tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45142950234777411852024-03-17T09:22:29.832-07:00Get Off The GroundAnd be the positive spread of parenting and life.KWGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08996429724505279563noreply@blogger.comBlogger907125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514295023477741185.post-69109912549068370682024-03-17T09:21:00.000-07:002024-03-17T09:21:46.255-07:00Adulting With Us<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP5wCIAsSbrXgafVrEvVdgWdyFEDDrtIhgTHramZrTHqcBHAdrOY_K3SBY6w-5sBHRHy-XOlxOGBj_yXtiSZgCAU6T6283aDm58HMgxAndzh0QlzNhg5EM7PZVzC_2uC7N-tpC1SH51ZW_v0pqZmDvRaTjEHu0KwdiVMKeHBgm-3EN150TA8_KN51jgs8/s1280/high-five-4102546_1280.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="774" data-original-width="1280" height="194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP5wCIAsSbrXgafVrEvVdgWdyFEDDrtIhgTHramZrTHqcBHAdrOY_K3SBY6w-5sBHRHy-XOlxOGBj_yXtiSZgCAU6T6283aDm58HMgxAndzh0QlzNhg5EM7PZVzC_2uC7N-tpC1SH51ZW_v0pqZmDvRaTjEHu0KwdiVMKeHBgm-3EN150TA8_KN51jgs8/s320/high-five-4102546_1280.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>When they were kids, we could do no wrong. We knew that wasn't true, but our kids didn't call us out on our mistakes and those poor parenting moments. <p></p><p>Like cursing at other people doing dumb things in their cars while we drove near them, next to them, across from them, anywhere around them. That's me. One time in particular that has since become a family inside joke was when we were turning left on a green light. Before I could turn, I had to wait for the oncoming traffic to cross. Behind me was a guy obviously angry because he was stuck behind me until I could turn. He honked and then zoomed around us heading straight just as we were able to turn left. He mouthed something at us and that's when I flipped, cursing at him and flipping him off. He was driving a work car with some solar company name on the side. </p><p>Mom and kids were a little taken aback. "Dad!" the kids called out. Thankfully my road-rage breakdown was short-lived, and the ongoing inside joke became "there's that 'solar guy' again following us." </p><p>That was a couple of years ago. Now that both our kids are true teens, we find them pointing out our mistakes and shortcomings. All. The. Time. </p><p>And that reminds me of when I used to do that with my own parents. My dad usually took it in stride, but my mom would sometimes tell me I was being disrespectful. But more often than not, she'd admit she'd made a mistake, especially as I got older and became a young adult. </p><p>My wife Amy listened to a great podcast recently. <a href="https://avivaromm.com/lisa-damour/" target="_blank">An interview with Lisa Damour, PhD, author of </a><i><a href="https://avivaromm.com/lisa-damour/" target="_blank">The Emotional Lives of Teenagers</a>. </i>She shared it with me and I gobbled it up. As I listened, I could feel myself nodding and saying out loud, "Yes, and that, and that, and that." </p><p>So many take aways for me, for us, and when Lisa said, "They have phenomenal acuity for the shortcomings of adults," I thought, <i>Yes, I did then, and they do now. </i></p><p>Just the other day I heard it over and over again about how triggered I get about other drivers when I'm driving and even more so when I'm not. How "judgey" I am on the road. They're not wrong either. </p><p>However, it can hurt when we're called out by our teens about our own mistakes, mistakes we should do better owning, even when their feedback is as direct and unfiltered as it is. Thankfully they're not crossing the rubicon of intentionally trying to hurt us or sabotage us. If they were intentionally trying to hurt us, then that's a whole other ballgame of issues to deal with. </p><p>Ours aren't, and most of the time we don't take it personally. Our teens are all up and down emotion while they individuate and find their own identities and voices, just like we did when we were their age. They model our good and call out our bad. This is also their way of adulting with us, adults they love and trust, and so their helping make us better people is a win in the raising teens column. </p>KevinWGrossmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05606412784832406343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514295023477741185.post-71807127892431474262024-03-10T13:20:00.000-07:002024-03-10T13:20:31.556-07:00To Make The Shine Glow On<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><i>"I just got lost</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><i>Every river that I tried to cross</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><i>Every door I ever tried was locked</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><i>Oh, and I'm just waitin' 'til the shine wears off..."</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><i><br /></i></div><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">–</span><i>Coldplay, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pkgeai985rA&t=87s" target="_blank">Lost!</a></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><i><br /></i></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiban-kvFb893zDC-7BAX6a6WAoLW3e7t7C-kOrFOKdCJeKxBBw4NYQsLUjX0BggVN7onmZkfVGYD32KDvjVx1cASQ7LBE6zJTHAO2DEkT1AZfQSIeXOBlSHgitEwO0JGCjlf4XdgdXBNn1u5NnYm0J8O-FlxeVmuqradNDuf76jpme9bng017ecLNzWkw/s1440/429682718_18424168132046280_4094370332333543350_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1440" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiban-kvFb893zDC-7BAX6a6WAoLW3e7t7C-kOrFOKdCJeKxBBw4NYQsLUjX0BggVN7onmZkfVGYD32KDvjVx1cASQ7LBE6zJTHAO2DEkT1AZfQSIeXOBlSHgitEwO0JGCjlf4XdgdXBNn1u5NnYm0J8O-FlxeVmuqradNDuf76jpme9bng017ecLNzWkw/s320/429682718_18424168132046280_4094370332333543350_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>At first, her painting felt sad and lonely. But she actually painted it at a time when she felt good about her young life, all that was happening in it, and what might happen next.</p><p></p><p>She was very proud of her work. Is proud of it. Our oldest Beatrice is quite the talented artist and we're proud of her and her work. </p><p>Both our kids are quite the artists actually. Are quite the intuitive feelers. This is evident as they grapple with new life and learning and frontal lobes developing in front of their very eyes. Or, more correctly, in back of their very eyes.</p><p>Whether Bea intended it or not, there is a melancholy feel in the painting. The dark forest behind her. The shadow of herself in the pond that's not a true reflection, only dark shadow. It's reminds me of the line from a Coldplay song: "Oh, and I'm just waitin' 'til the shine wears off." Waiting for the good things to fade away, leaving only darkness it it's wake.</p><p>But that's me projecting my own life experience into my interpretation of my 15-year-old's painting. It doesn't mean that teens don't have ups and downs and dark deep thoughts -- they do. Not the same life experiences as us their parents, but we're also not dismissive of their angst and encourage them to talk about all their feelings. </p><p>What I love is that the question in her painting was actually a statement: What NOW. With NOW being all caps. Like it's a challenge to what will happen next, what life will bring. Again, I'm projecting my own interpretation here, but I feel it's close.</p><p>That's a bold statement as far as I'm concerned, but demanding the "what" to manifest itself this very second is normal instant gratification longing that both teens and adults feel. Making something positive happen is another story altogether. Too many of us wait for the "shine to wear off", because that's what we expect to happen ultimately, if we feel we've been let down before by others and/or circumstances; it's always someone else's or something else's fault. This is all emotionally hard for developing teens to comprehend, but it's especially difficult for adults who never knew how to deal with adversity in the first place. </p><p>Encouraging our kids to experience and feel all the feels, to be able to express them verbally and non-verbally (like through art), and then to work on manifesting what's next will serve them well throughout their lives. We don't want them to wait for the next bad thing to happen. We want them to make the next good thing happen for themselves today -- to make the shine glow on. </p>KevinWGrossmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05606412784832406343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514295023477741185.post-42838944891677672772024-03-03T10:14:00.000-08:002024-03-03T14:40:37.404-08:00Getting It All Done<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8xXnI8FCKs_b68h8T7FpGfVowPjSOYE7yDQ2qMzKimZjj83-rb0Odrzzv4o1w9FXPk1lcTOiSc34QMNL3CDFmS8p-Z9SEYzBcuDaTDeU7AhFpi08VQgY-LwNUASMBKDzlLfXa2X7y409UBvKwwPlWxN1mGd-g3qHAg_6NiSeTQB4Look52Wcntpg_TnM/s1280/a-book-1853677_1280.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8xXnI8FCKs_b68h8T7FpGfVowPjSOYE7yDQ2qMzKimZjj83-rb0Odrzzv4o1w9FXPk1lcTOiSc34QMNL3CDFmS8p-Z9SEYzBcuDaTDeU7AhFpi08VQgY-LwNUASMBKDzlLfXa2X7y409UBvKwwPlWxN1mGd-g3qHAg_6NiSeTQB4Look52Wcntpg_TnM/s320/a-book-1853677_1280.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I sat at my desk working on algebra homework after school. I was in junior high at the time and loved math, did very well in math, but didn't always love all the homework (of any subject). What teenager does? True, I always felt like I had accomplished something important in finishing the homework and studying for quizzes and tests when I had them, no matter how long it took. And the reward was in understanding what I was learning, and of course, good grades. <p></p><p>What made it all more palatable during the homework time was the music I'd listen to. I put in an 8-track tape of Aerosmith, Kansas, Journey, or another rock band of the time (this was a few years before I became the Rush fan I still am today). Yes, 8-track tapes. I had those along with cassettes and record albums. </p><p>Not really the best study music, and definitely not reading music (I did turn off the music when I was just reading), I still enjoyed my rock and roll with math, history, science, and other subjects throughout junior and high school. </p><p>Yes, my parents would ask me every day if I had homework, and remind me to do said homework, and I got it done, with or without my music. The deeper into high school I got the later I would stay up, although that wasn't always the best time to study and finish homework. I had to because playing sports and other extracurricular activities ate up my after school time, especially in the fall when I played football. But I got it done. It's always a <a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2023/08/a-beautiful-mess-in-progress.html" target="_blank">beautiful mess in progress</a>. </p><p>For our own children today, we've impressed upon them good study habits and the autonomy to get their homework done and study for tests. We do ask them if they have homework every day, and they can get stressed about getting their work done, but most of the time their own developing work ethic keeps them on task. Also, they both love their own music sometimes when they're doing their homework. Our middle schooler Bryce is a night owl and will work after dinner and late sometimes, and our high schooler Beatrice likes to be fresh in the morning before school, or to do if before dinner if there's time. No matter when and where, they're doing the work. </p><p>We help our kids when they have questions about their schoolwork, or at least try to help them. Some of these subjects we haven't studied for decades, and the curriculums have certainly evolved over time. We've found that, if we can't help them, even if we look up the subjects online for refreshers, having them attempt to explain to us what they're trying to learn actually helps them find the answers we can't help them with. And in their explaining, we follow along a little bit better and learn something ourselves. My goodness, I had AP calculus in high school, and I have no idea about the math they're doing today. Mom is also more patient than me, and the usual go-to; I'm like the substitute teacher that way. </p><p>In the end, our kids are getting it all done with their unique strengths and struggles, and in their own unique autonomous ways, with great grades to show for it and we couldn't be prouder. Even with a little teen whining along the way. Or a lot. </p>KevinWGrossmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05606412784832406343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514295023477741185.post-31394910524620588112024-02-25T10:08:00.000-08:002024-02-25T11:26:45.104-08:00Driving Straight<p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQsfFvh8RNCbj51x9tB4V6P-jePXReOFtTzaV2iNTZsc8Ky9aUwGDlSzsNc2GzQs-2EgoLHSe-sOBzhiAQxmnYZlFWL0LVACMY0sWUqxmZhdPnDYx2S2f5bj24WsPbrJLb4aKtR4Hjuo5TP4Etagrd5UAp_xrpUkd0bxrLSmIGSW3EGrCDhxGX30Uo0z8/s1280/road-3114475_1280.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQsfFvh8RNCbj51x9tB4V6P-jePXReOFtTzaV2iNTZsc8Ky9aUwGDlSzsNc2GzQs-2EgoLHSe-sOBzhiAQxmnYZlFWL0LVACMY0sWUqxmZhdPnDYx2S2f5bj24WsPbrJLb4aKtR4Hjuo5TP4Etagrd5UAp_xrpUkd0bxrLSmIGSW3EGrCDhxGX30Uo0z8/s320/road-3114475_1280.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>In the next year, our oldest child might be getting her driver's license. Mercy me. I have to believe every parent is excited about this prospect because the days and nights of being the family Uber driver will become fewer and farther in between. Every parent is also full of trepidation about their children driving around with all the craziness on the roads, higher insurance rates, and the fear of accidents and injuries. And God forbid they ever drive under the influence of anything and risk everything. <p></p><p style="text-align: left;">Driving aside, which will definitely be the subject future articles once Beatrice does start driving, this is also about her getting an official California ID. Both our daughters already have passports, which we got for family travel, but soon she'll have driver's license, and at some point, Bryce will as well. And even if they don't drive, they'll have a California issued ID. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Legitimate IDs are important for sure, and when we're adults we'll need them for getting jobs, to applying for loans, to voting, to buying alcohol and other legal drugs, to nearly everything. For buying alcohol and other legal drugs, you have to be of the legal age to do so. Unless you have a fake ID.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Back in my day, and my wife's day, fake IDs weren't easy to come by and weren't very good either, like all the cheesy 1980's teen movies we loved back then. I had friends in college who had fake IDs, but never in high school (that I was aware of). My dad could've spoken to this much better than I being a forgery and fraud detective in the 1980's. </p><p style="text-align: left;">But today it's supposedly very easy to get a fake ID online. For $50-$150 you can get two to three fake IDs on sites such as this <a href="https://topfakeid.com/ " target="_blank">one</a>. I don't really want to advertise these sites, but it's real and teens have access to them. </p><p style="text-align: left;">In California, you still have to be 21 years old to purchase alcohol and marijuana products, but if fake IDs are that good, then it doesn't matter how young you look using one. For those who are 18-20 years old, marijuana is still illegal in California unless you have a current <a href="https://www.cdph.ca.gov/Programs/DO/letstalkcannabis/Pages/youth.aspx#:~:text=You%20can%20legally%20use%20cannabis%20if%20you%20are%2021%20or%20older." target="_blank">qualifying physician’s recommendation or a valid county-issued medical marijuana identification card</a>. I've also read those are easier to get than you think. </p><p style="text-align: left;">So, combine that with fake IDs and cannabis dispensary access within walking distance from high schools, and that's a potentially major health risk for our kids. The American Academy of Pediatrics (AAP) has shared <a href="https://publications.aap.org/pediatrics/article/145/Supplement_2/S165/34451/Marijuana-Legalization-and-Youth?autologincheck=redirected" target="_blank">evidence</a> of the mental health impacts of marijuana usage among teens that include harmful impacts on brain and cognitive development, addiction, higher risk for marijuana-induced psychosis, and suicidal ideation. Not to mention the <a href="https://www.cdc.gov/alcohol/fact-sheets/underage-drinking.htm#:~:text=Disruption%20of%20normal%20growth%20or,burns%2C%20falls%2C%20or%20drowning." target="_blank">detrimental effects of alcohol</a> on teen brains. Plus, we need store owners and employees that are vigilant to identifying and reporting flake IDs.</p><div>As adults, our grown children may choose to drink alcohol and/or use marijuana, and that's fine, as long as it's legal and they do it safely and not drive under the influence. Or, they'll choose not to, which is probably even better. And yes, there are parents of teens who do consume both as adults, but hopefully aren't making it okay for their kids. </div><div><br /></div><div>Teen consumption is more complex and dangerous than ever, and as parents, we need to be aware of how easy it is to get fake IDs and what they can do with them. Access shouldn't as easy as walking to the corner store or dispensary with a fake ID. The legal ramifications and the physical and mental health damage for teens that occur when using and abusing alcohol and cannabis should inspire us to be better parents and talk to our kids about all of this. </div><div><br /></div><div>We want our children to drive someday. Of course, we do. With legal IDs. That will be super helpful to us, especially when they're driving straight, and not under the influence (of peer pressure, alcohol, marijuana, the list goes on and on). </div>KevinWGrossmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05606412784832406343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514295023477741185.post-84003091647683748652024-02-18T07:49:00.000-08:002024-02-18T07:49:51.129-08:00The Beat of BhivePowered Drums<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitkTTsh1NGk2oshTQ6fiRXXo-HJM2vKGnyiiVADzbSvBVfpvxGxhqFK5it55KHJAxXXwzuHrR0P334RTyn2mde4M1keBdzcaMbZ8Y0XzhRAFNpm__1WsP98HLNoYZCe_1clx0yNf5tcqYx7UGohmPyzcZ_nLEGX5we7Gyofv5uO4FHoOWSbgDodtz-Mpo/s1872/BhivePowered%20Drums.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1412" data-original-width="1872" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitkTTsh1NGk2oshTQ6fiRXXo-HJM2vKGnyiiVADzbSvBVfpvxGxhqFK5it55KHJAxXXwzuHrR0P334RTyn2mde4M1keBdzcaMbZ8Y0XzhRAFNpm__1WsP98HLNoYZCe_1clx0yNf5tcqYx7UGohmPyzcZ_nLEGX5we7Gyofv5uO4FHoOWSbgDodtz-Mpo/s320/BhivePowered%20Drums.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>After <a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2022/07/never-too-old.html" target="_blank">decades of thinking about playing the drums</a>, and with only a few short-lived runs at starting to play but never following through, I finally picked up the drumsticks for good shortly after the COVID-19 lockdown started. That was nearly four years ago now, and since then, I’ve practiced for over 1,000 hours, averaging about 5 hours per week, usually playing after dinner. When I travel, I bring my practice pad with me and try to bang out some rudiments. <p></p><p>In addition to practicing rudiments and taking various lessons, I’ve also had fun learning to play many songs I grew up with and loved (and still love), <a href="https://www.youtube.com/c/KevinWGrossman" target="_blank">nearly 120 songs to date</a>. I get to 80%-85%% proficiency, record myself playing, and then move on to another song, always learning two songs simultaneously. Early on I couldn’t always get the entire song down, but now I can. </p><p>No, I’m not starting a band anytime soon, but the point of all this ongoing practice is to improve and sustain my drumming performance. Hitting 100% isn’t easy, but consistency in proficiency is key. I’m also always adding wrinkles to my rudiments, the lessons I’m learning, and periodically getting feedback and lessons from a professional session drummer. </p><p>I’ve been beating a similar drum for our teens recently, getting them to understand that it's never too late to try something new and see if it lands on the right heartbeat for them. Especially now, this is the time for them to explore what moves them the most (and they should do this throughout life). Both my wife Amy and I tell them that they should never be afraid to give something new a go. <a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2023/05/no-rotten-tomatoes-here.html" target="_blank">Our youngest Bryce gave theater a go and loves it</a>. But even if Bryce hadn't liked it, they really put themselves out there during the very first audition, which is always a super-big deal. Our oldest Beatrice has given lacrosse, track, and now theater a go, and we'll see what she really enjoys and wants to continue the most. Although art is her true love and that is definitely something she continues to invest in.</p><p>The key is the heartfelt enjoyment our kids get from whatever those endeavors, hobbies, activities are that they try. The world is cutthroat competitive enough, and while our teens will still need to put in the work to learn and grow in whatever they aspire to do, they've got to have fun, too. When I coached both our kids in <a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2021/12/almost-perfect.html" target="_blank">soccer</a> for years, that was always my mantra. Learn new skills, embrace teamwork when applicable, and have fun. Always. Have. Fun. That's the beat of BhivePowered Drums. </p>KevinWGrossmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05606412784832406343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514295023477741185.post-72752277844456869572024-02-11T11:01:00.000-08:002024-02-11T11:01:51.240-08:00To Never Forget The Kids<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhklV-8rpcsedhelH2k4IrbZMUpDdVp4vTX9qo19kNkaEpcFoh8aKzWydvcyADJ-MLxV6t7ImKz5MoIi3_S6I4ByVvJYQMwkN5MqoCQ9hendJ4bi1-3S7q7yN95-idANT7GHS9xxNo32G4yQXkmrTaLYILpCpOgKvSrKdhzMIKEtphybxfeAFbns81nMLg/s1466/Forgetting%20Bea.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1248" data-original-width="1466" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhklV-8rpcsedhelH2k4IrbZMUpDdVp4vTX9qo19kNkaEpcFoh8aKzWydvcyADJ-MLxV6t7ImKz5MoIi3_S6I4ByVvJYQMwkN5MqoCQ9hendJ4bi1-3S7q7yN95-idANT7GHS9xxNo32G4yQXkmrTaLYILpCpOgKvSrKdhzMIKEtphybxfeAFbns81nMLg/s320/Forgetting%20Bea.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>We were almost home when I realized I'd forgotten our oldest daughter Beatrice. In my defense, she had been hanging out with friends after school of late, so I didn't think about her. Not even our youngest daughter Bryce asked about Beatrice, assuming the same.<p></p><p>But it was Bea's short day in high school, when she gets out about the same time Bryce does in middle school. That's when Beatrice will walk over to the middle school and I get them both, unless they have other after school activities (theater and sports now), or they're seeing friends, or they want to walk, or their riding bikes, or whatever. That part I'd forgotten, that I'd get them together on Mondays after school. </p><p>Why I'd forgotten, I don't know, because our pattern doesn't vary much. Most of the time, my wife Amy takes the girls to school, and I pick them up after school, again, depending on their plans (except when I'm traveling for work). <a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2023/10/only-one-text-away.html" target="_blank">Always the back and forth everywhere</a>, all the time, until Beatrice starts to drive, but that's still probably two years away.</p><p>Maybe I had a lot on my mind, who knows. So, that Monday when Bryce and I were nearly home, we get a text from Beatrice: "When do you want me to go to the car?"</p><p>Bryce read it out loud. "We forgot Bea."</p><p><i>Crap</i>, I thought. "Subpar," I said. "We're nearly home. Let me drop you and then I'll go back to get her."</p><p>"No, let's just go get her," Bryce said, texting her back that we were on our way now.</p><p>The good news is that both schools are only about two miles from where we live. I backtracked to get her, thinking she was at the middle school where she would usually go on Mondays. The part I had forgotten. But, part of her text was that she was still in a teacher's room at school, and both Bryce and I thought that meant at the high school. </p><p>We were nearly to the middle school and that's when we turned around and went to the high school. Not realizing until after further texts from Bea that was actually at the middle school, where she was supposed to go in the first place. So, after reaching the high school, we turned around again and headed to the middle School.</p><p>It became a "who's on first" <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Abbott_and_Costello" target="_blank">Abbott and Costello</a> comedy routine, as well as a <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0099785/" target="_blank"><i>Home Alone</i></a> parody. I'd forgotten to get Beatrice when I picked up Bryce, and then it became a comedic puzzle for Bryce and me to figure out exactly where Beatrice was. Thankfully she forgave us and got a kick out of it when I slapped the palms of my hands to my cheeks and yelled "Kevin!" (<i>Home Alone</i> is one of her favorites). I have more sympathy for the McCallister family now, considering I had always sworn to never forget the kids, no matter how much is on my mind. And this time I did. Mercy me.</p>KevinWGrossmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05606412784832406343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514295023477741185.post-37790100145229227962024-02-04T13:36:00.000-08:002024-02-04T13:36:53.708-08:00We Can Curb the Egg Slinging<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUIxYy404zl0su84lp7KDL_cclG-FqvNXiLbNbeRleW9zwzmHRjPsz5hq68RbY_ht6RBU7b-5IAMknRgl1uaxdju1PU3luFFfV4T5lH3BWBMc8UQ6g9vgzEiGH2T63CQoriKj6_FAdxsUWnPh9zTdNk2Skx9-FvHLcqhxsZQIaPWMcv6A71e7G2RE-_J0/s1920/eggs-3281585_1920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1920" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUIxYy404zl0su84lp7KDL_cclG-FqvNXiLbNbeRleW9zwzmHRjPsz5hq68RbY_ht6RBU7b-5IAMknRgl1uaxdju1PU3luFFfV4T5lH3BWBMc8UQ6g9vgzEiGH2T63CQoriKj6_FAdxsUWnPh9zTdNk2Skx9-FvHLcqhxsZQIaPWMcv6A71e7G2RE-_J0/s320/eggs-3281585_1920.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>We egged his house and he wasn't even home. His parents weren't home either. I knew it was wrong, but I did it anyway, caught up in the stupidity of teenage groupthink. One night at dusk when I was 16 years old, I drove my El Camino with friends in the back, while another friend drove his truck with other friends in the back, and we raced by another supposed friend's house and threw two dozen eggs at his house. As we drove by, the neighbors across the street, people who knew who we were because their daughter went to school with us, said to each other, "Wow, there goes Kevin and his friends."<p></p><p>When my egged friend's parents got home, they called the police and the neighbor witnesses gave us up. When I got home later that night, a police officer was waiting outside our house to question me about the egging. My parents and sister were most likely asleep, and so I denied the egging. The officer, who already had eye-witness testimony, pressed me further, even threatening to wake up my father to get me to confess. My father at the time was a long-time police officer himself, so I definitely confessed after that. </p><p>The part that was the most devastating for me was when we all agreed to meet with my egged friend's parents and both my parents came. My egged friend wasn't there because his parents wanted to know why we did what we did, especially since we'd all been supposed friends for years. They were visibly hurt, especially his mom, and I could barely look her in the eyes. I could barely look my own parents in the eyes because their disappointment and hurt were unbearable as well. </p><p>Not all the guys who participated in the egging agreed to come to the meeting, but what was even more uncomfortable for me were some of the guys whose toxic fathers came. They mocked the meeting and laughed at the vulnerability of my egged friend's parents, just saying basically that boys will be boys and it wasn't that big of a deal. That we were just teasing. </p><p>But we weren't just teasing, and I knew it even before the first egg was thrown. I knew it even more painfully when I was one of two of us who agreed to scrub the eggs off his house, and it was excruciating when I faced the friend I'd egged and apologized to him. I knew what we did wasn't teasing. Teasing is supposed to be playful, friendly, and even sometimes affectionate, without intending to harm or demean. It's a way of socializing and bonding within a group. This wasn't that. </p><p>And even if I didn't intend to bully, I participated in the bullying. Bullying is deliberately attempting to hurt, harm, or humiliate others. The impact of bullying is well-documented and can cause physical, emotional, or psychological distress. The targets of bullying often feel threatened, frightened, and/or humiliated. </p><p>Today, with the reach and impact of social media and the dark side of artificial intelligence, cyberbullying is even more prevalent and can be way more devastating than egging someone's house. It's even worse because the reach is greater, the perpetrators are usually anonymous, and the algorithms themselves are smarter than ever, serving up more and more relevant crap -- throwing more and more literally rotten eggs -- that can make us feel like the very crap it's serving up, especially to our children and teens. Plus, we worry because more teen girls are the targets of fake nudes and fake pornography today, which is horrific. </p><p>Thankfully, our teen girls haven't been bullies themselves, nor have they been bullied to date, online or in person. We monitor their social media usage as much as we can, talking with them about what they're watching, the impacts of all that, and encouraging them to limit their time online. We've empowered them to make good decisions, which we know they'll miss making sometimes, but they're doing pretty good overall so far, and we're never afraid to talk about anything and everything with them. My wife Amy always channels Kidpower by living these words: "The safety and well-being of ourselves and those in our care are more important than anyone's embarrassment, inconvenience, or offense."</p><p><a href="https://www.cnn.com/2024/01/31/tech/big-tech-executives-senate-hearing-teens/index.html" target="_blank">Congress recently grilled social media leaders</a> about the negative impacts of their platforms, with many families in the audience holding up pictures of the children they've lost because of those negative impacts. While we wait for actual federal legislative action that could make help difference, and sadly may never come, it's up to parents and families everywhere to make the difference. In fact, <a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2024/01/produce-better-humans-and-fewer-bullies.html" target="_blank">it's always been up to us</a>. Virtually and organically, there will be bullying, and yet we can work on bullying prevention from a very early age into adulthood with our own kids, and then they can do the same for their kids. We can curb the egg slinging. </p>KevinWGrossmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05606412784832406343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514295023477741185.post-20244736803179895472024-01-28T10:32:00.000-08:002024-01-28T10:32:25.821-08:00Like Kids All Over Again<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-C1pyK4PGOdpYwhlQlWwOFRdWwm5g77CoWL2dpnLwayza7Q7zH5hRUvjx7EwMlreH3KfXpHUJBoaqLizYIVpntROGVnzA9FuEDtILKmsOxoPyYhZIN1igTopZA6gZytcxB_ZFFXi1UJ2wcPkjxDEE0SmziuycD9RW5t5-HJeYNHLw0kxoanqjB1f6tzY/s2203/IMG_1327%20copy.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2203" data-original-width="2203" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-C1pyK4PGOdpYwhlQlWwOFRdWwm5g77CoWL2dpnLwayza7Q7zH5hRUvjx7EwMlreH3KfXpHUJBoaqLizYIVpntROGVnzA9FuEDtILKmsOxoPyYhZIN1igTopZA6gZytcxB_ZFFXi1UJ2wcPkjxDEE0SmziuycD9RW5t5-HJeYNHLw0kxoanqjB1f6tzY/s320/IMG_1327%20copy.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>It's like we have little kids all over again. I mean, we've already had many different dog toys upstairs and downstairs for our dog <a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2020/03/jenny-jenny-who-can-i-turn-to.html" target="_blank">Jenny</a> since we adopted her four years ago. But now with our new cat, <a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2023/11/cat-tagious.html" target="_blank">Winston</a>, there's crap everywhere. <p></p><p>Literally crap. Because one of the big differences between cats and dogs is that with cats, you don't have to buy a bunch of expensive cat toys. You can simply give them paper bags, ripped paper, twisty ties, water bottle caps, strings, and so much more, and they will go bananas playing with them all. In fact, Winston is especially fond of twisty ties. Jenny, not so much. She sticks to her favorite stuffy toys like squirrel, turkey, red bone, blue bone, clam, and candy cane. </p><p>Jenny won't play with Winston's trash toys, but Winston will play with Jenny's stuffys, and that sometimes doesn't play well with Jenny. It's like watching an old Warner Brothers cartoon with Ralph Wolf and Sam Sheepdog clocking in for work, with Ralph trying to capture sheep, and Sam thwarting Ralph at every turn. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/jLhm5CyJ6JM" width="320" youtube-src-id="jLhm5CyJ6JM"></iframe></div><br /><p>Jenny will chase Winston and bark at him when she wants to put him in his place, but most of the time they get along. And like a little kid, Winston is all over the place -- he's up on shelves, the table, the counters, the kitchen sink. Everywhere; literally the kitchen sink. I just caught him trying to climb one of our window screens again, too. </p><p>Sigh. The grand parenting positive irony here is that our teen kids, Beatrice and Bryce, are relatively neat, keeping their rooms clean, especially Bryce, which we're grateful for (we've taught them well). And Bryce is the one taking care of Winston, at least when they're not at school, cleaning his litter box and making sure he's fed. Part of her allowance comes from keeping both Winston and Jenny fed and ensuring they have fresh water. </p><p>However, we warned Bryce that the cat would keep them up at night, and sure enough, that's what happened. So, now Bryce shoves him outside at night, along with his litter box into the upstairs hallway, and the cat is a free range roamer in the wee hours of the morning. Beatrice is relatively safe all around, because Jenny always sleeps with us, and she's easy, and we close the door to our sun room that leads to Bea's room, so Winston can't get in there and cause a ruckus. Another irony here: we wake up to relative calm and no destruction that we can see. It's only after we're with Winston when he bounces off the walls. </p><p>Plus, when both our kids are at school, we work from home, and it's a battle of wits and wills to keep our friggin' cat as chilled out as possible so we can work. Which is impossible, because he's a cat, and he's everywhere all at once, until he naps. Not quite a kitten anymore, but definitely a young, curious, meddling cat. This morning while my wife Amy and I meditated, I could hear Winston in the kitchen sink rattling dishes looking for food, which he won't find since we now keep our kitchen cleaner than ever, and we always kept it clean pre-cat. </p><p>Squirt bottles and cat treats help, but mercy me, Winston's a handful. A lovingly sweet handful, like a young grandson climbing up the counter to get into the cookie jar. Thankfully his big sister, Jenny, keeps him in line sometimes, but most of the time is entertained (and annoyed) like the rest of us. And she's especially excited when Winston spills his food bowl on the floor so she can get her share of cat eats. Or, cat poop if we don't keep the litter box clean. Gross!</p><p>Reminds me of the quote from <i><a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0087332/" target="_blank">Ghostbusters</a></i>, “Human sacrifice! Dogs and cats living together! Mass hysteria!” Yep, just like kids all over again.</p>KevinWGrossmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05606412784832406343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514295023477741185.post-2327664568721926582024-01-21T13:10:00.000-08:002024-01-21T17:41:23.799-08:00Produce Better Humans And Fewer Bullies<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuKUQnquXtgg4Q-ypY1VGmZbl8RApl8c3GnnE9rgeuIDhsPpnXZGnP2-PJrcU02x4N8-Chav1v9_W3AtUgVA8s8rxIUKux73KTJiRugfLAk86XDb4-CAs8S8tT1Z0YIqSe5xJSbOmbDixqcLc_K76nzYhcrVLRowGO0A17PZx84tD-HDbqkPsnNvl-xHU/s926/dodgeball.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="890" data-original-width="926" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuKUQnquXtgg4Q-ypY1VGmZbl8RApl8c3GnnE9rgeuIDhsPpnXZGnP2-PJrcU02x4N8-Chav1v9_W3AtUgVA8s8rxIUKux73KTJiRugfLAk86XDb4-CAs8S8tT1Z0YIqSe5xJSbOmbDixqcLc_K76nzYhcrVLRowGO0A17PZx84tD-HDbqkPsnNvl-xHU/s320/dodgeball.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Even though I was a skinny, asthmatic kid, I was damn good at the game. I was always one of the last to go out, and along the way I'd take out many on the other side. I wasn't a bully (but relished taking the bullies out), but enjoyed the game, which I aways thought about as solely a survival-of-the-fittest game, because ultimately only one could remain standing in the end. <p></p><p>And because I was a skinny, asthmatic kid, I was targeted a lot in the game, but I became pretty good at surviving, being agile enough to hop around my zone. We also played a variant of the game we called nation ball where it was double the targeting action. What I didn't realize then in my childhood mind was that dodgeball, and nation ball, were nothing more than sanctioned bullying where even bystanders could be hurt. </p><p>In fact, in the decades since grade school for me and all the times we played dodgeball, I never really thought much about it, until our youngest Bryce got hit in the head with a ball and ended up with a mild concussion. And she wasn't even playing. Just sitting off to the side talking with friends. Most likely it was an accident, but we'll never know if she was hit on purpose or not. </p><p>This was during middle school physical education class and both our kids had mentioned that sometimes they play dodgeball when there's time to fill during a class. Until we asked our school principal and superintendent about it, we didn't know it had thankfully already been banned from our school district (and many school districts across the country) and was no longer sanctioned to be played. Our district’s comprehensive school safety plan includes a policy consistent with the prohibition against discrimination, harassment, intimidation, and bullying pursuant to Education Code 200-262.4, and that includes not playing dodgeball. <a href="https://www.publicschoolreview.com/blog/dangerous-dodge-ball-4-lawsuits-stemming-from-p-e" target="_blank">There have been multiple lawsuits about this game, too</a>. </p><p>Dodgeball was just something our middle school PE teachers let the kids play sometimes, unsupervised mostly. That's dangerous and thankfully that will end now. If you're not familiar, here are the rules of dodgeball according to <a href=" https://www.usadodgeball.com/rules#usa-dodgeball-rules-pdf" target="_blank">USA Dodgeball</a>: </p><p>GAME OBJECTIVE/POINT SCORING</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>In order to win a game, a team must eliminate the entire opposing team within the time limit.</li><li>Each team forms an Attack Line</li><li>Each person eliminated is called a Kill</li></ul>Eliminate. Attack Line. Kill. Think about that -- those are the literal words used in the dodgeball rules. <a href="https://www.abcactionnews.com/news/national/is-dodgeball-bullying-legalized-more-than-a-game" target="_blank">The reality is that the human is the target in dodgeball</a>. It is solely about the strong targeting the weak to take them out. It might be fun for adults who are good at it, and those who watched the comedy from 2004 called <i><a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0364725/" target="_blank">Dodgeball</a>,</i> but for kids in grade school, middle school, and even high school, there are no redeeming qualities of the game. Again, I never thought about it until our daughter was hit in the head with the ball and received a mild concussion, and she wasn't even playing, just sitting off to the side. <p></p><p>Being a Gen Xer, I've laughed at my share of social media memes that say things like "we never wore bike helmets in our day, and we turned out okay." Ha. We subscribed to Friedrich Nietzsche's quote, “That which does not kill us makes us stronger." But when we played games like dodgeball in school, and when we were good at it like I was, we didn't think about the impact on weaker players who never wanted to play and were always targeted. Talk with anyone who was pummeled with those red rubber balls, sometimes mercilessly, and the negative memories are painful. </p><p>I never considered myself a bully, but I definitely know now that there was never any team building or character building in dodgeball, only enabled systemic bullying that instilled fear and anxiety in those being pummeled. Survival of the bulliest. Thank goodness our school district had already banned it from sanctioned play, and now unsanctioned play. There are plenty of other positive team-building sports and physical activities that schools engage in today, activities that can help produce better humans and fewer bullies. </p><p><br /></p>KevinWGrossmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05606412784832406343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514295023477741185.post-59195515879690748672024-01-15T10:16:00.000-08:002024-01-15T10:18:58.218-08:00Men of a Stand-up Age<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYI6o8xJZF5_RT22ogKKcGHhj_HjVzxVe83vrHvY9auQZjb1H-2BR1Bw7DeXPjTJuiEcUb4KFPdADWAuxCB4jAhWZlxufPFCmBai82E1pOVfzVaEj4sdygR4foV1oVdr0PbSkN4Xqyxv7kZ65GBV6a1sYP45ORHwxIs5hT-_TDsX2g9UyOZqtTuklgJU4/s1440/418542449_18411496093046280_1492319028081109840_n.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYI6o8xJZF5_RT22ogKKcGHhj_HjVzxVe83vrHvY9auQZjb1H-2BR1Bw7DeXPjTJuiEcUb4KFPdADWAuxCB4jAhWZlxufPFCmBai82E1pOVfzVaEj4sdygR4foV1oVdr0PbSkN4Xqyxv7kZ65GBV6a1sYP45ORHwxIs5hT-_TDsX2g9UyOZqtTuklgJU4/s320/418542449_18411496093046280_1492319028081109840_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>When my lovely wife texted me some pictures from the disco party she was at, I smiled. Not just because they included her, who I missed, but because of the picture of our oldest daughter Beatrice and one of her best friends for many years since grade school. Now high school teens, the picture was cute and fun, a refreshing sweetness to see while I was away. This being just one friendship of many she maintains.<p></p><p>Our younger daughter, Bryce, is officially a teen herself, and like her sister, has her own established close friendships. Both girls hang out more with their friends after school and on weekends, spending less time at home than ever before. </p><p>While these changes are bittersweet, <a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2024/01/like-night-and-day.html" target="_blank">our kids no longer kids</a>, it brings an even bigger smile to my face when I see them with their friends. Their relationships are new, honest, and fragile; a multiverse of emotion and inside jokes and laughter, each of them grappling with the overwhelming adolescent changes that become the DNA of their adulthood. Only time will tell if they remain friends over the decades, but there's always that chance. </p><p>For anyone who's had friends for decades, it certainly is a blessing, especially for men who tend to not fare as well as women in the long-term friendship department. In 7th grade I met Robby, a tall and thin boy who befriended me and gave me a cassette tape of two Cheap Trick albums (Heaven Tonight and Live at Budokan), recorded on a discount-bin Thrifty Drug Store cassette mind you, and our rock and roll best friendship was born. I'd love to say I still have that cassette tape, but alas, I don't, just the wonderful memory of when our friendship began.</p><p>Then in high school came many new (mutual) friendships, including Jeff, Rob, Greg, Charles, Craig, and many others. And then after right high school came Craig (connected to Robby and other high school friends) and Troy (meet in college). Not all the friendships I've had over the years have withstood the test that time and circumstance bring, but thankfully there are those that have. </p><p>We do get together when we can each year, sometimes together and sometimes one-on-one, and this last time was a wonderful visit, complete with decades of inside jokes and comedy clips (SNL, etc.), lots of laughter, and yes, even serious banter about our lives. It's been decades of friendship. The stereotype of straight male friends isn't lost on us, which is why we thought the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AA0PwmQMVG8" target="_blank">Saturday Night Live Straight Male Friend commercial skit</a> was so funny (but a little edgy, so beware if you watch it). Thankfully we're not exactly that (and yet, sometimes we are). </p><p>As I wrote last year in <a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2023/09/men-of-vulnerable-age.html" target="_blank">Men of a Vulnerable Age</a>, men can go longer periods of time without talking or seeing each other, and don't necessarily thrive on intimacy and emotional connection as much as women do. But my friends and I have shared quite a bit of our lives (intimately and emotionally) with each other over the years. The good, the bad, the ugly, the meh -- and a whole lot of comedy and tears of laughter. </p><p>Our relationships are a multiverse of life experience, love, and inside jokes. None of us are safe from each other. We relentlessly tease and "bust each other's chops" as the saying goes, and we bust our own chops as well. We're like veteran stand-up comedians heckling an audience of us. It may be perceived as a little harsh and over-the-top at times, and it's especially awkward when we're in mixed company and we see the reaction of others. But for us, it's at times raw, real, retrospective, and always full of love. We're men of a stand-up age, and we've stood by one another for 40+ years. I hope my daughters are as blessed today with their teen friends as I have been. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/AA0PwmQMVG8" width="320" youtube-src-id="AA0PwmQMVG8"></iframe></div><br /><p><i>Other past posts about and related to these friends of mine:</i></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><i><a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2023/09/men-of-vulnerable-age.html" target="_blank">Men of a Vulnerable Age</a></i></li><li><i><a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2023/06/endless-possibilities-actually.html" target="_blank">Endless Possibilities Actually</a></i></li><li><a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2023/04/able-bodied-grateful.html" target="_blank"><i>Able-Bodied Grateful</i></a></li><li><i><a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2020/01/men-of-our-present-age.html" target="_blank">Men of Our Present Age</a></i></li><li><a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2019/08/the-metoo-guys.html" target="_blank"><i>The #MeToo Guys</i></a></li><li><a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2019/01/men-of-womens-age.html" target="_blank"><i>Men of a Women's Age</i></a></li><li><a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2017/08/men-of-consequential-age.html" target="_blank"><i>Men of a Consequential Age</i></a></li><li><a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2017/08/grown-men-friends-and-fathers.html" target="_blank"><i>Grown Men Friends and Fathers</i></a></li><li><a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2016/08/like-men-knowingly-bound-to-their-future.html" target="_blank"><i>Like Men Knowingly Bound to Their Future</i></a></li><li><i><a href="http://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2015/07/because-thats-how-it-works-with-guys.html" target="_blank">Because That's How It Works With The Guys That Work</a></i></li><li><i><a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2014/09/big-heart-love-to-my-class-of-1984.html" target="_blank">Big Heart Love to My Class of 1984</a></i></li><li><i><a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2014/08/men-of-unremarkable-age.html" target="_blank">Men of An Unremarkable Age</a></i></li><li><a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2013/08/being-what-happens-next.html" target="_blank"><i>Being What Happens Next</i></a></li><li><a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2011/07/daddy-day-in-monterey.html" target="_blank"><i>Daddy Day in Monterey</i></a></li></ul><p></p>KevinWGrossmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05606412784832406343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514295023477741185.post-6396581841468820032024-01-08T14:50:00.000-08:002024-01-08T14:50:34.132-08:00Like Night And Day<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin_Ff8e7xX6uu5YY6KwqlEVSZuTgJ1MCaSzNdbs7u1ROiEsq40Ws6BDexYitmddo7yV_DD7EYhMIim9hT573W9cPXt7RJxgQr0jb11ty_kMeVePgIajv9MwQMzYxUeLyU4aAU3DYGTWCZv1Sz5pCIK3b-O9l0A45euOuE42V-swdhsvB2P0ZexUUb5lng/s1366/417566628_10227911593789753_8965275302699123335_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1058" data-original-width="1366" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin_Ff8e7xX6uu5YY6KwqlEVSZuTgJ1MCaSzNdbs7u1ROiEsq40Ws6BDexYitmddo7yV_DD7EYhMIim9hT573W9cPXt7RJxgQr0jb11ty_kMeVePgIajv9MwQMzYxUeLyU4aAU3DYGTWCZv1Sz5pCIK3b-O9l0A45euOuE42V-swdhsvB2P0ZexUUb5lng/s320/417566628_10227911593789753_8965275302699123335_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>It was probably the last time for who knows how long, but it doesn't mean we won't ever go again. Oh, we'll go again, either just my wife Amy and I, or our kids will join us again, but the annual family treks may be over (for now at least). <p></p><p>We love Disney. When Amy and I went to Disneyland as part of our honeymoon back in 2003, we had a fabulous time. I remember all the families around us with babies and very young children, and we said out loud, "Why would you bring such young ones there?"</p><p>But that was four years before we changed our own minds about having our own kids, and five years before we actually had our first daughter Beatrice in 2008. Less than two years later, our other daughter Bryce was born. </p><p>After our kids turned three and five years old, we ate our own words and <a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2014/01/the-first-time-disney-win.html" target="_blank">decided to take them to Disneyland in January of 2014</a>. And we had a blast. Thank goodness for single-rider rides so Mom and me could ride the big-kid rides. Ever since, we've gone nearly every year, except for 2020 and early 2021 due to the pandemic, having many family adventures with related reflections along the way in <a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2015/01/what-be-coming-next-and-what-becomings.html" target="_blank">2015</a>, <a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2016/12/when-empathy-and-faith-arent-enough.html" target="_blank">2016</a>, <a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2017/01/a-new-hope-of-grit-and-growth.html" target="_blank">2017</a>, <a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2018/12/one-grain-at-time.html" target="_blank">2018</a>, <a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2019/07/they-do-last-longer.html" target="_blank">2019</a>, <a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2021/12/may-this-force-be-with-you.html" target="_blank">2021</a>, <a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2023/01/finding-magic-in-every-moment.html" target="_blank">2023</a>, and now this year in 2024. If we lived closer to LA, then we would've had season passes, but alas, it's a six-hour drive for us. </p><p>It's always a super-fun marathon for us. This year in the last few days of the kids' school winter break, we trekked in and around the Disneyland and California Adventure parks over eight miles a day for four days, staying up late (for us) for the fireworks and the water light show, traversing the crowds (there are always crowds), and having to listen to Christmas/holiday music over and over again two weeks after Christmas (ugh). The walking and standing were brutal on Mom and Dad's legs, hips, backs, and butts, but we still made it farther and longer than our own kids, who took the late afternoons off to hang out in hotel room. </p><p>Our teens still enjoyed Disneyland this year, but because they wanted to take afternoon breaks, it was clear that the Disney magic had rusted over a bit for them, more for Beatrice than Bryce. Both their interests have changed and they're on their way to <a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2023/12/stay-kid-heart-strong.html" target="_blank">young adulthood now</a>. Bittersweet for us; they'll always be our little ones ready to embrace Mickey, Minnie, and friends. We're so grateful we've been able to take them for all these years. </p><p>But they're not our little ones anymore, something I'm obviously grappling with. When I look at this year's castle picture compared to the first one in 2014, it's like night and day, with the common horizon line being our family love of togetherness and fun. Will we ever go together again? Of course we will. The magic may be rusty, but it will always shine.</p>KevinWGrossmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05606412784832406343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514295023477741185.post-37609604900779446552023-12-31T14:02:00.000-08:002024-01-01T06:55:11.612-08:00Sweet Miracles<div style="text-align: left;"><i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG8OROVRSe62qtrTjHUl9EOnExRsW1sYZUBbu-5xaW2IXC_ZqdDR4kqjHSZUCVGlU4DjuuuZdRKKpwAaOzYv5uxDlrxiX5rzVWXPtJuJ_30JmcFIKTkIIG8PBgJA1N4Aea3Ec1BeOtxf2PI5Qvh0P7OFrUqZUCzHM54p48CdBlApSDi06zs8PWgfkWymI/s1200/Natural%20Bridges%202023.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="1200" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG8OROVRSe62qtrTjHUl9EOnExRsW1sYZUBbu-5xaW2IXC_ZqdDR4kqjHSZUCVGlU4DjuuuZdRKKpwAaOzYv5uxDlrxiX5rzVWXPtJuJ_30JmcFIKTkIIG8PBgJA1N4Aea3Ec1BeOtxf2PI5Qvh0P7OFrUqZUCzHM54p48CdBlApSDi06zs8PWgfkWymI/w542-h305/Natural%20Bridges%202023.jpg" width="542" /></a></div><br /> </i><i>"Oh, sweet miracle, love's sweet miracle of life..."</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br />—Rush, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Ge_1783ngQ" target="_blank">Sweet Miracle</a></i></div><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">One of my dear friends usually teases me when I post them. My regular posts about my beach workout on <a href="https://www.parks.ca.gov/?page_id=541" target="_blank">Natural Bridges State Beach</a> I do throughout the year (sometimes my wife Amy joins me now). One that I've been doing for many years now. He teases me because it's seemingly the same picture of the remaining Natural Bridge. </p><p style="text-align: left;">But it's really not the same picture each time. The geological changes may be imperceptible to us humans in the near team, but in the long term, these rock formations have been changing for decades. Hundreds of years. Thousands of years. Hundreds of thousands of years. Millions of years. Mercy me. </p><p style="text-align: center;">Back in 2015, it didn't look much different than today.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0XnSO9Jp_Je4Xh2Hms3AeKWbDSKUObVWaWf4aBH0QanM7FnHRaQYz4c_GnPhPziBboV3clwn2c_mw6DFu_0akT7Phr2mwqKsyhpGuJtZgP5rHuC1k4e9ndz6cGzT-Y52vonXpRZM3rzO2it1YXqGGckFfvnqO-h48JqKp3JZN8uM-sdQdp_koNyjOhu4/s1280/IMG_1307.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0XnSO9Jp_Je4Xh2Hms3AeKWbDSKUObVWaWf4aBH0QanM7FnHRaQYz4c_GnPhPziBboV3clwn2c_mw6DFu_0akT7Phr2mwqKsyhpGuJtZgP5rHuC1k4e9ndz6cGzT-Y52vonXpRZM3rzO2it1YXqGGckFfvnqO-h48JqKp3JZN8uM-sdQdp_koNyjOhu4/s320/IMG_1307.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Natural_Bridges_State_Beach" target="_blank">But take a look at it in 1970</a>. The bridge extended from what's left now to the main rock cliff. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhz4qxiJa1RUI0pJf9LQi6TddYCjSAp7xuzt6yfEpRvtKrqOv_Yr9fm-Pdqot89rRjTeEqpgX9GnuBpvLEIbRRiSntuSuLOb9fuoiKr4vvTfZ-4N3cdqA1DLzLoOjjxrJKltJHYEPfjOhyDD3GT89-KVFydI9MLoExT2YqsLlwITjaTs_BvRdCex5uqRA/s3000/NATURAL_ARCHES_BEACH_STATE_PARK_-_NARA_-_543322.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2052" data-original-width="3000" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhz4qxiJa1RUI0pJf9LQi6TddYCjSAp7xuzt6yfEpRvtKrqOv_Yr9fm-Pdqot89rRjTeEqpgX9GnuBpvLEIbRRiSntuSuLOb9fuoiKr4vvTfZ-4N3cdqA1DLzLoOjjxrJKltJHYEPfjOhyDD3GT89-KVFydI9MLoExT2YqsLlwITjaTs_BvRdCex5uqRA/s320/NATURAL_ARCHES_BEACH_STATE_PARK_-_NARA_-_543322.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;">And now there's a new bridge forming to the left of the current one. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGfbbWifOOcFRdL9HsQyAf0sf2KpXRc3ZhyphenhyphenNLNCeaBSDQ3RPRfxAgkHoNQ4yK-qtJ4ODFweiiL_STssvg70ZemUhcpW4CJzzr0iwYJz7Kk1EQmH_XybxnJMBLo9iqqe-4bnG5LAFjw2FljtUTkj6saZJNiP8p5Mch3vsrXH0It90lsgJoXIbI1PGZko90/s4032/IMG_0153.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGfbbWifOOcFRdL9HsQyAf0sf2KpXRc3ZhyphenhyphenNLNCeaBSDQ3RPRfxAgkHoNQ4yK-qtJ4ODFweiiL_STssvg70ZemUhcpW4CJzzr0iwYJz7Kk1EQmH_XybxnJMBLo9iqqe-4bnG5LAFjw2FljtUTkj6saZJNiP8p5Mch3vsrXH0It90lsgJoXIbI1PGZko90/s320/IMG_0153.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">These incremental changes can be nearly unnoticeable, until they're seen. When I'm on the Natural Bridges beach, I'm very mindful one moment, then daydreaming the next, working through things in my head as I listen to my music and do my workout. Not running anymore, just hiking across the sand and up and down the small hill to the upper parking lot and back down again. I'm very aware of how I'm feeling, physically and emotionally, and very aware of my surroundings. I may not see the continuous Natural Bridge erosion from sea and weather, and from humans too, except for the new bridge that's now forming, but I do see the sea and weather changes that impact the beach itself.</p><p style="text-align: left;">We usually don't put value judgements on geological erosion over time; it is what it is, and was. But for our own human erosion, we do. The life weathering we experience can be good, bad, or indifferent. It can beat us down or lift us up, constantly changing us physically and psychologically and spiritually. From our own childhood, to adolescence, to young adulthood, Amy and I survived and were transformed, and <a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2023/10/a-poetic-place.html" target="_blank">then we met one day at the beach</a>. We were so much younger when we met, and now we're not. Our own kids were kids for years, and <a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2023/12/stay-kid-heart-strong.html" target="_blank">now they're not</a>. Every day <a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com" target="_blank">they inspire us to be better</a>; we inspire each other to be better. </p><p style="text-align: left;">And it's these little bits of breakthrough better that are the best, our BhivePower. These are the sweet miracles that transform us into what we become next, and there's nowhere on earth I'd rather be right now than right here. When you embrace what you live, it really can be as easy as 123123.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Blessings and Happy New Year. </p>KevinWGrossmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05606412784832406343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514295023477741185.post-46062473852040570652023-12-24T07:50:00.000-08:002023-12-24T07:50:35.829-08:00There's Nothing To It<div style="text-align: left;"><i>"If you want to view paradise<br />Simply look around and view it<br />Anything you want to, do it<br />Want to change the world?<br />There's nothing to it..."</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br />–Pure Imagination, <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0067992/" target="_blank">Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory</a></i></div><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjklvMev-_WOYRJR_sRp1hv77-nDOUtfONimKhzfm1xaBHufmMCwyNkSQlR_bgxAvKSeId3Majx2eEFm-_eYlE6sJBm0uz_EZcmRyTtcTHq5Hw4BL3I_trSK8sK3lIpvUfQ76IfYw4jXKX3dtqLGABQGYc97jlRlTJ4xJx2R96Ew-opg7Zs3P_rJl0_-pI/s3053/IMG_0750.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3053" data-original-width="2290" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjklvMev-_WOYRJR_sRp1hv77-nDOUtfONimKhzfm1xaBHufmMCwyNkSQlR_bgxAvKSeId3Majx2eEFm-_eYlE6sJBm0uz_EZcmRyTtcTHq5Hw4BL3I_trSK8sK3lIpvUfQ76IfYw4jXKX3dtqLGABQGYc97jlRlTJ4xJx2R96Ew-opg7Zs3P_rJl0_-pI/s320/IMG_0750.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div>It was magical. I cried. I always cry when something moves me, whether in movies or writing or music or art. Always crying. <p></p><p>"I cried a little," I said to my wife Amy when the new movie <a href="https://www.wonkamovie.com" target="_blank"><i>Wonka</i> </a>was over. </p><p>"I know, Sweetie," Amy said, "You always do. Love you."</p><p>Yes, I do. It was magical, transporting me back to the first time I saw <i><a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0067992/" target="_blank">Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory</a> </i>with Gene Wilder and Jack Albertson back in the early 1970's. I almost didn't want to see the newest movie about Willie Wonka, but we went, and I'm glad.</p><p>Our kids, Beatrice and Bryce, didn't go with us, though. They wanted to see another matinee, <a href="https://gkids.com/films/the-boy-and-the-heron/" style="font-style: italic;" target="_blank">The Boy and the Heron</a>, which they really liked. Bryce loved it, too, and cried. They're totally like me that way. </p><p>It was the day before Christmas Eve. While Amy and I finished <i>Wonka</i>, our kids went shopping for last-minute Mom and Dad gifts. It's weird to write that our kids, now teens, are more autonomous than ever. That they're doing their own things more and more, and yet, we still always come back together and do things together as a family. Every parent reminisces when their kids were little, keeping them in tow, hand in hand, never letting them out of our sight. </p><p>Beatrice and Bryce will always be our babies no matter what, but those days of being little are over, and that's okay. We're so proud and grateful of the young adults they're becoming. Of their future fiercely independent selves we're starting to see. Of their unique and creative styles and sensibilities. Of their kind and loving hearts. Of their caring inclusiveness that this world so desperately needs. </p><p><i>Want to change the world? There's nothing to it.</i> Our kids remind us of that nearly every day. We're grateful that the magic of Christmas is aglow in our hearts throughout the year, not just the end of it. The magic of <a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2023/12/the-love-and-light.html" target="_blank">love and light</a> abounds in BhivePower.</p><p>However you celebrate this holiday season, blessings to you all. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!</p><p><br /></p>KevinWGrossmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05606412784832406343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514295023477741185.post-52935609826444514292023-12-17T09:13:00.000-08:002023-12-17T09:13:54.257-08:00Snack Prescient <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQalFVkbZahrJ6kxdesN9vXWzKh9WcTm4ejzjjO9Jz2o7nm3wULohhSFyVgPGLwtrQavii8dnRMwAQsoJd7HgTNs0UmaAzrO-IH2FYeUo7s0A663adkiHQ4BxQGLGODDVMgLh1DKAgg8WfVOVzyqUmNS4bypbr6DNjwFccvMa1hJQ8us6zcgb5xS0nxmo/s4032/IMG_0993%20copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQalFVkbZahrJ6kxdesN9vXWzKh9WcTm4ejzjjO9Jz2o7nm3wULohhSFyVgPGLwtrQavii8dnRMwAQsoJd7HgTNs0UmaAzrO-IH2FYeUo7s0A663adkiHQ4BxQGLGODDVMgLh1DKAgg8WfVOVzyqUmNS4bypbr6DNjwFccvMa1hJQ8us6zcgb5xS0nxmo/s320/IMG_0993%20copy.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>Through all the fiery evangelical rhetoric, there were snacks. My sister and I would sit impatiently on the pew next to my grandparents, our little tummies grumbling and looking forward to the post-church lunchtime at Bob's Big Boy, and then our grandmother would reach deep into her purse to pull out some candy. Usually mints, or sometimes Lifesavers (literally and figuratively), or other random candies, or gum, that probably had been in her purse for months. I realize that you don't eat gum, or are not supposed to, (and we were told if we did, it wouldn't digest for seven years, which wasn't true because you just pass it in your poop), but if that's all that Grandma had, we'd take it. Any of these snacks were a pleasant distraction from the endless hour spent in church each Sunday.<p></p><p>And then there was our mother, one who took "snacks on hand" to the next level. Case in point -- going to the movies. Mom had this magic bag, one that was seemingly bottomless that she'd fill with ziplocks full of popcorn, candy like M&Ms and Red Vines, and plastic bottles of soda and water. For like up to 10 people, including her grandchildren. In my experience, local theaters used to frown a lot more on patrons bringing in their own food and drink, because they wanted you to purchase their overpriced theater snacks, and my mom was super bold bringing in this overly stuffed bag of goodies. We'd roll our eyes and cringe, worried that we'd be ejected from the theater as soon as we purchased our movie tickets, but from what I remember, she usually pulled it off. And of course we were grateful to have all the yummies during the movie.</p><p>And then there's my wife Amy, mother to our children, Beatrice and Bryce, a snack visionary who I never really appreciated until recently. Raising children isn't easy, and Amy and I have done our best over the years. But Amy knew early on that kids get hungry and cranky, or "hangry", and so even tiny bags of oyster crackers saved from restaurants when we'd go out to eat clam chowder were lifesavers. Today, I always harp on my family now to never leave the house without your phone or your keys, but Amy argues to never leave the house without snacks or water. And just like my mother, Amy's bags over the years have also been seemingly bottomless, full of her own stuff like her wallet and phone and keys, snacks for the kids (and us), water for all of us, and lots and lots of love. </p><p>And what about me? Well, I haven't been very good about having snacks at the ready over the years. There's been many times when I've picked our kids up from school or elsewhere and they've been hungry and/or thirsty, and I had brought none of those things with me. I'm sure there are dads that have done a much better job than me, dads who are prescient enough to cut off the hangries before they happen. </p><p>Thankfully I've got Amy. We divide a conquer many things in our household, but hangry attacks are hers to preemptively strike with snacks. Plus, other than having hangry and moody teens in our house, we now have a new cat. <a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2023/11/cat-tagious.html" target="_blank">A kitten to be exact named Winston</a> that is Bryce's cat. And unlike our dog Jenny, who doesn't jump on our table, our kitchen counters, and other high shelves, Winston the cat does. Cats are wily adventurers that let nothing get in their way, even if that means knocking things off tables, counters, and shelves along the way. After researching cat behavior modification, spray bottles weren't recommended (although we use it strategically -- on the cat, not the kids), but positive reinforcement with clicks and treats were. So, Amy is now our resident <a href="https://psychology.fas.harvard.edu/people/b-f-skinner" target="_blank">B.F. Skinner</a> protégé, carrying a little plastic container full of cat treats, positively reinforcing Winston to stay off where he doesn't belong. Also, by animal envy default, Jenny gets some of those treats, too. And I thought I spoiled Jenny too much. </p><p>Snacks on hand can definitely help to curb negative behavior, and satiate the hangries, and that's why Amy follows in a long line of snack prescient Mamas and Nanas (and Daddies more prepared than me). And just in time for the holidays, where snacks abound. Amen. </p>KevinWGrossmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05606412784832406343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514295023477741185.post-28468718915242330842023-12-10T14:41:00.000-08:002023-12-10T14:41:34.957-08:00The Love And The Light<div style="text-align: left;"><i>"So this is Christmas<br />And what have you done?<br />Another year over<br />And a new one just begun<br />And so this is Christmas<br />I hope you had fun<br />The near and the dear ones<br />The old and the young..."</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br />–<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8JhBG5UyYP8" target="_blank">Happy Xmas (War Is Over)</a>, John & Yoko/Plastic Ono Band with the Harlem Community Choir</i></div><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk8DmFqY39NHahdKKfEa2JfVB6aPtJUbn0sh7XwnjMseh-qbikr_yHqZEDUOE73EL9kSb5gO6t2V2wrvgm3zxY5TaBuMNP0fvKcyo5-dHg3279tLiHuxG_dxq9bqwC8mxBltRVV0oRfZxMM5trG6k17MrLFAgOzbfoEtd7HQsdPuosiLlMHqlRt8phJWw/s1440/409054288_18404782414046280_8832267256449206652_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1440" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk8DmFqY39NHahdKKfEa2JfVB6aPtJUbn0sh7XwnjMseh-qbikr_yHqZEDUOE73EL9kSb5gO6t2V2wrvgm3zxY5TaBuMNP0fvKcyo5-dHg3279tLiHuxG_dxq9bqwC8mxBltRVV0oRfZxMM5trG6k17MrLFAgOzbfoEtd7HQsdPuosiLlMHqlRt8phJWw/s320/409054288_18404782414046280_8832267256449206652_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>At first it was comical -- all of us trying to figure out the bike riding to a local state park for a holiday faire. Our oldest daughter Beatrice wanted to ride my e-bike that I never ride, which was fine. But then when our youngest daughter Bryce got on the new bike we bought for her, one she'd already ridden to school, she lost her balance and fell over. She scratched her knee and was okay otherwise, but she broke the basket for the front of the bike, the one she puts her backpack in to and from school. Fortunately it still attaches to the handlebars. <p></p><p style="text-align: left;">I was going to concede to ride Amy's old Schwinn, but even after raising the seat, I still felt like a circus bear riding a tricycle. Then Bryce wanted to ride Amy's newer Huffy, which was broken recently until we got fixed, so Bryce rode that one, I rode the new bike that was supposed to be for Bryce (with handlebars that needed tightening and brakes that needed adjusting), Amy rode the old Schwinn, and Bea rode my e-bike. All that took about 20 minutes to sort out. </p><p>No matter how many times we've tried over the years, we've just never been a bike family. But, we have had some lovely bike rides together, and this time was no exception. It was a lovely December early afternoon riding along the bike path, with hazy cloud streaks muting the blue sky that met the sea. It was cool out, but not cold, and the bike ride to Wilder Ranch State Park was pleasant. The old-fashioned holiday faire was smaller than it usually was pre-covid, with still many families making candles, wreaths, ornaments, potpourri bags, and drinking cider and hot chocolate. </p><p>Riding back home I was grateful we were able to do this as a family, that the worst thing we had to worry about was who was riding what bike. That's when I thought about families who have a lot more to worry about. Poverty, illness, war, violence, and death. </p><p>My family doesn't have to worry about those things, at least, not directly like the families living them today. Indirectly, anything can happen at any time, but I don't dwell on that like I used to. I'm grateful for the now. For being able to live comfortably today without illness, war, violence, or God forbid, death. </p><p>And speaking of God, when I was a child, I really wanted to believe that little baby Jesus would save the world, especially during Christmastime. That's when I was always the most hopeful about the world. But then I came to learn that it was always on us to save the world from the dark things. </p><p>And save the world we still can. At least I want to believe that for me and my family. And yours, too. I'm a hopelessly sentimental and hopeful human. Even in the darkest moments of my past, or the world's, I've been that way, always believing that ultimately there is only love and light, that we can see it that way, and make it that way.</p><p>As we neared home on our bikes, I looked at the sea one more time before we lost sight of it, and all I saw was the love and the light. </p><p>However you celebrate the holidays, blessings to you and yours. You may never be as hopelessly sentimental as me, but believe it or not, being hopeful and making a daily difference is easier than you think. </p><p><i>"So this is Christmas, and what have you done?"</i></p>KevinWGrossmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05606412784832406343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514295023477741185.post-70348860053102250662023-12-03T11:38:00.000-08:002023-12-03T11:40:18.912-08:00Stay Kid-Heart Strong<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdV1srEwvurhf91tr-TNsFWCu70vvpH5aeblPQETxvNGKmDA7DLcpithQ2-nC-F3zv-gFQ3sr3VqGRIVOgEbsA-onu5GDUdPNGaa9vaHblOZITyx5CIUaNl8tRbnYB3gHA1PAIEt7VVq4espStuhIM1Ku4EpRMDmN0JNB9Mp-HtALgIxV993TcgLNd9V4/s1440/407228754_18403602193046280_4314107460030533177_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1440" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdV1srEwvurhf91tr-TNsFWCu70vvpH5aeblPQETxvNGKmDA7DLcpithQ2-nC-F3zv-gFQ3sr3VqGRIVOgEbsA-onu5GDUdPNGaa9vaHblOZITyx5CIUaNl8tRbnYB3gHA1PAIEt7VVq4espStuhIM1Ku4EpRMDmN0JNB9Mp-HtALgIxV993TcgLNd9V4/s320/407228754_18403602193046280_4314107460030533177_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>They're so little, until they're not. And while they'll always be our "kids", they most certainly aren't anymore. They're not quite adults yet, no, but mercy me, they're on their way.<p></p><p>Case in point -- privacy. Now that our girls are teens, they are clear about their privacy boundaries. This includes what I write and post about, and the family pictures I post on social media. I ask for their permission each time. Except for the times I haven't, and they've reiterated to me how unhappy that makes them. </p><p>And I do want to ask for their permission. Both Mom and I really do. We want to respect their privacy, just like we want them to respect ours, to not discuss family things we don't want discussed. Now, the only exception to that rule for all of us is when something is a safety problem -- a social, emotional, or physical safety problem. If that happens, then we're responsible for addressing them and helping them. As one of the many Kidpower mantras states, "Problems should not have to be secrets." If that's the case, we take appropriate actions.</p><p>One day (soon) they might read good ol' Dad's blog posts, and no matter how much I don't reveal and/or generalize, I'm sure I'll get some "Dad, why did you write that?!?" I'll then ask for forgiveness and tell them I love them. I'll remind them I've been writing about our family <a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2008/05/b-lessons.html" target="_blank">since before Beatrice (the oldest) was born</a>, to share with others the ups and downs of fatherhood, parenting, local community issues, and personal leadership. And maybe some of those others can relate, commiserate, and/or celebrate.</p><p>Our kids are also looking older than ever, and we can now see what their young adulthood presence may look like -- and the future looks bright for sure. Not only what they do look like and will look like physically, but also what their hearts look like now and in the future. Two loving and kind, strong and independent, teen girls on their way to adulting. </p><p>Which was why I was bummed that I thought I was going to miss their excitement at the local holiday parade. I've been on our local school board for a year now and was just at my school board conference in San Francisco. Fortunately this time I got to come back early enough since we were closer to home and I made it to our downtown holiday parade. Last year I missed it because <a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2022/12/listen-and-love-first.html" target="_blank">the conference was in San Diego</a>. </p><p>But unlike <a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2013/12/the-blech-with-blessings-year-round.html" target="_blank">holiday parades and Christmastimes of old</a>, this time both kids took off to hang out with friends, making me a little wistful for childhood past. So, Mom and I hung out and cheered on the local organizations and schools as they passed us by on the street. Such a heart-warming community event each and every year. I felt blessed to be there again. </p><p>Blessed and bittersweet actually. From privacy to personal growth, our kids aren't really kids anymore. I mean, kind of, yes, but mostly no, even if they stay kid-heart strong like their Mom and me do. I think they will, too, considering how much Christmastime magic still bubbles up inside them, even if I can't always write about how they feel and why. Sigh.</p>KevinWGrossmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05606412784832406343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514295023477741185.post-59785899951218806092023-11-26T12:35:00.000-08:002023-11-26T12:35:55.135-08:00Cat-tagious<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRzMODfyPzECPOWynDTwNE-LAk6Lytm9gTp7XyJ0TT33Bwk5DlOgtOuwER3Dm68hleTPGIngi3T6xT-Q8f4sBsBHvXU2H7fFpbcv7NUm4NO5WO1_8e1ps613giAZB6HxemJQwLIZl2E2lEDZib8buSZQn4NILJQyBDzPUc70yAYOP2r1gYJDIuzbjNnwc/s4032/Winston%20copy.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRzMODfyPzECPOWynDTwNE-LAk6Lytm9gTp7XyJ0TT33Bwk5DlOgtOuwER3Dm68hleTPGIngi3T6xT-Q8f4sBsBHvXU2H7fFpbcv7NUm4NO5WO1_8e1ps613giAZB6HxemJQwLIZl2E2lEDZib8buSZQn4NILJQyBDzPUc70yAYOP2r1gYJDIuzbjNnwc/s320/Winston%20copy.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div>Snooper was dead and I thought it was all my fault. Every day when I was around eight years old, I was supposed to go check on our pet rabbit that lived out in a hutch in our backyard. And every day Snooper would greet me enthusiastically because I'd bring him some vegetables. But then one day, Snooper laid on his side and flies buzzed around him. He didn't move. I knew something was terribly wrong.<p></p><p>My mom did her best to convince me that it wasn't my fault, that Snooper was an old rabbit and time for him to go, but I still thought I did something wrong. That feeling stuck with me for months until it finally faded.</p><p>I never forgot it, though, and decades later my family got a new rabbit after our <a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2018/01/the-lightness-of-us-all.html" target="_blank">Guinea pigs died</a>. He was only a baby bunny with mostly white fur except around his eyes and on his back. Our girls named him Dragonlily because of the black fur on his back looked like a dragon with its wings spread. </p><p>That was six years ago now. Since, Dragonlily went from living in our house in a big cage at night to an outside hutch. During the days, unless it was raining, we had an open pen area for him to roam around. We didn't really play with him like a dog or a cat, but he was still a beloved family pet. We ran a fun (and safe) <a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2018/01/what-science-is-all-about.html" target="_blank">science experiment with him</a> (and one of our Guinea pigs) that failed, and I even wrote a fun story about them -- <a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2018/08/the-adventures-of-sweetheart-and.html" target="_blank">The Adventures of Sweetheart and Dragonlily: Part 1</a>.</p><p>But recently one morning my wife Amy noticed that Dragonlily wasn't feeling good, which was rare, and only hours after his first visit to the vet that same day where they didn't really find anything but gave us antibiotics to give him, he was dead. This time I didn't think it was anything we did. He just got sick and died, quickly. </p><p>We've had our share of pets die over the years, and it's always sad. From <a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2020/02/a-new-dogs-life.html" target="_blank">two cats and a dog</a> before we had children, to the pets since kids -- <a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2017/02/until-it-eventually-does.html" target="_blank">fish</a>, Guinea pigs, and now our sweet rabbit. Each time our kids grieved and we grieved as a family. The circle of life and death understood incrementally as our kids got older. </p><p><a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2020/03/jenny-jenny-who-can-i-turn-to.html" target="_blank">Our dog Jenny</a> that we had adopted right before the pandemic lockdown is now seven and healthy. We still call her our puppy even though she was already four when we adopted her. And if you were a fan of <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt1442437/" target="_blank">Modern Family</a> like we were, Amy and girls tease me that Jenny is my Stella, Jay's French Bulldog dog from the sitcom, because she's the one I care about the most. Which isn't true. Mostly. </p><p>But our youngest Bryce has wanted a cat more than anything for months now. And I have not. Amy didn't at first either, and neither did our oldest Beatrice, but Amy has since gotten on board and Beatrice has been on the fence. </p><p>But for me at first? No way. Amy's cats were fine when we were first dating and living together, but over the years, the scratching up of things and stinky litter boxes were a lot. Also, growing up my sister would always bring stray cats home and the few we kept were a lot. One of those was a Persian we named Fluffy that we had to shave every six months because her hair would get so matted, which caused her to howl. And one of the cats we had that my sister didn't bring home was a cross-eyed Siamese who would be lovey one minute and then growl and hiss and pounce on my head the next. </p><p>No way. No stinky, howly, scratchy, or pouncy cats. Ever again. In fact, <a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2023/06/our-only-cat-thing.html" target="_blank">the only cat thing I was willing to indulge in with Bryce were funny cat videos</a>. Bryce worked on us (and me) for months, but I wasn't budging. However, just like we did when we adopted a dog, Amy had Bryce do research about cat care and costs and to put a budget together. Our family joke was that Dad wanted Bryce to write a series of essays about why we should adopt a cat and that Bryce should put together a business plan in order to convince me that she could adopt and care for a cat. </p><p>And I did. Until a series of events began that changed the trajectory of my cat angst. For example, Amy and I had gone to an event that had a raffle and we were one of the winners. Out of all the prizes being given away, we won the cat bed and cat accessories prize. Ugh. I also found myself watching more funny cat videos without the kids. Good God. And then our pet rabbit died, leaving us one less pet to take care of.</p><p>So, it was meant to be that one day Mom and Bryce went out to the animal shelters and brought home sweet 15-week old Winston. Mercy me, he's cat-tagious. And he's staying in Bryce's room. Forever. </p><p>Because what happens in the middle of the night with a cat and a Christmas tree? Maybe I need to put up some "Hang in there" cat posters around the house. Sigh.</p>KevinWGrossmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05606412784832406343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514295023477741185.post-33967934147248363502023-11-19T14:19:00.000-08:002023-11-19T15:19:13.358-08:00Grateful For Being Human<div style="text-align: left;"><i> "...one day I feel I'm on top of the world<br />And the next it's falling in on me<br />I can get back on<br />I can get back on..."</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br />–Rush, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GWPf0pgjgHI" target="_blank">Far Cry</a></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPLGb21AwHDGUbXfi7TgltlBRm-IQievmlK6KjMhmCG6BCEC9n6CmmWaNfJC90s3enFlNSGSgkqD3Dwgh24mrCZqk2KMoKO8zJkcTDVZ035JagfvlQm1SZSRCyFug7vOIOVQeP5mv47fJQU4gqFunjTW0mPckimquJu2mbqH465V8fxclVjypSW4RfsnA/s1799/403193271_18401150506046280_497746618521681913_n.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1799" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPLGb21AwHDGUbXfi7TgltlBRm-IQievmlK6KjMhmCG6BCEC9n6CmmWaNfJC90s3enFlNSGSgkqD3Dwgh24mrCZqk2KMoKO8zJkcTDVZ035JagfvlQm1SZSRCyFug7vOIOVQeP5mv47fJQU4gqFunjTW0mPckimquJu2mbqH465V8fxclVjypSW4RfsnA/s320/403193271_18401150506046280_497746618521681913_n.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>Sometimes I wish I was an algorithm. One that would quickly learn from its mistakes, adapt, and improve, all without monsoon emotional swings. Without attaching conspiratorial outcomes to change. Without second-guessing its decisions. Without feeling buried under the weight of circumstance. Without feeling momentarily hopeless because things break. <p></p><p>But I'm not an artificially intelligent "it". I'm a sometimes intelligent human being whose synapses fire, and misfire, as regularly as the sun and moon rise. <i>One day I feel I'm on top of the world and the next it's falling in on me. </i></p><p>Everybody can feel that way, I know. But when it's you in that moment, especially when it's falling in on you, you feel like you're the only one in the world, the one you were once on top of. This complicates things being a parent of older kids, teen daughters who are more self-aware than there were as kids. They struggle even more because their brains and bodies are developing rapidly and their synaptic firing is like a rollercoaster ride the dives from the upper atmosphere to the center of the earth, then back again. </p><p>And when things are fairly smooth for us the parents, it's easier to help them with the relationship struggles. their study struggles, their body development struggles (especially being females), and all the other things we remember from our own teen worlds. </p><p>When things aren't very smooth, we still have to figure out how to deal and adapt ourselves in order to help them. We're supposed to be the adults in the room, and when things are seemingly rapid-fire change and circumstance, it can be a momentarily overwhelming ordeal just dealing with the ordinary and things that break. </p><p>Our daughter Bryce's bike broke (which was my wife Amy's), which is a bummer because she's the only one willing to ride her bike to school at least once per week, which helps us with the <a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2023/10/only-one-text-away.html" target="_blank">transportation</a>. It was under warranty and we got most of the money back for it, but now have to find a new bike that will definitely be more expensive. </p><p>We had new flooring put in last year that included our staircase. But the very top one started to break and my wife Amy slipped and fell straight down the second one breaking it. She was bruised and sore but thankfully okay otherwise. That's when I checked the other stairs and noticed a few more were loose. That overwhelmed me as a safety problem for our family, although I know we'll get it all fixed.</p><p>Even with my <a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2023/11/turning-no-into-flow.html" target="_blank">default "no" setting</a>, Amy and I were going to attempt to fix our trailer hitch connection on our SUV, and while we got a better understanding of how things work and connect on our car, with discovered that the main brake lights didn't work. The upper third brake light still worked and all the other lights worked, but not the main brake lights. We had no idea how long they'd been out, and immediately we ruled out the fuses and then narrowed it down to the light bulbs and the brake lock switch. But since the latter was above our pay grade, I was banking on the fact it was the bulbs. It was. Thank goodness.</p><p>All of these things <i>– </i>our daughter's bike breaking, the stairs breaking under Amy's poor butt, our car's brake lights breaking <i>–</i> combined with the fact that the work year's been tough and now my business has merged with another company (ultimately a great thing) <i>– </i>and all my synaptic misfiring commenced. "<i>One day I feel I'm on top of the world and the next it's falling in on me. I can get back on, I can get back on."</i></p><p>And I do get back on. In the end, I really don't wish I was an algorithm. I wouldn't trade my ability to feel emotions and experience all that life brings for being artificially intelligent in a million years. No, this Thanksgiving, I'm grateful for being human <i>–</i> a fallible human who can feel buried under the weight of transitory circumstances. I'm grateful for a loving wife and partner, and two amazing daughters. I'm grateful for all my family and friends, my current employees and my new colleagues. I'm grateful for our health and our home. I'm grateful for my community, my state, my country, my world (no matter where it's burning). I'm even grateful that things break (sometimes). </p><p>I'm also grateful for empathy, and this Thanksgiving, blessings to those living in war zones, in poverty, on the streets, with mental illness, with physical illness, with anything that compromises health and safety.</p>KevinWGrossmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05606412784832406343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514295023477741185.post-44909855257493374792023-11-12T13:22:00.000-08:002023-11-12T13:22:37.712-08:00Turning No Into The Flow<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv1IOgQsiwPmVWumwFmnx1ZH3i6Nxzk1ySumlyRqnfe-uqevBSYhWUQ6UvszUiVxNr18AmouWUkmMbkQMe1zxaC8DyDTfHxj0xSz6MK3Pfsl2uWjLUJ_1ogm2JDTK5X60AMjZYAQBia42iyOP03mwStJqn3j8e0wGn5WWgeC43PnhaBlJmtUWsasm87-8/s3113/IMG_0563%20copy.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3113" data-original-width="2333" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv1IOgQsiwPmVWumwFmnx1ZH3i6Nxzk1ySumlyRqnfe-uqevBSYhWUQ6UvszUiVxNr18AmouWUkmMbkQMe1zxaC8DyDTfHxj0xSz6MK3Pfsl2uWjLUJ_1ogm2JDTK5X60AMjZYAQBia42iyOP03mwStJqn3j8e0wGn5WWgeC43PnhaBlJmtUWsasm87-8/s320/IMG_0563%20copy.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div>I'm the "no" dad. Literally. My default setting is to say no when our kids ask for things (which in my defense, aren't always realistic or the best timing). It's no when my wife suggests we can fix something when I think we can't (without thinking about it). It's no when she suggests we can do a house project ourselves as well. <p></p><p>I have mellowed somewhat on the "no's", but overall it's still my go-to answer. <a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2020/07/this-old-no-guy.html" target="_blank">I am definitely the "no" dad</a>.</p><p>"Dad, can you get me something at McDonald's?"</p><p>"No."</p><p>"Honey, we can fix the garbage disposal ourselves, you know."</p><p>"No, I don't know.</p><p>Actually, we did fix the garbage disposal ourselves and we have done a lot of <a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2022/08/with-my-own-two-hands.html" target="_blank">house projects</a> ourselves over the years. Most recently, we <a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2023/08/i-am-me.html" target="_blank">landscaped our backyard again</a> for the third time since we bought the house 17 years ago (and for me, the last time -- it was back-breaking work). </p><p>But I've always put up some resistance to those things that are out of my comfort zone. Which is ironic, because that's the way I've learned and grown over the years, doing things outside my comfort zone, personally and professionally. Saying no, then caving in to growth. </p><p>My wife Amy, on the other hand, is the "yes" mom, and truly believes anything and everything is possible, even when in the end, it's not. But just the belief that anything and everything is possible ultimately makes the impossible possible, even if it turns out another way, like someone else has to fix something, not us. </p><p>I call that being in the "flow", something she's damn good at. We meditate together nearly everyday and that's been helpful to getting me more in the flow, it just takes me a lot more energy to overcome the no. </p><p>And with our daughters, Beatrice and Bryce, Amy is the super "yes" mom for sure, and they always go to her first. She's always willing to work it out for them when they want do go somewhere, any and every day, even when it's not convenient and frustrating for her. </p><p>As I write this, it makes me feel like I'm the bad guy, or more accurately poetic, the bad dad. But that's not fair to me, because I am a good dad, and I do ultimately say yes a lot more these days, and Amy and I always coordinate the drop-offs and pick-ups of our kids wherever they are and need to go. I've been known to be spontaneous and take them for a treat after school without them asking. </p><p>Plus, as I already mentioned, Amy and I do a lot of home projects together that do work out without having to outsource them because she truly believes anything and everything is possible (just more cursing and sweating from me). She is the yin to my yang; the airbrushed blue sky to my storm-cloud rainbows; and that's why I love her so much. </p><p>But even Amy's yeses know that sometimes nos are necessary, a parenting imperative in fact, and we compromise on those more serious kid no's when they come up. So, while the all-purpose no may be my default setting, I am working on it. You've heard of turning a frown upside down? Well, I'm working on turning the non-serious no into the flow and letting it all go. Can I do it? Maybe (at least that's not a no). </p>KevinWGrossmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05606412784832406343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514295023477741185.post-80568823580448819012023-11-05T09:24:00.000-08:002023-11-05T09:24:08.266-08:00To Understand the Differences<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaylAFgd8fMoNeaxrXARqFpV7v4-k4N34LkuFvRV10cpKT06qf8dCnQCbm6h9SUX1AdsOOfhUG6kDLy1jYYTh2KXQUzE1e2RkZkSBww0ePN8H4VfA-X-U22xHlu_rs8AtNdSaM9BYfficttN3w_aDHDo1Fmm27u6eklTFCR3mzGoVE_hTafmQHH9c0uUw/s1920/sadness-717432_1920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1758" data-original-width="1920" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaylAFgd8fMoNeaxrXARqFpV7v4-k4N34LkuFvRV10cpKT06qf8dCnQCbm6h9SUX1AdsOOfhUG6kDLy1jYYTh2KXQUzE1e2RkZkSBww0ePN8H4VfA-X-U22xHlu_rs8AtNdSaM9BYfficttN3w_aDHDo1Fmm27u6eklTFCR3mzGoVE_hTafmQHH9c0uUw/s320/sadness-717432_1920.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>It's not badge of honor, that's for damn sure. No child who becomes an adult looks back fondly on growing up with divisive divorce, or domestic violence, or sexual assault, or abuse, neglect, or violence of any kind. And yet, too many of us have had those traumatic experiences early in our lives (and later, too). And many of us, like my wife and I, have pledged that nothing like that would ever happen to our children. <p></p><p>Growing up Generation X in the 1970's, it eventually became a social media badge of honor decades later to be proud of the fact that we never wore helmets when riding our bikes. And the fact that we stayed out past dusk without any adult supervision. And the fact that we never talked about something bad that happened to us back in those days. <a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2019/07/a-healing-hallelujah.html" target="_blank">I didn't talk about it until I was in my early 20's</a>. </p><p>Again, we've pledged that nothing like that would ever happen to our children, and while we don't have control over what happens to them outside of our house, we do inside our house. So, it's hard to hear from them when they talk about some of the things some their friends go through inside their own homes. </p><p>We empathize and talk about it with our kids, that we don't always know exactly what's happening with people, but the fact is that divorce is real, and domestic violence is real, and abuse and neglect are real, and how the ensuing stress and mental health issues are quite real.</p><p>But when more kids are willing to share the trauma they're experiencing at a much early age, or attempt to share as best they can, the new normal perception is the experienced trauma, even if it's just a subset of friends. Our kids care about their friends, but what we don't want is for them to feel bad because they haven't had the same traumatic experiences. </p><p>In fact, while they should listen and be empathetic with friends who have experienced trauma, or are experiencing it, we encourage them to be grateful for the fact that they are not. To be grateful that they have a supportive and loving family that communicates with each other, free from judgment and shame, which in turn can help them be better friends to those who do struggle.</p><p>Even a supportive and loving family won't negate the teen angst, heartbreak, and seemingly traumatic issues our kids have struggled with, and will continue to grapple with, into adulthood. But we do want them to understand the differences we work hard to ensure they do and don't experience, and how they can help others along the way.</p>KevinWGrossmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05606412784832406343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514295023477741185.post-41540998857492549752023-10-29T13:46:00.003-07:002023-10-29T13:46:43.599-07:00Only One Text Away<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZmmTe0IKBQp3uLLpt29b1opdbU4qPvg2wJF-cZHH6Ih2f9DzJHDIGJkC3IvAPkqGzUSm6FjCuIsDKmHsebyXusBou-RWfsdJK_CI_eqjlxPgxhrcffI5iCAb7kSn67hphaIKMBblBsNtgrzMUR-oW7Qg3r_D6h_tm2Zk3Ov6KLE50D6RpYwx9I8fEiTM/s1278/IMG_0514%20copy.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1278" data-original-width="589" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZmmTe0IKBQp3uLLpt29b1opdbU4qPvg2wJF-cZHH6Ih2f9DzJHDIGJkC3IvAPkqGzUSm6FjCuIsDKmHsebyXusBou-RWfsdJK_CI_eqjlxPgxhrcffI5iCAb7kSn67hphaIKMBblBsNtgrzMUR-oW7Qg3r_D6h_tm2Zk3Ov6KLE50D6RpYwx9I8fEiTM/s320/IMG_0514%20copy.jpeg" width="147" /></a></div>I was already rattled sitting in the corner of the ice cream shop full of ghosts when a guy with a knife in his head pushed the door open and screamed. Right after that three laughing zombies slapped their rotting hands against the store window right in front of me. While this was going on, my wife Amy and I waited patiently (or impatiently for me) for our youngest Bryce to get her ice cream. <p></p><p>It was Saturday night before Halloween and downtown was frenetically hopping with ghouls, goblins, and creative costumes of all kinds. Bryce had finished two shows as the ghost "Nun Ancestor" in The Adams Family musical with her cast mates and they all wanted ice cream. We'd seen the opening night the night before and it was fabulous, but this also meant that there would be other nights where we'd have to pick Bryce up late after the shows we didn't go to.</p><p>We survived the pick up and got home safely. Because we're not usually out this late anymore being home-body parents who like to be snuggled at home watching TV before bed, it was wild to see so many people young and old out (mostly young, though). We kept joking with each other driving to and from picking up Bryce as to where the heck are all these people going. Where were all these college partiers going? Amy kept threatening me that we'd go get our Halloween costumes back on and go find the parties.</p><p>Woot! Nope.</p><p>Now that both our kids are doing more things independently and are out and about more often, we're having to transport them here and there and everywhere. All, the, time. Now that Beatrice is in high school she has a different schedule than Bryce does in middle school most days during the week, so that means different pick-up times during the week. It gets more complicated when Bryce is in theater and choir, and Beatrice might do theater in the spring. Beatrice is also hanging out more with her friends socially, meeting downtown or going to parties (not college parties yet, thank goodness). And then there are special events the kids want to go to and so much more. </p><p>Back and forth, here and there, to everywhere. Fortunately Amy and I have flexible schedules and we can make it all work. And we know there are much busier families than ours with kids who play competitive sports, have after school jobs, and more. Beatrice will be working next summer as a paid camp counselor, which is something she very much wants to do. </p><p>Back and forth, here and there, to everywhere. There's the occasional reprieve because Bryce rides her bike to and from school at least once a week, although collectively we're just not a ride-your-bike family. The kids also ride the city bus in town as it's free to students, so that's another positive reprieve. Amy also coordinates with other parents sometimes to share rides with their friends, so that's helpful, and we're the family that is always willing to give the other kids rides when needed. </p><p>Back and forth, here and there, to everywhere. With gas prices as high as they are, this is when we wish we had an electric vehicle, at least for in-town driving, but even that doesn't pencil out in the short-term. We may be the Uber parents without a paying app, but we're still only one text away and wouldn't have it any other way.</p>KevinWGrossmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05606412784832406343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514295023477741185.post-24203103543446646782023-10-22T13:24:00.002-07:002023-10-22T13:26:10.941-07:00No Matter What We Believe<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM353gpw2OnsVon2Q9W30o9_GRAxvpdCNzYrN6OqQ3ZwIe7P5mf6O3ETUjmJdajKfhamFOxw6Qw65W2Q7tWuNzuhrfqrYKQiSPC5c6qmVs18FlSnIQiv2ExXlGoo5aafVQJHMYK14NMpyXXcOn1ciyFCkIwBMMYhcYqLgR3-6SCjBxgRRU0qW7t8RLYlg/s2832/IMG_0402%20copy.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2124" data-original-width="2832" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM353gpw2OnsVon2Q9W30o9_GRAxvpdCNzYrN6OqQ3ZwIe7P5mf6O3ETUjmJdajKfhamFOxw6Qw65W2Q7tWuNzuhrfqrYKQiSPC5c6qmVs18FlSnIQiv2ExXlGoo5aafVQJHMYK14NMpyXXcOn1ciyFCkIwBMMYhcYqLgR3-6SCjBxgRRU0qW7t8RLYlg/s320/IMG_0402%20copy.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>It always feels easier when our kids don't ask about horrific world events. About why some people do something awkward or horrible to others; or denounce others because they don't like a specific group, how they live, what they believe in; or push their beliefs on others because they feel they're right and everyone else is wrong. We'd rather them stick to their normal day-to-day friend drama as is. <p></p><p>Thankfully our teens don't listen to or watch the news regularly like my wife Amy and I do, but they still hear about local and world events through friends, social media, school, and us. They can also experience them directly, and that's when we need to talk with them about it. </p><p>For example, recently a group of men from Gideons International, a Christian Business and Professional Men’s Association, came to the middle school unannounced where our youngest daughter Bryce attends, and distributed Bibles to students while on the public sidewalk, which was their right. The Bibles however had a table of contents pointing to verses about abortion, sexual temptation, adultery, and many other topics, which I wasn't happy about. I remembered when I was in high school and a Christian group distributed a pamphlet denouncing the music I listened to and why it was evil. My favorite band Rush was supposed to mean "Rangers Under Satan's House." Good God, please. </p><p>Bryce thought it was funny though and brought the Bible home. We ultimately weren't that upset and were happy about how the school responded. The school staff was respectful to the missionaries as were the middle schoolers themselves. The principal sent a note to all parents letting them know what happened and that the bible distribution was not a school sponsored event. Even better, social studies teachers made time to discuss the First Amendment, which is under attack on all fronts more and more. We also don't practice Christianity, but still had a discussion with our teens about both. </p><p>When our teens do want to talk about something significant and/or traumatic that's happened globally or locally, we listen to them first, without judgment (which isn't easy when you're fighting with your own world-view parental demons), and then have a dialogue about it. We help them understand as much as we can the greater context as to the why of the something that happened.</p><p>We also talk all the time about verifying something we've heard about or read about with multiple "objective" credible sources if at all possible. Because if not, that's when the adulting complexity of biases and -isms of all stripes can also be dangerously impactful on our kids, directly and indirectly. We've seen enough destruction of late of what it can do to grownups and children alike. </p><p>Talking to our teens about why people believe what they believe and do what they do is still really hard. It's hard because everyone sees what they want to see, which we have to be okay with, even in the face of sometimes unsurmountable evidence to the contrary (which we're not quite okay with), but we remind them we will always lead with love and empathy. </p><p>The difference, we also remind them, is that when beliefs intentionally cause harm to others socially, emotionally, and/or physically, that's where we draw the line. That's when there must be accountability for that harm, no matter what we believe.</p>KevinWGrossmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05606412784832406343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514295023477741185.post-75013202914727640382023-10-15T11:34:00.002-07:002023-10-15T11:34:35.269-07:00A Poetic Place<div style="text-align: left;"><i>"Oh, my music makes you dance<br />And gives your spirit to take a chance<br />And I wrote some rock 'n' roll so you can move<br />Music fills your heart, well, that's a real fine place to start<br />It's from me, it's for you<br />It's from you, it's from me<br />It's a worldwide symphony..."</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br />–Barry Manilow, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ivjm4QGaxtw" target="_blank">I Write the Songs</a></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGWL9mACLZdC0XpLk1wzpynEx48-GdWH7aGLnNKqKkSgkmHe5ClO7OqENBfjkoKTuFxOrr6jR_Gi6s0E1CH4iotL6JJL0t5NuKV12gdlOLn5K9AYNc2kX7aJseB3KCSLc4GFNS1bhXquOhk6ihWNOkuUUtw_V6y23BBvZXkEglDUroJbYgiyVme_lB0V4/s1440/391487379_18394112908046280_7156366954209667350_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGWL9mACLZdC0XpLk1wzpynEx48-GdWH7aGLnNKqKkSgkmHe5ClO7OqENBfjkoKTuFxOrr6jR_Gi6s0E1CH4iotL6JJL0t5NuKV12gdlOLn5K9AYNc2kX7aJseB3KCSLc4GFNS1bhXquOhk6ihWNOkuUUtw_V6y23BBvZXkEglDUroJbYgiyVme_lB0V4/s320/391487379_18394112908046280_7156366954209667350_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>26 years later and here we are...<p></p><p style="text-align: left;">Months earlier, I remember seeing the social media ads and thinking, <i>That's corny.</i></p><p>The service is <a href="https://www.songfinch.com" target="_blank">Songfinch</a>, a platform that allows you to choose a musical artist/songwriter and then provide content and stories for the musician to write you a song and record it for you. The end result is a special song for someone special in your life. </p><p><i>So cool</i>, I thought. <i>And corny.</i></p><p>I kept kicking that musical idea down the road, thinking about it, and finally realizing it was the perfect anniversary gift from me to my wife, Amy.</p><p>Because we like corny love things. Our teen daughters know we like corny love things, too. Painfully so. </p><p>While I've never forgotten our wedding anniversary (or the anniversary of when we met, which happens to be the same date), when I decided to have a song made for Amy, I couldn't help but think about one of favorite holiday movies, <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0218967/" target="_blank"><i>The Family Man</i></a>. </p><p>There's a part where the husband/father (Nicholas Cage), forgets his anniversary with his wife/mother (Téa Leoni), and then their young daughter (Makenzie Vega) commiserates with him.</p><p>Daughter: "I should have warned you. Dad always does something really special for the anniversary." </p><p>Dad: "Like what?"</p><p>Daughter: "One year he had a star named after her." </p><p>Dad: "He had a star named after her? Well, that's nice, but isn't that a little... corny?" </p><p>Daughter: "Mom liked it."</p><p>And I knew Amy would like it, too. Flowers and jewelry haven't been our thing over the years. Instead, music and travel have been. At our wedding we gave away our curated list of songs in a CD we titled "A Lifetime With Happy". It included songs from Ambrosia, Jennifer Lopez, Phoebe Snow, Train, Lionel Richie, Journey, Little River Band, and many others. </p><p>I've written Amy poetry over the years as well, and when I decided to have a song made for her, I compiled romantic highlights, pieces of my poetry, one of my favorite Rush songs called "The Speed of Love", and other life anecdotes. The Songfinch musician I picked is named Tommy P, and within a week he had written and recorded a song for me. After a few edits, it was done. And because I've been drumming now for three years, I wanted to drum to it for Amy. I didn't play the drums on the originally recording of course, but I thought it would be fun to do so. </p><p>It's been 26 years since we met and 20 years of marriage. Early on in our relationship we were clear with each other that either we were all in, or we weren't. All in was our choice. It wasn't without work, though, and we also always knew that sometimes it doesn't work out. We grew up with divorce, I got a divorce myself, and early on with Amy and me, we were never going to put children through that, which was why we weren't going to have them. Until we changed our minds and did.</p><p>We've been <a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2023/10/a-perennial-bloom.html" target="_blank">celebrating our anniversary</a> all week, and we want our daughters to understand that whatever relationships they end up having in their lives, they had to be all in and continuously reinvest in those relationships to make them work. To be all in, you have to be whole, because if it doesn't work, then it's not the end of world (even if it feels like it, which it will). Through it all, it should always be about loving yourself first and keeping your soul whole enough to share with another. That's what we've practiced over the years, a poetic place with spiritual grounding that elevates our love. To be grateful for our love for as long as we have it. </p><p>So, having a song produced for Amy for our anniversary might've been a little corny, but if <i>music fills your heart, well, that's a real fine place to start. (</i>Thank you, Mr. Manilow.)</p><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/70jV-1SW0RA" width="320" youtube-src-id="70jV-1SW0RA"></iframe></div><br /><div><br /></div>KevinWGrossmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05606412784832406343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514295023477741185.post-69509699809419688882023-10-08T10:22:00.004-07:002023-10-08T10:22:54.649-07:00A Perennial Bloom<p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsTiVzDmj3IO-PPTyJA4i87fspMdIirbakboIlITN9y-FsMr1Zvmd9yCGZY4s89Tz_xjC1Bfyr3SZ3HkEd4gMXu3sZ4CvvEa7sw2ZfY-2un3Rd5_KzX6rGcT7hkj3fJJN2ZYGBvO6yicN0I1jxvInzi-VyoRti_Qz2jf7MrKayO2ZrEB7wcfRNRqjQ408/s1536/rings.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1037" data-original-width="1536" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsTiVzDmj3IO-PPTyJA4i87fspMdIirbakboIlITN9y-FsMr1Zvmd9yCGZY4s89Tz_xjC1Bfyr3SZ3HkEd4gMXu3sZ4CvvEa7sw2ZfY-2un3Rd5_KzX6rGcT7hkj3fJJN2ZYGBvO6yicN0I1jxvInzi-VyoRti_Qz2jf7MrKayO2ZrEB7wcfRNRqjQ408/s320/rings.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>It was a lovely evening. The heat wave dissipated somewhat at sunset and a balmy ocean breeze washed over us all. We don't get many days like this in Santa Cruz during the year. One of the few heat bumps we can get usually comes in late September into October, even with all the drastic climate changes of late. It reminded my wife Amy and I of the late El Niño warmth when <a href="https://getofftheground.blogspot.com/2020/10/all-because-of-one-day-at-beach.html" target="_blank">we met one day at the beach nearly 26 years ago on October 11, 1997</a>. <p></p><p style="text-align: left;">We were hungry but the food truck line moved slowly. We were there with our kids, Beatrice and Bryce, to enjoy the "Block Party on the Bluff" and new climate solution exhibits at the <a href="https://seymourcenter.ucsc.edu" target="_blank">UC Santa Cruz Seymour Marine Discovery Center</a>. We told our friends who met us there with their kids that this was where we were married nearly 20 years ago on October 11, 2003, six years after we met. The wedding ceremony was outside on the patio overlooking the ocean and then our reception was inside the main hall room. We'd been there with our kids since they were little many times since, and it never gets old reminiscing.</p><p style="text-align: left;">When we had decided to get married all those years ago, we wanted to do the wedding ourselves and find a reasonable venue on the water as close to where we met if possible. We had thought about having our ceremony literally on the beach where we met, but the logistics of that and then having the reception elsewhere weren't feasible at the time. There weren't a lot of options for what we wanted. The Seymour Center ended up being the best bet for us being right on the water. Plus, it had a small aquarium that our guests could visit prior to our wedding. </p><p style="text-align: left;">We sat together at a picnic table with our friends and ate our yummy food truck pupusas. Darkness settled in and it felt amazing outside. It reminded us so much of how pleasant the weather was when we were married. Our friends who were with us didn't know us then, and it was still years away from us changing our minds to have kids. I gazed toward the patio and room where our wedding ceremony and reception were held and again remembered how special that day was. </p><p style="text-align: left;">We had decorated the reception room ourselves with the help of some family and friends. We wanted to string lights overhead to convey a starry night. With only a few hours to go before the wedding, I was the only one in the room hanging the little white lights, or trying to hang them. Suddenly some of the lights stopped working and I couldn't figure out why or where. I kept fiddling with them, rearranging the strings, and at one point stood at the top of a wobbly ladder holding an extension cord in one hand and a string of lights in another, trying to plug them into each other, and I felt like Doc Brown on the clock tower from the movie <i>Back to the Future</i>. I'm lucky I didn't fall and break my neck, but the end result was lovely. </p><p style="text-align: left;">And then there was our first dance together at the wedding reception, one that we had practiced and practiced to our wedding song, "The Biggest Part of Me" by Ambrosia. We put it together ourselves and it was such a special moment of loving movement that everyone there could share with us. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Prior to all that, we were married overlooking the ocean by Amy's father. We had written our own vows, too, and reading them to each other solidified our loving commitment to each other that our two halves made two wholes. That we chose us. Every year since on our anniversary we go down to the water overlooking the beach where we met to read our vows to each other. </p><p style="text-align: left;">I smiled at these anniversary memories as we finished eating and said goodbye to our friends. These memories, a perennial bloom, poetic place and déjà vu, are relived again and again this time of the year, and throughout the year. We headed home, and I was grateful that we share these memories with our daughters, that they know how deep our love roots grow, from beach to sea to our family. It may be a tad teen cringeworthy for them today, but they're grateful for our love nonetheless. </p>KevinWGrossmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05606412784832406343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514295023477741185.post-56402446740323700562023-10-01T11:41:00.000-07:002023-10-01T11:41:31.792-07:00Listen More Mindfully<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZCu1ilpJfqL8B1hL5u-EEGcF96n8Uk-9iEjuW1Nq45HQACVvLbETQ11NIZ903_wK8OZzSPoh6q8C2Is-a_yQiQOmCOJxWtgw3DQ9-bufzPWtN5uG-SIyAzRB8tgCuaktDEeTJN_0cRiNjCGDf-CLBwVN-rI6P1fLLe_MBbEHYmfT0gUxPzNCKm1nEL84/s1920/rabbits-4890861_1920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1920" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZCu1ilpJfqL8B1hL5u-EEGcF96n8Uk-9iEjuW1Nq45HQACVvLbETQ11NIZ903_wK8OZzSPoh6q8C2Is-a_yQiQOmCOJxWtgw3DQ9-bufzPWtN5uG-SIyAzRB8tgCuaktDEeTJN_0cRiNjCGDf-CLBwVN-rI6P1fLLe_MBbEHYmfT0gUxPzNCKm1nEL84/s320/rabbits-4890861_1920.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I felt bad. I did. It's something I've worked on for years but still fall prey to. I waited for a pause in her dialogue to apologize. At least, I thought it was a pause.<p></p><p>"Beatrice, I'm really sorry," I said. Sincerely, too.</p><p>All three of them laughed -- both daughters, Beatrice and Bryce, and my wife, Amy.</p><p>"Dad, you did it again!" Beatrice exclaimed. "You interrupted me again while I was talking! You always do that!"</p><p>"Dad, she wasn't done talking," Bryce said. "And why do you always ask so many questions?"</p><p>And then I felt even worse. True, I ask both kids a lot of questions about their day and how they're feeling, but they also weren't wrong about me interrupting. Bea certainly wasn't wrong. Right before I apologized to her she expressed how much she didn't appreciate it when I interrupted her. I was proud of her for letting me know who she felt, and at the same time, momentarily devastated that I actually did that to her. </p><p>My own perception is that I believe I wait until a natural pause occurs before adding my 2 cents worth in a conversation, or ask my kids questions. I'm a humble expressive, but I do like to share my thoughts on whatever the topic at hand is, or again, ask my kids clarifying questions. It's not the first time I've been told this over the years and I have to admit I've been an equal-opportunity interrupter for whomever I'm in a room with. </p><p>I wouldn't call them microaggressions, though, because I don't believe I'm intentionally slighting anyone, especially my own family. I've been in the room with enough literal microaggressors over the years to know the difference and have been a staunch advocate for those who experience it.</p><p>But when I do interrupt, am I really listening? Or am I unconsciously disregarding what someone is saying to me (or others in a room) just so I can express my thoughts as if mine have more value? God, I hope not, but I'm also afraid so, sometimes anyway. Maybe it's due to a lifetime of overcompensating for growing up feeling inadequate and that my own thoughts weren't worthy to express. Maybe. Still, it's not something I'm proud of, especially when I hear it from my own daughter. Again, I'm proud of Beatrice for her awareness and clarity. Bryce has the same sensibilities. </p><p>Which I wish I had more of when I was their age (even though they are still very "expressive" teens with all that teens bring, but still). I have worked on listening more and interjecting less over the years. When I'm truly mindful of it, I clear my mind and simply listen to the person or persons talking to me or to others. I listen with purpose and only respond if and when appropriate and it only adds value. </p><p>I'll continue to work on not interrupting, but I won't stop asking our kids questions about their lives. I am still Dad, for goodness sake, so I'll just have to listen more mindfully along the way. </p>KevinWGrossmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05606412784832406343noreply@blogger.com0