show myself to be a good father in that moment. Not that I wanted, needed, or expected some seal of approval. Though best case scenario a silent nod of approval, one dad to another, would have been nice. But again, couldn’t that come from anybody my family happens to impose ourselves on in a public space?

I know that we make impressions, good or bad, on the people around us. When my kids were much smaller, a mystery restaurant patron noticed our young family and paid for our breakfast. Maybe it was because we were just such an adorable family, maybe it was because he looked me and thought, that poor bastard doesn’t know what he’s up against. It’s a toss up. Either way, we made an impression on him without trying. So how do we decide when to try or not?

I mean, yes, we should always try to make a good impression to those around us. Not just to project our good qualities, but to actually live them and naturally put out those vibes. It is like being cool. When somebody really is cool, they aren’t trying to project being cool, they just are. You think Matthew McConaughey tries to be cool? Dude just is. But am I just a good parent? When we walk into a room, do people notice and think, “what a nice family.” Or perhaps more important, do they think that when we leave a room?

We are going to make an impression either way, so might as well make it a good one. Like anything else, it takes practice. Something you do all the time, not just in circumstances when you really want to make a good impression. Perhaps the next time we are eating a normal dinner at home, I’ll pretend the pastor is next to us preparing his notes for his next teaching. Or Matthew McConaughey just being a dude. Good practice either way.

How My Kids Play: It’s All Pretend

My kids love to play together. For the most part. Does a single day go by without somebody getting upset over what or how they are playing? No. But a day also never goes by without them coming right back to it. And they do come right back to it. Almost like a language of their own, they summon each other back to the game with a simple question – “Still playing?”

You see, my kids are almost always playing, but not board games, cards games, or video games. They play in a world of pure imagination. With no pieces to set up or game board to keep track of they can pick up their game anywhere. And they do. Driving in the car on the way to church I’ll hear “Still playing?” from the back seat. While they are supposed to be getting dressed in the morning I’ll hear “Still playing?” from their bedrooms. While they just got done screaming at each other and giving assurances that the other one is the worst brother/sister in the world, they will extend an olive branch of “Still playing?”

This has been going on for at least two years at this point, and over that time I think they have hit the reset button on their game a handful of times. The current imaginary milieu has been in place for probably two or three months now. My son is a baby named Nicky, his sisters are aunts who have taken him in after his parents died. Or maybe they are his older cousins? I’m sure sure of the specific details, but I do know the characters are heavily influenced by binge watching Full House and that Nicky’s parents are dead. I know this because I overheard their character development session when this version of their game was starting.

“I’ll be the baby,” my son volunteered. “

“Yes, and your parents died in a car accident,” his older sister established. I mean, kind of a dark turn to take right out of the gate when you’re playing with a 5 year-old, but kudos to her using “Yes, and.” I see sparsely attended improv troupe performances in her future.

So parentless baby Nicky and his vaguely related elders have taken up semi-permanent in home home. Outside a few forced family game nights, I’d say that it has taken up about 90% of their play time. Eat, sleep, school, pretend, repeat. Can’t stop, won’t stop. Sounds fun, but my son has been playing the baby so much he is wearing holes in the knees of his pants from crawling. Ya know, when you’re a parent you expect worn-out pants from play, but I guess I assumed it would come from sports in the back yard or general falling down because they have the coordination of an overly excited Muppet. I never thought I’d have to replace my son’s pants because he’d be so committed to his character. Daniel Day-Lewis ain’t got shit on my son.

I love that they have such active imaginations. To this point we have not bought any of them a video game, and we really don’t plan to. The electronic toys we have gotten them mostly sit unused. Part of that is because the batteries have died and I’m pretty sure they’ve lost the chargers, but part of it is they just don’t feel the need to go to them for entertainment. Maybe this year for Christmas I’ll give them imaginary video games. Wrap an empty box and let their imaginations fill it in. Hook style. Bangarang free Christmas presents. I have a funny feeling they would exit their imaginary realm and snap back to the real world with great vengeance and furious anger.

But do they need to be snapped back into reality? Part of me thinks so. I think play can also be a great way to learn real, tangible skills and knowledge. Maybe that is because pretty much all the games I played as a kid were focused on knowledge, skill, or competition. Monopoly, Trivial Pursuit, Scattergories, and Taboo were mainstays in my house as a kid. My Catch Phrase prowess is the stuff of legend. Tell me you’re from the Midwest without telling you’re from the Midwest: I got yelled at more for running afoul of proper Euchre strategy than for breaking actual rules household. Get home a half hour past curfew – just call next time. Trump your partner’s ace – hell hath no fury.

This is not to say we didn’t play pretend. When my brother and I played wiffle ball in the backyard we would pretend to be real major leaguers, complete with mimicked batting stances. I mean, if my son thinks its hard to stay in his baby character, I’d like to see him hit left-handed as Mickey Tettleton.

Not that I need to provide my kids with a duplicate of my childhood, but I do think there is educational value to trivia and knowledge-based games. I learned a lot just from hearing the questions and answers of games. I also think a healthy sense of competition and drive to win is a good thing, and thing that my kids just don’t have. Actually, it isn’t so much that they don’t have a competitive drive to win, but that they have a total aversion to losing. My 7 year-old daughter refuses to play any game that isn’t a co-operative game where all the players are trying to beat the game. Any game where the players are playing each other, she’s out. She’d rather not play at all than run the risk of playing and losing.

Which is another huge benefit of game play – learning to lose. If you can’t lose at Sorry when you’re 7, how are you going to handle losing at something that really matters later in life? I played a lot of sports growing up, and the only score of any game that I remember is losing a football game when I was in the 6th grade. The score was 52-6. I have no idea of any of the scores of any game I’ve ever won. What can be learned from losing in make believe? Based on how my kids play, how to deal with the deaths of your imaginary parents. I’m not sure that grief counseling counts as a game. At least not one that I want to play for family game night.

I don’t think my kids are gaining much useful knowledge by taking their imaginary puppies for pretend visits to the vet while they drop off their orphaned little brother at make believe day care. And I get it, it is still good for their brains, and good for their emotional development. However, my kids are probably the least empathetic people I’ve ever met. For kids who constantly inhabit an imaginary world, they couldn’t possibly imagine somebody else’s perspective or feelings. If they aren’t developing their EQ, I think they could at least pick up some facts.

I do think it helps them cope with each other though. I love that that they can fall right back into play after any kind of screaming match or fit any of them happen to throw at each other. The question of “Still playing?” serves as a panacea for whatever issues there are between them. Perhaps that is the lesson they are learning from their play? That play itself is the lesson. They need to learn to play anything together so that they can live together. They’re using play to form bonds and building a foundation of knowing that whatever else happens that can always come back to each other. You never know where your kids are going to end up in life, but whatever they end up doing, I hope they’re still playing.

My Daughters are Liars

Watching your kids grow up is a crazy thing. You’re the one raising them, you see them every day, and in theory you know them better than anyone in the world. Yet somehow you still learn new things about them all the time. For example, I recently learned my daughters were filthy liars.

Kids lie. Usually it is small little fibs based around trying not to get in trouble, like saying that the Easter Bunny was the one who drew on the wall. An obvious falsehood that is more silly than anything. However, my kids have crossed over from little white lie to purposely malicious slander. I’m not sure what is more distressing. That they had it in them in the first place, or that they carried it out with such little remorse.

Let’s get in the way back machine and take a trip back to the fall of 2023, about two years ago exactly as I write this. My son was 3 then, and was struggling with not being able to stop biting his sisters. Fairly often one his sisters would come and show me bite marks telling me that Brooks bit them. I’d ask him. He wouldn’t deny it. He’d be punished. The same thing would happen again a few days later. He eventually got over it, and we’ve all moved on. Or so I thought.

Then one night, well after their bedtime, my daughters came out of their room with the urgent need to tell me something. Usually their urgent post-bedtime needs are to find out what snack or dessert Mom and Dad are having, but this one was different. They looked very serious, almost somber. They said they needed to tell us something. They said they were in their room talking and just felt so bad that they started to shake. I did’t know what to expect, but I assumed somebody broke thing of mine. However, rather than get an apology for accidentally breaking my whatever, I got a confession.

They framed their little brother for dental assaults he didn’t commit. They explained that while a couple of times he did bite them, there were also several times where they bit their own hands to make the marks, then come show me and told me Brooks did it. Their motive? Because they wanted to play by themselves. I sent them back to bed and told them we’ll deal with it in the morning.

Let me unpack this. Rather than just telling him they they wanted to play a different game or that they wanted to just have some sister time, they decided to fabricate the evidence to falsely accuse their brother – who, mind you, is just three years old at the time – of something that they know will cause him to be punished, and punished pretty severely. We couldn’t get him to stop biting so we were trying lots of things – toys taken away, being sent to his room, soap in his mouth, firm yet appropriate (no need to call CPS here) spanking. And they sat back and watched it happen so that they could get him out of their hair so they could play a pretend game of Lego store without him hanging around.

How confused must that poor little guy have been? Yes, sometimes he did bite, so some of punishments were valid, but sometimes this kid probably thought that his sisters hated him and that Dad was a bully. I think part of him genuinely things I am mean, or that I don’t like him as much as I like his sisters. I can clearly see how administering baseless punishments undermines the best buddies relationship I’m trying to build with the little fella. To quote the great Jim Croce, some women, they are liars. And some just got no sense. But a woman like you ought to be ashamed of the things that you do to men. Those diabolical little bitches.

My daughters were 5 and 7 at the time. Already deceitful and plotting at that age. Couldn’t (and still can’t) always writing their numbers and letters facing the right way, but able to scheme their way into getting what they want at the the expense of others. A potential future in politics or business aside, what the hell is that? Where would they learn that? Is it some kind of instinct? Pretty sure that was never a plot line on Fancy Nancy, or whatever they were watching obsessively at the time. At least I don’t recall any episode where Nancy convinced her parents that JoJo has an unbreakable violent streak in her. Is it something they picked up at school? At share time, did one of the other kids in their class tell them all about how they conned their Dad into sending a sibling to their room for hours and that somehow created a light bulb moment for my daughter? I think I would like to think it was some outside influence, but the reality is that my daughters just had it in them.

And that sucks. Now I have to question everything they tell me, and I do, to their faces. Oh, you said you didn’t have a snack yet? Well, you also said your brother bit you, so wait until dinner. Though, more seriously, what if they come to me with tales of other physical altercations. Did your brother push you? Did a kid a school hit you? Where does it end? They are little now, but what are they going to tell the truth and/or lie about when it comes to teenage boys? We have a lot of time between now and then, so I’ve got to make sure I use it to make sure they understand that the truth matters.

It is also very unlikely that they arrived at this plan together. There had to have been one person that came up with it and one person that went along. My gut says my older daughter hatched the plot. However, it was almost always my younger daughter who came showing the planted bite marks. So even if she was something of a coerced accomplice, she was bought into the plan enough to bite herself and come tell me the lie. In a way, I guess I shouldn’t have expected a five year-old to stand up for her herself and not go along with the ideas of her holder sister. But in a better way, why shouldn’t I? We teach them wrong from right, we teach them to tell the truth, we teach them how to be kind. Why are we teaching our kids these things if not to give them the tools to stand up for what is right and tell somebody no, I am not going to frame our toddler brother causing bodily harm so we can play pretend school with out him bugging us. I mean, if there was ever a use case for having even the early stages of a moral compass, this seems like an easy one find true north.

The silver lining I find is that they eventually did come clean. Why it took them the better part of two years, I have no idea. Clearly is was stuck back in their brain somewhere causing them a slow burn of guilt. Maybe it is because I grew up Catholic, but I think it is part of a parent’s job to instill some guilt in their children. Sure, I’d rather instill in them the firm understanding of right and wrong and the fortitude to stand up for what they know is right. But some guilt will do in a pinch. They also haven’t been caught in any criminal conspiracies since. At least that I know of. I guess we’ll have to check back later. It has been over a year since my wedding ring went missing, let’s pencil in a late night confession for a few months from now, shall we?

Second Grade Wisdom: What We Can Learn from Kids

It is no secret that one of the great causes of divide in our times (and probably all of time) is that every one is completely certain they are right. Their point of view is the correct one. Their sources of information are the truth. Their pizza toppings are correct and you can take your pineapple and go straight to hell. For the record, pineapple does belong on pizza given the correct pairing of other toppings, which is neither here nor there for the purposes of this discussion but I felt it needed to be said.

And there it lies the problem. I felt it needed to be said. I not only brought up the conflict, but I welcomed it with crossed arms. Without a second thought I found even the most benign subject and found a way to invite disagreement. Though not for the sake of debate, for the sake of feeling right and feeling supported in my rightness by people who agree. And the people that don’t agree? Well I’ll have to assume they’ve clicked away in anger by now. They are not hear to listen to some schmuck tell them something they don’t agree with. They will go find an anti-pineapple blog to read and dig in.

This is the pattern we are in as a society. From pineapples to politics and everything in between, we find the information that makes us feel good about what we already think. It is a hard habit to break, but we need to try.

On a recent trip to the library I was looking for a book to read with no particular direction in mind. Somewhere in the social science section I found “A Gentleman’s Guide to Manners, Sex, and Ruling the World.” The title caught my eye. I mean, I am already a proper man and I’ve already sired three children so I’m pretty sure I’ve got at least one of those down, but there is always room to learn. I grabbed the book and went home ready to become enlightened to gentlemanly ways. A few pages into it was ready to close it forever and be perfectly content having mastered on my own 33% of the topics it claimed to cover. Not that it was poorly written (though he seemed to go out of his way to showcase his vocabulary – you’re a smarty pants professor, we get it) or the things the writer was saying were out and out incorrect. It was that the writing clearly had a different world view than me. I could tell he was older, more upper-crusty, and more on the conservative end of the spectrum than I. While I learned that when sitting in box seats at the opera or theater, a gentleman should sit behind the seat the woman he is with and not next to her, so that the other woman in the box can have a seat in the front as well. After all, women want to showcase their pretty dresses and have a better opportunity to be seen, while a gentleman is content to fade into the background at such an occasion. Tips on where to sit at a minor league baseball game are conspicuously absent. Also, a gentleman wears a suit or at least shirt and tie to work. I don’t remember all the details of the points he was making but he made a case that casual dress has led to gender identity issues.

I put the book down and really debated not picking it back up. I mean, why would I want to fill my head with this?

UPDATE: I tried. I really did, but this freakin guy. It is one thing to have a different world view, or a different set of beliefs. But any possible message could have gotten from this book has been received, and that message is – don’t let my son grow up to believe the kinds of things this guy is saying, and don’t let my daughters be with a guy who does.

I almost made it all the way through the book, but the final section of “Woman and Family Life” was just too much. All the understanding I need to get out of this is to understand that, unfortunately, there are people out there who believe some bullshit, and that these people are to be avoided as companions.

Here are some low-lights pulled directly from the text as they appeared in the book. Also, please note that the quotes around certain terms are exactly as they are used in the book, this is that writer’s usage of it, not mine.

“Feminism led the women to believe they could enjoy uncommitted, purely physical sex, as men seemed to do, and that this would “empower” them with the strength of me. Since, for most women, this was obviously not the case, they then learned – also under feminist tutelage – to avoid their inevitable hurt feelings using accusations of new pseudo-crimes such as “date rape” and “sexual assault,” even when everyone knew full when that it was consensual.”
“This is foolish, and we are now paying the price, as shown clearly in the recent epidemic of accusations of sex (or “gender” crimes): “sexual harassment,” sexual abuse,” “sexual assault,” sexual this and sexual that.”
“”Sexual harassment,” “sexual assault,” “sexual misbehavior,” “sexual misconduct,” sexual abuse” – no one really knows what these terms mean, and that is precisely the point of using them.”

Really? Really guy? No one knows what sexual assault is? No one? The fact that he feels the need to put any term related to sexual crimes against women in quotes, leads me to question not if, but how many women he’s raped, er, I mean, had sex with when she damn well knew she had it coming. What an absolute trash person. Anyway, back to my original thoughts.

In one of life’s funny timings, just as I was having this struggle in myself, my daughter brought home something from school. They were learning about communities, and not just what they are, but also how people live in them together. Her answers on a worksheet were brilliant in their simplicity.

Why should you listen to other ideas? I should listen because it will be easier to solve the problem.
What if your idea isn’t picked? You could maybe do it next time.
Why is problem solving and agreeing on a solution so important for the community? Because then there will be a lot of conflict with out it.

Much can be learned from the perspective of a second grader. A lack of gray area, nuance, and complexity in the best possibly ways. Listening to other ideas helps solve problems. Can something seem like a breakthrough and a “well, duh” statement at the same time? So I’m going to keep reading this book, but because I expect it to really provide any kind of guidance (unless of course I suddenly get invited to the opera), but because I should fill my head with as many ideas as possible. Not so I can agree with them or support them, but so that I can understand them. Even if I disagree with it or find 99% of the book irrelevant to my life, that 1% of opportunity for growth is worth it.

It is crazy how much we can learn from our children, when we put so much effort into it being the other way around. But maybe the effort parents put in, or more accurately where we put it, is the issue. We put in effort to make sure our kids know the basics – reading, math, how to make their own breakfast without waking you up. But do we put the same kind of effort into problem solving? In to how to understand different ideas? Into moral, ethical, or philosophical questions? I think we think a lot of that is too heady for a kid to understand, but maybe it isn’t. At least not a basic introduction. My daughter actually took it upon her self to make her own introduction. A few days after her Solving the World’s Problems for Dummies breakdown, she started reading her first philosophy book.

Stole it from me is more like it. There I was sitting at the kitchen table reading the book “Happiness Times Two: Live Each Day Like You’re on Vacation”, and she walks over and starts reading over my shoulder. Buddhism was a funny word and it caught her attention. Not satisfied with her partially obstructed view, she proceeded to take the book out of my hands, laid down on the couch and read it herself. She read a page about The Eightfold Path, or at least moth of page. I think she may have just read the bulleted list of the eight right things over and over again and giggled at the word Buddha a few times. Either way, it is a start. It is an introduction to learning different ideas, and how to use those ideas to be the best person she can. I don’t know if her path is eightfold, but she is on one. Now I need to help her stay on it. Challenge accepted.