How to be a Badass Dad

Moving On

noreply@blogger.com (Sol Smith) — Wed, 08 Jul 2009 15:51:00 +0000

At the end of next week, we are moving from Texas to Michigan. This is a big change for us. It's much bigger than our big girls know, but they are facing it with excitement.

On the horizon for Daughter Number One is kindergarten. After debating for the last five years if we were going to do public school or home school, we have decided to give public school a shot. Solstice seems to thrive on social interaction with kids her age. She seeks them out, asks them to be friends, and talks about her times with them for ages afterward. She also has an intense love of learning and can't wait to cut her teeth on the kinds of busy work that kindergarten has in store for her. We plan on keeping an eye on things and keeping our options opened.

Coming up for Daughter Number Two is preschool. We are enrolling her in a nature preschool two days a week. Luna isn't as in to other kids as her sister. All she really wants to do is play with her big sister and mother her little one. Two days a week in the outdoors with other kids will hopefully be something that will build her confidence and independence. She is a real treat to be around, but has trouble showing that to anyone outside of her family.

I will be teaching English at a different community college and am so far enchanted with my interactions with my fellow professors up there. I look forward to continuing my research on student engagement in writing and finishing my doctorate this year.

And for all of us, we're trading in the heat and humidity of the Houston area for the cool weather and snowy winters of Bay City, Michigan. We (think we) found a house and can't wait to move in to it. We've got to get used to driving in snow, shoveling snow, walking in snow, and other snowy things. We're stoked about it.

I hope to keep up with this blog more in the coming months and feel terrible that I've neglected it so hardcore since Daughter Number Three was born. Stay tuned!

Watching "Star Wars" with my 4 year old

noreply@blogger.com (Sol Smith) — Sun, 21 Jun 2009 17:01:00 +0000

It's Father's Day again. I don't feel like I can really write a reasonable post on Father's Day without ample repetition of my past self on the subject. So I'll share the story of how I decided to celebrate it this year, with doughnuts and Star Wars.

I woke up with the sun on this longest day of the year, because our properly named daughter, Solstice, came running into our bedroom the instant the sun peaked over the trees, hugging and kissing me and reminding me what day today is. While that is very sweet, it should be noted that this is an everyday activity; whether it is a special day or not, Soli likes to alert us to its presence.

I got the two older girls dressed and headed out the door to the only proper doughnut shop near here, about 7 miles away. And, as with every morning, Solstice talked: "What kind of doughnuts will we get?" Do you think Mommy wants some? Do they have doughnuts in Michigan? Where do doughnuts come from? What if they don't have doughnuts? What kind do you like? What if they're all out and the people say, 'Sorry, no doughnuts' and you don't have a good Father's Day?" And on, and on.

Now I love Solstice and I wouldn't change a thing about her. And though I wouldn't change it, I have never seen, heard of, nor imagined something that talks quite so much as my eldest daughter. No breath is wasted with her, all are spent with words.

On the way home, I tried to think of what else I would do to celebrate my self as a dad. I am a fan of the Star Wars saga and found myself in the mood to watch Episode III (yes, I dig the prequels quite a bit, especially Revenge of the Sith). In retrospect, I should probably have watched Return of the Jedi, the ultimate father-son movie, but honestly the ending makes me tear-up too much.

Solstice and Luna sat down to watch the movie with me. I'm not worried about the strange and sometimes frightening images they may see on the show, as they are the same things I looked at as a child. There's such a plethora of images that I feel that they mix and mingle into sensory overload. (I say this now, but no doubt nightmares of General Grievous will keep Luna and me awake tonight.)

I would like to share with you why this was such a challenging task for me to complete today. It was Solstice's talking. The following is a mish-mash of actual quotes spoken by my 4 year old during the movie:

What are they doing? Are they the good guys? Why are they in that space ship? Do you want to go in a space ship? What are those robots doing? Do you think the robots will get them? Which one is fighting that one? Why is Yoda so tiny? Did you know he is tiny? He's tinier than you! Yes he is! You know what my middle name is? No! My middle name is Butterfly House Explode! Yes it is! Do you think Chewbacca has a middle name? I think it's Princess Rainbow Bright Stupid Pirate! Well, he said 'stupid'! Why does bad guys say 'stupid'? Why are they being yucky? Do you think you could ride on one of those? Those are my friends. I don't want her to be a queen, I want her to be a princess. That baby looks like a princess.

And on, and on. Without end. She just doens't stop. I tried to answer her questions as openly and honestly as I could, with as few "Just watch!" comments as possible. But when the movie was over--and it's a long movie--I was relieved. I didn't get to revel in that last shot of the double-sunset because I was just so effing glad the movie was over and the question would subside. My dermination to finish the movie was simple stubbornness.

It gave me an idea for a money-making scheme. I thought I should watch lots of movies and record the commentary that Solstice makes throughout. People could download them and sync them up with their DVD players and have their minds blow. Butterfly House Explode, indeed.

I need a rest. Or noise cancelling headphones. Or a huge dose of patience.

Subtle Messages of Lower Expectations for Fathers

noreply@blogger.com (Sol Smith) — Mon, 25 May 2009 13:28:00 +0000

My family was at the zoo a couple weeks ago. It was a balmy Houston day and I was wearing our newborn in a moby wrap, my wife and I taking turns pulling the wagon with the older two daughters in it. We were watching some kind of smaller monkey as it carried its newborn baby on its stomach. I felt strangely primal watching it, admiring how natural it was to wear the baby instead of push it along in a stroller. We were finishing up a pleasant visit with the orangutans when I woman remarked to my wife, "Now that's an attractive husband!" Hehe, haha, we moved on. But the same thing kept happening. And it always happens when the whole family is out and I wear the baby, which is about half the time; people constantly make remarks about how awesome I am for wearing my youngest daughter. And for whatever reason, it's always moms and it's always presented as if I am somehow desirable because I yeild to carrying my baby.

And the half when my wife wears her? No guys hit on her, no women give her high-five, the baby receives her customary compliments, but my wife doesn't get the ego boost that I do.
It is a bit of an ego boost, too. I was never accostomed to walking about getting compliments or being called attractive.

Juging from my experience, it is expected that a woman should take care of a baby and it is above the call of duty for a husband to help out. That is also reflected in the incongruency of baby changing stations in bathrooms--about half of the time, there will be a baby changing table in the women's room but not in the men's.

The woman grows the baby and births the baby, I get that. And my wife nurses our babies, too. But since when does it become her charge to take care of every aspect of babyhood? I'm bigger and stronger, why wouldn't it make more sense for me to wear the baby than my wife?

What bothers me most is this: These women who gush over an involved father could easily have chosen that quality in a mate. If they find it so attractive that a husband should take care of a baby, why didn't they find that kind of guy attractive in the first place? I'm asking because I want to know.

It comes down to this: parenting (and marriage in general) is not a 50/50 thing; it's a 100/100 thing. Both parents need to give everything they have. It's not a matter of trying to get out of things easily, or pawning responsibilities on others. You give it all that you have. And when you have nothing to give, you trust that your partner's engine is still running. When you can get back on your feet, hop up.

Hidden within those very nice compliments that I get for being a father is the hidden code: our society doesn't expect as much from fathers. Low expectations create low performance. But being a parent isn't about performance, it's about joy. It is a pleasure to be involved with your children, and fathers shouldn't let mothers have all the fun!

Finding Balance

noreply@blogger.com (Sol Smith) — Thu, 02 Apr 2009 13:02:00 +0000

I reoccurring theme in this blog seems to be finding balance in the myriad of pressures a modern dad faces. That balance has been really hard for me lately. When juggling too many balls, the most probably outcome is to drop them all, unfortunately.

I was juggling a lot when the new baby came along. Between work, school, and home, there was a lot going on. Then the new baby comes into the picture, and things get out of focus. She's an easy baby, so far as that expression goes. She sleeps a lot, hardly cries, is easy to console, and a pure joy to hold and look upon. But saying "easy baby" is a relative term; nothing that consumes your every moment and thought is ever easy.

So how does a dad deal with all of this? Well, first of all, he appears to stop posting to his blog. Second, I have really had trouble making time to promote my book.

For about a year, this blog has been a very important project of mine. And, on and off, my fiction writing blog has been important. Writing my own books is another facet of my world that has been dormant. But the biggest problem has been my ability to sit down and work on my school work.

I've seen it a thousand times, as a professor. Students get a busy and the first thing to drop off is their school work. If they get a job promotion, or get more hours, they stop coming to class. After all, when push comes to shove, and you get too busy and tired, most students see the schooling as the lesser important task. And lots of jobs claim to support going to school, but in action things can be very different.

My school, however, boils down to one assignment. I am working on the last school assignment I will ever have to complete. And I haven't been able to touch it for four weeks.

It's a dissertation. And it's about a subject that I care a lot about. And I find it very engaging to complete a large project like this.

And yet.

At the end of the day, I have had trouble bringing myself to sit down and work. I have fallen into the trap that I have criticized more students for than anything else: treating an education like a chore.

So how does one do this? The family cannot take a back seat. Work cannot be neglected. I am in a place where I must ask more of myself than I feel like I can. But it's just for a few more weeks.

We all find ourselves here once in a while. Priorities must be kept in order, but we cannot neglect ourselves, either. I always say to people who wish for more hours in a day that they just need to use more of the hours the day has. That's what I will be saying to myself for the next week or so.

Still. It would be easier if there were two of me.

Big Week

noreply@blogger.com (Sol Smith) — Sat, 14 Feb 2009 20:29:00 +0000

First, we have baby number three. You can see my wife (in all her glory) on our big day on her one of her photo-blogs.

And, my book hit the Amazon shelves!

I only mention this because I want to say Thank You to those of you who have bought my book today. And because I'm actually impressed with my sales rank right now:

Amazon.com Sales Rank: #24,763 in Books

I mean, yeah, that's not too high, bu it's not in the 100,000s like I thought it would be.

I'm pushing it, knowing that many people who may not have bought before may be more comfortable using their preexisting Amazon account. So, check it out, and help keep me below 25,000!

This has been a very exciting week for me.

What will I do with all these Girls?

noreply@blogger.com (Sol Smith) — Wed, 11 Feb 2009 22:35:00 +0000

Daphne Blue Jocasta was born at 4:13am, a tiny 7lbs 13oz. We're home and very wiped out.

A perfect labor and delivery, by far Sue's greatest and fastest. But, postpartum, the placenta broke. Sue experienced the worst pain of her life and lost a lot of blood. She's okay now, bp is fine, but has to be more or less lying flat for a few days.

And the baby is...sleeping? WTF? Is she really ours?

Labor Day

noreply@blogger.com (Sol Smith) — Wed, 11 Feb 2009 03:37:00 +0000

We're in labor. We've been in it since 8:45 this morning, but things are starting to pick up. I can't stand the ambiguity of it all; the movies and TV would have you believe that all of a sudden the woman screams and moans and a taxi arrives to serve as delivery room.

In real life, my wife's waters broke this morning and we still don't know where we're headed to the birthing center. In the next couple of hours, I imagine.

Ambiguity or no, I'm excited. I'm stoked. Make it through tonight alive, and we're parents of three.

I'll keep you updated as things matter.

Whatever Happened to Intrinsic Value?

noreply@blogger.com (Sol Smith) — Mon, 09 Feb 2009 04:50:00 +0000

I take my daughters grocery shopping on Sundays while my wife does her homework. At the store where we go, the cashier gives the kids little play-money bills. They get all excited and take these play bills to a vending machine. After putting them in, they control a little grabbing arm that grabs out plastic bubble-balls. Once opened, these balls reveal stickers. What's on the stickers? Numbers. You then are supposed to put the number-stickers into a booklet provided next to the machine and save up these "points" to obtain prizes--little worthless toys of the store's mascot.

We did this today and I thought, "What the hell?" They get one prize and use that prize to win another prize. With the second prize, they can save it to win a third prize. When I was little, they just gave kids a free kid's cookie and we were thrilled.

I get it. Teach kids to shop. Teach them the value of spending money, saving money, begging to come back to the same store so they can try harder to get bigger number stickers to win a little folder with a picture of a shopping bag with a face and arms on it.

Why are we always teaching our kids to trade-up? Why is are things only done for the value of what they can be exchanged for? Whatever happened to doing something just for the value of doing something?

It spreads in their lives like a disease, climbing up their years and tainting their futures.

For example: my college students. For the most part, they don't say that they're there to learn (at least not at the beginning of my class). They're there to graduate and get a better job. A better job means more money. More money means more things. A bigger truck. A bigger house to hold more things. And on and on.

With that chain of events in their minds, why would they care how well they do on their narrative essays? The value of that narrative essay is, essentially, a single little number sticker towards a bigger TV when they graduate and get two or three promotions. It's meaning is totally lost.

We do this with our lives. Always looking down the road toward "someday" (as my bank puts it). You're supposed to save, you're supposed to upgrade, you're supposed to work harder to get promoted to a better job. At every instant, you're then just being handed play money to drop in a machine to get a plastic bubble-ball to save up number stickers to get something better.

A hamster in a wheel.

I want to teach my kids that you go to school for the value of it. You go because there are perspectives that you aren't familiar with that you can use or adapt to your own situations. You write essays because they're fun (if you're bent my way) or because they help you to make meaning out of life experiences or because it's a challenge that will empower you by overcoming.

You don't listen to music so you can get to the next song. You don't read a book to get to the back cover. You don't hold your baby in your arms so that they will grow old and leave you.

Of course, I didn't waste all this on them today. Luckily, my kids don't know about step three of their little prize-winning game. They get excited because "Look! I got a 3 and I used to be 3!" As long as that's enough for them, I'm thrilled.

My Wife says she Not Nesting

noreply@blogger.com (Sol Smith) — Sun, 01 Feb 2009 23:59:00 +0000

I've mentioned that we're cloth diapering. My wife just sent over a list of what we have to start out with, should the baby come along. For those interested to read what a diaper stash might look like (on paper--in life it is far more three-dimensional and now super-organized) here it is. In life, these are all color-coded. Blogger has seen fit to turn them into boldings and sizes. And the little names are either the store where she bought them online or the online handle of someone from whom she bought/was donated used ones. I'd like to note that I have not seen her this organized in our time together.:

Prefolds

12 unbleached Indian prefolds

6 dyed Indian prefolds

6 chinese prefolds

Fitted

11 small MJ Sherpa diapers $50 (mizzy)

1 small Calico baby tropical fish. $5 (mizzy)

1 small Calico Baby vintage kids $7 (mizzy)

1 small Sugar Plum baby (natural/blue snaps) $5 (mizzy)

1 small Chunky Bunns (nursery rhyme) $4 (mizzy)

NB Little witchy britches (blue tye-die) $4 (mizzy)

1 small pre-fitted grow-me-a-rainbow (sock monkey) $5 (kaccii)

1 small pre-fitted grow-me-a-rainbow (gnomes) $3 (kaccii)

1 small fitted Blue Dog (Dri-Line) animals and bugs $5 (kaccii)

1 small fitted – jolly rogers

1 small fitted – sugar skulls

6 small fitteds (pinks and purples) – (lemmings world)

2 small fitteds (first class baby and stars) – (facethemoon)

5 medium Little Lions fitteds (green, yellow, blue, purple and orange) $22.50 (alonwimonster)

1 medium wahm dinosaur diaper $5 (alonwimonster)

2 medium peewells – khaki and rust $22 (breathbox)

2 Sammy’s Sherpa One-size – good karma (alonwimonster)

1 SOS – gnome print - $20 (pinkmeetsred)

3 Goodmamas – buy 2 get 1 free! (bought new)

Wool

1 medium organic wool cover (Vermont Diaper co) – good karma (alonwimonster)

1 medium handknit (facethemoon)

small ‘Moss Tweed’ green longies – White Elephant Wool $8

Knit by me

Noro shorties

Noro and tan soaker

Blue and tan soaker w/cuffs

Yellow shorties

Red shorties

‘cranky pants’ longies (tiny)

tan longies (tiny)

my first 3 soakers that might not work

Pockets

6 medium fuzzibunz (jesamin) $44

Inserts

6 inserts (with fuzzibunz from Jesamin)

Covers

2 small bumkins covers – white $2 each (alonwimonster)

2 small imse vimse organic covers – one zoo, one farm - $14 (angelfalling)

1 small imse vimse bumpy day – white - $8 (liss07)

1 medium imse vimse bumpy bears - $8 (liss07)

1 large/mediumish sumbuns goldfish - $8 (liss07)

2 small Bummis Superbrite

1 small thirsties

2 one-size wonderwraps

Snappis

Four snappis

Wetbag

1 Goodmama large hanging pail – Carnival Print - $28

Other

Sheepy Pants Pattern $5.75

Full Measure of Devotion

noreply@blogger.com (Sol Smith) — Sun, 01 Feb 2009 04:45:00 +0000

Balance in life and work is hard to acheive. At what point does putting family first mean that you sacrifice yourself for their good? I've been thinking about this recently as I've been increasingly short-tempered and withdrawn while working on and thinking about this dissertation I'm writing. In many ways, my concern for this dissertation is rotting my ability to enjoy an evening with my family. And yet, it is for them that I reach for this degree. A greater job security, a better job performance, a more knowledgable instructor; these things are ultimately important for my family.

We've been watching John Adams via Netflix over the last week. I had heard it was good and faithful to the book, and I have to say that I am very impressed with it.

We watched as John Adams told his wife that he was needed in France. He was a hero, a philosopher, and a patriot. His dedication to founding this country is nothing less than inspiring. Watching it, I realized something. Whatever other shortcoming I may have, there is one very major difference between me and a man remembered so greatly as John Adams: I could never put my country ahead of my family to that degree.

I understand that my times are different than his. That by putting his country first, he was providing freedom and opportunity for not only his children, but his posterity. But as valuable as that is, I am too selfish a man to do such a thing. I could never leave my family like that.

I feel like, in many ways, we have built a Tempest-like island in our family. Like Prospero, I am unable to let the rest of the world intrude upon that island. Thus the no TV thing, the hate of advertisements, the resentment of a consumer culture that would have us find meaning through objects and lifestyles through services. Quoting another patriot, Jefferson swore "hostility against every form of tyranny over the mind of man." And I feel like it is the very minds of my family that this consumer-culture hopes to control.

I stray too far from my course.

I suppose devotion to family comes in many ways. From back-breaking labor, to traveling for business, to getting into mountains of debt on the way to an education to secure a meaningful job that ensures a quality of life and time home with the family. It seems an awful burden at times, being a father to a family and being a provider of futures. It's amazing that we do it.

I can see, at times, how this diachotomy can end up being a snake that eats its own tail. It's a line I will try to walk carefully.

Getting Ready for the Birth

noreply@blogger.com (Sol Smith) — Sat, 31 Jan 2009 05:15:00 +0000

I've been thinking.

There's a baby living inside my wife's stomach. It kicks and moves and stretches and sleeps and eats. Regardless of how happy it might be in there, it's outgrowing its space.

I can't believe we're almost there. We're almost a family of five. It seems like such a long time ago when we found out she was pregnant, and yet it seems like everything went so instantly. Incidentally, when we did find out, we were camping on the beach near Santa Cruz. My wife came out to the cliff where my daughters and I were watching the ocean and waved her pee-stick in the air excitedly. We explained to the kids that this was going to be a long time, but they'd have a new sibling, etc. And now Solstice goes around saying, "Do you remember that we were camping and daddy put a baby in you?" Real. Nice.

Whenever it happened, we're almost to the end of this journey. And the house is a mess. And until a couple days ago, we didn't have any clothes at all for this unknown person we're bringing in. And we've been spending money on cloth diapers for some months (that's another post). It's strange how you can just go and make a human for free, but that they don't come with anything. You have to accessorize yourself.

In many ways, there is no being ready for the baby. Saying that our preparations are making us ready is like being ready for a nuclear blast by putting on safety glasses. But really, this house is a mess.

I don't know at what point this pregnancy seemed real to me. As a father, I have the luxury of not having a constant and physical reminder of the impending. I have the luxury of even just not thinking about it once in a while, if my thoughts fall to something else. But intermittently throughout the last nine months, I've been struck by this overwhelming reality. The reality that we've made another interpretation of what it is to be human and we're going to be raising it soon.

We took a "survivor" childbirth course at our birthing center. It didn't do much for us but let us talk to other parents about their experiences. Then my sister bought us a Yoga for Childbirth class at the studio where she works in Austin. It was pretty neat and gave us a great review of the "gates of labor" and what to be looking out for.

And sill, ready isn't anywhere on the map.

I've talked to people at work about it. I have someone lined up to take my classes while I'm gone. But it is frustrating that the world insists on keeping up all the activity while you're trying to break-in your new life. It'd be great if every time it happened, people around you would courteously pause for a few weeks while you got your sea-legs. Of course, I suppose, they'd still not have resumed from my first kid.

We're sitting right now at 38 weeks. We don't have a record of going early; our first daughter was on her due date and our second was 8 days late. So I'm not holding my breath yet, packing bags for the birthing center or anything. We haven't thought about what food to bring, or what clothes to bring for the girls, should things happen at night, and we haven't memorized our midwife's phone numbers or even programed them into a phone. Hell, I don't even know where to find it written anywhere.

So, no. We're not ready.

We don't even know if this baby is going to be a brother and son or a daughter and sister. Hair color? Musical preference? Demeanor? Bad habits? We know nothing about this kid.

And yet.

With all of this under preparedness, our lives are going to have a huge hole in the hull and start taking on water fast once this thing finally bursts. But I know this particular iceberg is going to be worth all the trouble.

We are not ready for this at all. And I just can't wait.

Murder/Suicide is not Badass

noreply@blogger.com (Sol Smith) — Thu, 29 Jan 2009 21:07:00 +0000

I can't stand this new trend that has been keeping the media going for the last several weeks. A guy loses his job, comes home, shoots his wife and children and then kills himself.

Who could do this? Who could veer so quickly from a normal person to an absolute demon who would turn a gun on his family? And for what? For money? Really? Kill yourself, dude, don't go taking your family down with you. Or, better yet, just walk away. Or, hey, deal with it. Show your kids that there is something in this life more important than money and jobs and it's their love, for god's sake.

We live in a shared cognitive reality. We all agree that certain things are important and certain things are desirable. That's how a society makes sense out of things as quickly and efficiently as possible (even if accuracy isn't a goal) and makes it possible for society to continue to grow as an organism.

So we have money. If I write "100" on a piece of paper, no one wants it. But if I have a different piece of paper that has a "100" on it and it happens to be the one that everyone agrees is worth something, then people want it. I see this in my kids. One daughter gets a hold of a bead she found on the ground at a park. It's a nothing little dirty orange bead. And she drops it. Then, the other daughter picks up the bead and exclaims, "Oh, wow, what a beautiful bead! It's magical" and then the fight starts. The I-had-it-firsts and such.

The bead has no value except that it is exclusive. It can only be held by one person. This is the same thing as money.

And we've gotten to a place where this matters so much that the economy is not just a metaphor for our happiness, but is the happiness. I just don't like it. I can't stand the way this priority is splashed all over everything so pervasively that this kind of thing happens.

Loosing a job is sad, loosing money is sad, but killing your kids?

The most recent such killing happened today in Ohio. And what did the newspapers do first? They called the man's employer to see if he had lost his job. That was the first thing they did. As if in our new reality, that makes some sort of logical sense, some sort of justification or motive that should be respected. Turns out, he hadn't lost his job. The papers are baffled.

Anyway, it sickens me. To no end, this sickens me. Get your head out of your ass, people. Remember what your priorities should be. Why did you have the job in the first place? Security for your family? Don't put the goddamn cart so far in front of the horse.

I Believe in Santa Claus

noreply@blogger.com (Sol Smith) — Tue, 23 Dec 2008 14:35:00 +0000

If you've been reading long, you're probably sick of hearing me spout off with anti-consumerism rhetoric. At this time of year, consumerism and commercialization run amok, driving people like me crazy. And while I can't stand the commercialization of Christmas, I do firmly believe in the goodness of Santa Claus and I hope to pass his legacy down to my kids.

The Gift of Santa Claus

I was a firm believer in Santa Claus as a kid. There was nothing anyone said that could shake me. When at last my brother insisted that I "have the Santa Claus talk with Dad," it was the longest treatise on the mythos of Santa that I had ever heard and, in my youth, absolutely void of entertainment. It was void of another startling fact, considering the purpose of the conversation: never once did he say "There is no Santa Claus."

The way I remember it, and the 23 years may have gotten in the way a little, the whole thing boiled down to the fact that there wasn't a fat guy in a red suit who comes down the chimney, but that Santa was very real.

It's a point of view that I still embrace. I think of Santa as a powerful metaphor for kids; he's a way to show the specialness and magic of the holiday season in a way that they can easily understand. Explaining to kids why it is that we search for warmth in the society of each other during those long winter nights and how we set aside this time of year to explore the power of family is kind of hard to do with a two-year-old. But Santa is a specialness that they can easily grasp and willingly understand.

To me, Santa is indeed very holy. He is a symbol of the goodness and generosity within ourselves, an embodiment of that which we hold dear in each other, made digestible for the youngest members of our family and shown without cynicism or illusion.

Ultimately, he is the bow tied around the gift of the season; they will unwrap the present when they are old enough to understand what it is he has been covering within all those years.

The Commercialization of Santa Claus

And because I so firmly believe in the magic of Santa, I can't stand the endless interpretations of him into the cannon of consumerism. Even that which we hold most dear--and maybe especially that which we hold most dear--can be twisted into a sales pitch. No matter what religious traditions you hold (December 25th birthdays: Jesus, Horus, Zarathustra, Vishnu, Sol Invictus, Odin, and countless others), your very beliefs are exploited for store sales. Even your patriotism is slammed if you're not shopping enough. Consumerism is the new religion, after all. And I think that holding Santa up as the patron saint is disgusting.

I can't stand to see images of Santa used to sell things. I think it's plain wrong to show kids visions of Santa shopping in certain stores, drinking certain drinks, riding in certain electric razors, championing certain products, prescribing certain behaviors, and on and on. I think it's thoughtless and lewd to use his image to sell a product to adults or kids.

Of course, it's nothing new. In 1965, Charlie Brown complained about Christmas getting too commercial. And Dr. Seuss based the Grinch off of his own attitudes of Christmas commercialization and his search to resolve those feelings in 1957. He even wrote against the consumer Christmas during his college days in 1925.

Since the second grade, I've heard a million times that Coke invented our modern image of Santa with their ads in the 1930s. But this couldn't be more false. Images of Santa in our western canon have been identical since the end of the 19th Century. The roots of Santa's likeness date back to Odin, and probably he dates much further back. Our modern image has much more to do with the wonderfully image rich poem "A Visit from St. Nicholas," more commonly called "Twas the Night Before Christmas," published in 1823.

Conclusion

So no matter what your holiday tradition, feel free to embrace Santa with your family. Focus on his goodness, on his purpose and strength as it speaks to that which we treasure in each other. Don't let the profiteering of a money-driven society tarnish something that is so good and true in its heart. Realize, like the Grinch and Dr. Seuss did, that Christmas doesn't come from a store. Santa embodies much more than purchasing; he represents giving of oneself.

Getting the kids Involved in the Holidays

noreply@blogger.com (Sol Smith) — Sat, 20 Dec 2008 01:44:00 +0000

For whatever reason, I've always seen images in the media of people stressed out and upset during the holidays. As an adult, I've heard time and time again people complain about present shopping or stress or family or whatever. I can't count how many people I've heard utter relief at the end of the holiday season.

I think that sucks.

No one is putting a gun to anyone's head and forcing them to celebrate. The holidays are about family, togetherness, fun, happiness, and a lot of other stuff (depending on your religious bent) that is primarily good. You should be aware of the stress you bring into the house and how it effects the kids who just want to have an enjoyable season.

We try to have a pretty simple holiday, as far as presents are concerned. We don't want to bring a bunch of unwanted stuff into our house which is already crowded with too much. We try to limit what we get the kids to a toy, a game, a book, and whatever Santa decides to stuff they're stockings with. But then we pick up an extra thing here or there. And then our families send presents. So we do end up having an obscene amount of gifts under the tree.

I want my kids to feel the giving part of it, too. We donate a toy to a toys-for-tots program and let them pick it out. But as far as giving presents to other family members, they just can't keep secrets.

I can't even take these kids shopping with me when I'm looking for things for Mom because they'd spill the beans with enthusiasm the moment we get home. So we try to get them excited about other people's presents through a different means.

Decorating the present is a great way that they can take pride in gift-giving without giving up all the surprise. I wrap my wife's presents in brown paper and let them have at it with markers, stamps, stickers, and whatever else they want. Then, when Mom sees them, they are excited to show them off and take part of the credit for the gift as a whole.

When I was little, we used to make wrapping paper. We'd pick up a roll of butcher paper (I asked for some today at my grocery store and I swear the dude almost hit me before saying no; I have no idea what made him so angry) and make stamps to decorate the paper. We'd cut potatoes and apples into candy canes, stars, Christmas trees, and whatever else we wanted. We'd dip the stamps in paint and have at it.

There are lots of ways to get your kids involved in the holidays without emphasizing the commercial aspects. Cookie decorating, ornament making, greeting card designing, and a million more ideas that I'm sure are floating out there in your family's traditions.

The important thing is this: slow down, have fun, and look through their eyes. Take a look at what values you're modeling when it comes to the holidays and be sure to model them thoughtfully. Presents are a highlight, yes, an exciting interpretation of love and family that a kid can understand, grasping in reality rather than thinking in abstraction. With kids, showing is much more communicable than telling. Don't focus and fret on the metaphor and forget to show them what it's really about.

What to Expect during the Third Trimester

noreply@blogger.com (Sol Smith) — Tue, 16 Dec 2008 17:30:00 +0000

Here we are, finding ourselves in the third trimester of pregnancy. I didn't write much about the second trimester, as it remained in our lives pretty uneventful as far as growing humans from scratch goes. But the third trimester, much like the first, is really hard to ignore; the changes and growth in this period beg for attention. Towards the end of the last trimester, the baby is gaining around a pound a week.

We've recently gotten to the point where not only can I feel the baby kick and move, but I can see it as well. Even with all of that interaction, it just can't seem real for me except in small flashes of reality being grasped in the remote parts of my mind. On an intellectual level, sure, I've been down this road before, it ought to be solid as anything in my mind. But on a bodily level, no, I just can't quite believe it.

While, as a husband, I get the pleasure of watching it grow from a distance, for the wife, things get downright troublesome. There are times just sitting around that I hear my wife grunt or exhale a soft moan. When I ask her what's wrong, the answer is usually that the baby kicked her in her stomach or bladder. And the baby isn't used to arbitrary distinctions like "day" or "night."

We're also at the point where the lost hours of sleep seem to manifest themselves as trips to the bathroom. Before we leave the house, my wife pees. When we get to the store, she pees. Before we leave the store, pee. At the restaurant, there may be 3 begrudging trips to the public 'throom. A husband can only imagine what a pain it is for a girl to pee in the first place, much less tripling the necessary times.

Tiredness. The tiredness has set in completely. Our two-year-old can out walk my wife. And something as simple as breakfast can drain her of energy some days.

But there is a certain amount of collateral effects from the third trimester in the husband's lifestyle. Besides offering support and sympathy during those trying times of discomfort, a husband must weather the storm of nesting.

When I was little, we had a golden retriever. She got pregnant when I was in the sixth grade and it was the first time I realized what a natural process the whole birth thing is. Not only in the strikingly magical way that she knew how to give birth and take care of helpless puppies, despite reading nothing about it, being told by no one, and never seeing it done by any of her peers, but also in the ways it worked through her before birth.

She was never a digger. Never. But all of a sudden, swollen with 10 puppies, she started finding shady spots in the yard to dig holes. Deep holes. Three and a half feet deep. Her body was telling her to make a den for her to give birth in and raise her kids. She at last accepted our substitute of a large refrigerator box and stopped desecrating the yard.

My wife is now digging holes of her own; not in the bizarre literal sense, of course. She's started, very subtly, her nesting. I know it will get stronger and become more of a daily tolerance for me.

There might be a sudden concern for paint on walls, or a rearrangement of furniture, shopping for tiny clothes, and sudden and consistent mentions of "being ready." Of course, being ready is a subjective term and I am of the understanding that there is no such thing as being ready for a baby until that baby is about six months old.

In the meantime, solidarity with the one growing your young may involve what sometimes seems like arbitrary organizational tasks. Roll up your sleeves and take it. Your usual routine will be plenty disturbed in the coming months anyway, get used to it.

The wonderful thing about all the discomfort and inconvenience of the third trimester is that you get ready not only to have a baby, but to be rid of the pregnancy. The loss of sleep thing? Nature's ways of getting you ready for a baby who won't be letting you get any sleep. The tiredness is small potatoes compared to the supernatural levels of tiredness you feel in those first few weeks. All those trips to the bathroom are simple compared to all the diaper changing. Those honey-dos can't touch the urgency of a baby crying.

Yep, it all makes sense. While we're in the first few weeks of the third trimester, I keep remembering that it gets heavier, harder, and just plain worse. The pleasure of meeting our new son or daughter is right around the corner, though, so we have much to look forward to.

ETA: The crying! How could I forget the crying? My wife usually as eyes of steel; nothing, it seems, can melt them into liquid. But when she's pregnant, OMG. She cries when she sees a majestic bird flying by. Today she cried thinking about snow (which we don't have here in he suburb of hell). I happen to think it's kind of cute, and it's all I can do to keep from giving her a hard time about it.

I just can't imagine how I didn't think of this when writing the original post.

An Open Letter to the Children's Television Workshop Concerning Breastfeeding

noreply@blogger.com (Sol Smith) — Fri, 12 Dec 2008 01:06:00 +0000

I grew up watching Sesame Street. My mom loved to watch with each and every one of us. For a long time, it was the only show that my daughter liked to watch. I find the general values of show to be responsible and well-meaning. Especially valuable to me is the normalization of reading; often characters are introduced into a scene who just happen to be passing the time with a book. But I do have a concern.

Sesame Street is a model for all young children. One morning I watched an episode that contained no less than 11 babies (or monster babies) being bottle fed. I think it is indecent of Sesame Street to depict these images. While I understand that the epidemic is to the point where bottlefeeding is the rule and not the exception, I think Sesame Street has a responsibility to show breastfeeding.

I understand that for the most part, a bottle is shown to establish that a character is a baby. It is a simple prop of babydom, along with the bonnet and pacifier. The bonnet is hardly used in the real world anymore, but it is still a basic necessity to making a puppet look like some kind of baby. I encourage a revision of your use of the bottle for the same ends. I find it useless and thoughtless.

Breastfeeding is normal. There is nothing about it that is in poor taste. There is nothing embarrassing about it. It is the single, unrivaled best way for a child to be fed. This should be pointed out to every child in America. Especially in minority groups, there is not enough breastfeeding. Sesame Street has set the standard for early childhood education and programming, and is usually way ahead of the pack when it comes to health and lifestyles. Please make sure you blaze a trail for this generation of children.

Bottle feeding was normalized through the media. While some of these normalization tactics (such as washing hair more than once a month) can be very helpful, other things that have been made normal by the endless appearance in houses and movie theaters can be harmful; cigarrette smoking, racial stereotypes, and the limitation of what it is to be a girl all come quickly to mind. It's time that we ended the reign of bottle feeding as the primary method that a baby eats by in the media. You can lead the way.

Certainly I'm not suggesting that you need to go out of your way to show breastfeeding. And no, I'm not making a call to initiate the normalization of the monster boob. But you can at least stop the thoughtless use of the baby bottle as a prop. Be more creative, be more socially responsible. But don't shy away from showing breastfeeding. Don't censor it as if it were vulgar or abnormal.

While, admittedly, we no longer watch broadcast television, I am a longtime fan of your show. We own a couple volumes of "Old School" Street on DVD and I enjoy the walks down memory lane of where I got so many values framed and modeled. Be on the right side with this one.

Our family Pet and Protector

noreply@blogger.com (Sol Smith) — Fri, 05 Dec 2008 01:35:00 +0000

The decision to have a pet is a tough one. It's pretty permanent, involves lots of work and housekeeping, and it effects almost every aspect of your family's life. That said, there are tons of advantages to having the hairy beasts around, if you're set up to take care of them.

My wife and I had been living together for nine months or so when my parents' dog had puppies. She's a white German Shepard and had a full litter of white pups. And we swore, swore to all we held dear, that we wouldn't get one.

We were living in an apartment upstairs. If we were going to have a dog, we'd have to move to a downstairs unit. My wife had just started taking classes at the college where I had just started teaching my very first professor gig. We already had one grumpy cat that my wife got before she met me. There was no room in our lives for the complication, the trouble, the training. We just couldn't get a dog.

You've already guessed, I'm sure, that we got one. We visited my folks and one little puppy won us over. My parents were calling him Tiny Tim. He was the smallest of the male pups and the friendliest. We caved in and accepted him as a Christmas present from my folks. We changed his name to Blitzen and he's been in the family ever since then.

Raising a dog is hard work. Really! It was three years before we had kids and the most time-consuming activity we had ever had. He understood the whole potty training thing right from the start, but his energy level was outrageous. He chewed things, got into things, and even tore apart our couch one night while we were out to eat. At times, we almost felt prisoner to this little puppy.

Years later, we'd laugh at ourselves when we looked back at how busy we thought we were with him. Yes, it was time consuming, and yes, he was energetic, but no, he was nothing near as all-encompassing as having a baby around. By the time a puppy is ready to leave his mom, he's already more self-sufficient.

Blitzen is in love with our daughters. From the minute we brought Solstice home, he has been preoccupied with them. He plays with them well, does his tricks for them, and even sleeps outside their bedroom door to watch them while they sleep at night. In every way, he is a member of our family.

Blitzen, as already states, is a German Shepard. I can't recommend this breed enough. His hair rests in gentle snow-drifts around the house when we don't sweep, so that's a pain. But he is kind and gentle with the kids and very protective of his home and family.

We didn't know he was protective, not really. He was always nice to everyone he ever met. But we discovered just how protective he was one day about two years ago.

My wife had left with the kids to go to a baby shower. I was just coming home. We talked on the phone for about 20 minutes before I got to the empty house. I opened the door to an unimaginable mess in our living room: the blinds were ripped off the windows, the coat rack toppled to the ground, the walls scratched up, and most of all, blood was everywhere.

Standing in the middle of the living room, wagging his tail, was Blitzen. His face and paws were covered with blood and he had meat stuck under his nails.

We pieced together what had happened: someone saw my wife leave and broke into the house. There, he met our dog. He scrambled to get out the windows and finally escaped out the door, which was chewed up to the point of needing replacing. The guy had already cleaned out three other houses on our street before getting into our house. You can read the newspaper article about the incident here.

Technically, no one in my family had their life in danger that day. Well, I could have come home in the middle of the burglary, but at least my wife and kids weren't there. But it easily could have been otherwise! Just a few weeks earlier, a series of home-invasions had struck the community--women and children were tied up while the house was ransacked in two houses in our neighborhood.

We've loved Blitzen very much as a pet, but it was then that we realized we had something more; we had a protector that would stop at nothing to make sure his family is alright. While he's scared of thunder, he didn't balk for a second when an intruder came in the door. I am always grateful to know that he is there at home when I'm off at work.

We have another dog now, too. We adopted a mutt (who looked like a shepard) last January. Little Vixen is some kind of beagle mix, very goofy, and much more skiddish than her big brother. And even though she's still doing those puppy things that can get old real fast, we're glad to be a family of people and pets.

Quantity over Quality

noreply@blogger.com (Sol Smith) — Wed, 26 Nov 2008 13:29:00 +0000

It's always at this time of the semester--two weeks till the end--that I'm blinded by busyness. There's grading to be done, papers to write, meetings to attend, and holidays to plan. In the wash of things, I find myself being quiet at home (or, rather, my wife finds me being quiet) and relatively inactive. Once this comes to the forefront of my mind, I remember my priorities, try to leave work at work (at least until the kids go to bed, then I buckle down), and try to be fully present while home.

When I look back at the memories I have from when I was as old as my kids (2-4) there are some stand outs: my birthdays, Christmases, my sisters being born, and the like. But besides those special dates, much of my memories are wrapped up in normal days. Taking my brother to school and counting the minutes till he came home; my dad coming in the door from work; playing in the back yard; going shopping. After all, these "regular days" make up most of my life.

And it's also these regular days that make up most of our emotional memories. It's these regular days that are so important to our kids and their development.

I was lucky that my parents were never divorced. I understand that there are plenty of situations out there when a divorce may improve the quality of a kid's life, but it never would have been the case for me. Growing up, by the time I was in high school, most of my friends lived in families torn by divorce; most stuff kept at their mom's houses with stripped-down bedrooms waiting for them every other weekend at their dad's house.

Almost always, their dads tried to make up for things by spending "quality time." I understand the impulse with every fiber of my being; if I only got to see my kids every so often, I'd want each time to be a memorable event, trapped in the amber of their minds never to deteriorate. But that would not and does not make up for all the time spent apart.

It's the minutia of our everyday life that affects us. Our children see us as a model for adulthood (and life) every moment they're around us, not just as we shuttle off to Disneyland or the fair. Surely those big moments are important, but they will never be outweighed by the quiet moments at home, playing Hi-Ho-Cherri-O or reading books or playdough or drawing with chalk on the driveway or grocery shopping.

Incidentally, I imagine that it goes this way with marriages, too. Women want involvement every day, not just when the week closes, two precious days before we clock back in to work. Time spent together cooking, talking, playing video games, working around the house: this is quality time, no matter how mundane we may be driven to see it. My wife and I have made a ritual of a couple times a week sitting out in the garage after the kids have gone to sleep, her throwing pottery and me noodling on guitar. It not my subpar music that brings us together so much as the chance to just be with each other for a while.

My brother and I had a weekly ritual in college. We called it our "quality time." No matter how busy we got with school and homework and social lives, we always spent Monday nights together. Even if we spent the entire weekend at the beach with friends, it was just the two of us on Mondays. My brother didn't even answer the phone at this time (something I still can't believe). And what did we do? We watched WWF wrestling while eating Little Cesear's Pizza (the Monday special across the street from our apartment was five bucks for a large pizza and a two liter of Pepsi and we each indulged in our own). It was a ridiculous ritual; we could have chosen to do anything, exciting things, expensive things, big things. But sitting together for two hours while Stone Cold Steve Austin battled it out against Vince McMahon was a fine time for two brothers to talk about their week together.

Consider this during the holidays. The "special" times will never be as special as the actual time.

Merry Christmas...Already?

noreply@blogger.com (Sol Smith) — Fri, 14 Nov 2008 16:32:00 +0000

Last year was the earliest it every happened to me. It was September 10th. I was in a Barnes and Noble looking for a certain Kerouac book and started humming along with a familiar tune. Half way through Jack's section when I realized what I was humming: We Three Kings. The date again: September 10th.

Was it a mistake, I wondered? But the following song was none other than Bing Crosby, crooning those famous words about snow and Yule. And it was in Houston where the average temperature in September is in the upper 90s.

Has the world gone insane? Do we really start celebrating Christmas right after the back-to-school sales?

The short answer is, Yes, yes it has gone insane.

This year the mall in our little suburban stronghold was fully X-massed out on October 29th. The decorations were up in "town square" (a ritzy shopping center made to look like a street) the same day. They built the gigantic Christmas tree there this past weekend.

Maybe I'd be more in the mood if I lived in Vermont where it has snowed already. Maybe I'd be more excited if we had to lite a fire in the fireplace to stay warm. Or maybe I'm wrong; just because we live in the hottest place in the States doesn't mean that Christmas must be absent, after all. Just because I'll be sporting shorts and a t-shirt on Christmas Eve doesn't mean Santa passes us by. And I'm no humbug, believe me. So it must just be too damn early.

I read somewhere that part of the blame of moving the holiday machine to the fore rests on the whole economy deal. Businesses are afraid things are going to get worse, and since Thanksgiving rests on the latest possible date this year, they want us to spend our money as soon as possible, without regard to what things will look like when the ball drops next January.

But we are trying to keep things simple. Not because we need to save money--though that's a nice benefit--but because we don't want to drown the specialness of the holidays in merchandise. Presents are a great way to highlight a celebration, and certainly something that I always looked forward to as a kid. But, to me, the holidays are about family, togetherness, happiness, and unity. It used to be a great way for a people to face the coldest and longest nights of the year with optimism, hope, generosity, and laughter. For my family, it's a time to invest in each other, to show care beyond routine, to practice putting each other first, to make a point to wallow in each other's company.

While gifts are a great part of that, I hope that they don't overshadow it. I read a great book last year called Unplugging the Christmas Machine and it spoke to me a great deal. I always think it sucks to hear people complain about the holidays being stressful. They're missing the point. I have never been and never will be stressed out because of the holidays. I enjoy going out and seeing shoppers frantically search for parking spots and presents--I hope I don't delight too much in their misfortune. But the crowds actually make me happy because I strain to see the other side of their consumerism and stress: some part of them is spending their life-energy to benefit someone they care about. Even if they miss the point, I relish in it.

When buying gifts, it helps that my daughters don't watch any TV commercials. It helps that my wife doesn't buy into the notion of gems and metals kept artificially expensive mean I care about her. I have found wonderful handmade jewelry for her in the past that speaks volumes more to her tastes and maintains social responsibility, integrity, creativity, and so much more. My kids delight in simple dolls, dollhouses, books, and tools for creative projects.

So take a moment this pre-holiday season to focus your family on what is important. Explain the meaning of the holidays as your tradition sees fit and focus on that. Speak to the meaning of gifts and make sure that you don't indulge in them so much that you get stressed, that the kids get too much clutter they don't really want, and you end up with too little money. Talk about these things now, before the season actually arrives.

Why We should Vote

noreply@blogger.com (Sol Smith) — Tue, 04 Nov 2008 14:08:00 +0000

12 years ago, my parents took the four of us "kids" to Europe. We spent most of our time in Germany and England. While walking around London, we would stop frequently to look at the various statues and monuments that pepper the streets. Stopping at one of them really gave me quite a surprise. It was a statue of George Washington.

Really? I thought. A statue of a general who beat their country in a war? It seemed unprecedented. We would never erect a statue to Benedict Arnold or George III. What were they doing with that thing?

People always seem to forget that George Washington wasn't just the first president of the United States, but the first president in the world. Period. It had never been done before that. And in the long days before the ratification of the Constitution--or even the articles of confederation--the people were restless to know who--or what--was going to govern the country.

The troops camped out on the shores, having just rid our country of the Red Coats, came up with a plan to hurry things along. They would march on Philadelphia, take over this meeting of intellectuals, and put George Washington up as King of America.

Well, when George found out about this, he was pissed. He told his troops that we didn't get rid of George the Third to have George the First.

It was unheard of. He actually turned down the chance to be King. And when George III back in England heard of this, the rumor is that he literally fell on his ass in disbelief. How could someone turn down that much power? Turns out, he really admired Washington after that.

And after two terms, when Washington stepped down(!), the 1796 election was the first peaceful transfer of power in history. And in 1800, when Vice President Jefferson beat sitting President Adams, it was a true test of our democracy--that the president peacefully stepped down after losing an election (to his own VP, nonetheless).

I guess what I'm saying is this: we forget what a brave and new idea the presidency was back then. And really, we're not that far removed. The country is constantly reinventing itself and reinventing what freedom means.

I'm a cynical person, so I hear you when you complain that freedoms have been limited recently. But look: slavery ended, women got the right to vote, the Civil Rights movement, the voting age lowering to 18 so that draftees could vote; these are all major strides that the country has taken in the past, and there is no reason that this country can't make other great strides in the future.

That's where your vote comes in.

Don't listen to the polls. Don't say, "Well, my states going Red or Blue with or without me, so why should I vote either way?" That doesn't give the democratic process any respect. The vote should reflect the will of the people, and even if that means that you don't get to give electoral votes to your candidate of choice, you should let your opinion be heard.

I've voted in four elections now (Jeez, I'm getting old). And--at least in the first three--I've never voted for the winner. Actually, I never even voted for second place, either. Last time, my candidate didn't even pull up a distant third.

How my vote goes this year, we'll have to wait and see.

But please, take the time to go out and vote. If you haven't registered, vote anyway. Fill out a provisional ballot and register at the polling place. Take part in the brave experiment that voting is.

I Love Halloween

noreply@blogger.com (Sol Smith) — Fri, 31 Oct 2008 00:32:00 +0000

For years and years I had an October tradition: I would read Ray Bradbury's Something Wicked This Way Comes to get in the spirit of Halloween. It's not really a story about the holiday, so much as it is a song of October. It captures the fel of the autumn leaves under your feet and the eerie lengthening of night. But after a 10 or so years, I could recite it page by page and I had to take a few years off. I guess you could say that longing for more books about the October transformation of the world prompted me to write my own book about it.

Of course it's not just about the reading. The adoption of a frightening personality and the subsequent acquisition of confections was a big part of it, too.

When we were kids, Trick-or-Treating was something to think about all year long. As soon as our doors closed shut for the night and my brother and I tore off our sweaty rubber masks, we would start talking about what we were going to be next year. In college, my roommate and I turned pumpkin carving into an elaborate (and expensive) artform.

The year before our first child was born, my wife and I spent a good $200 on costuming and make-up to make the best costumes we ever had in our lives to wear while we handed out candy. And now that we do have kids, everything has come full circle and Trick or Treating is back in vogue.

But it was really the year that we dressed up as vampires that I first noticed the strong opposition some people had against Halloween. Our next-door neighbors (actually, the people who shared our duplex) saw us dressed as we were and refused to speak to us for months. I started noticing all the Trick or Treat "alternatives" being offered at churches and schools. And while my elementary school had a Halloween costume parade through the neighborhood when I was younger, I learned that they obliterated the word "Halloween" and told kids to dress as their "favorite character from literature" without offering any reason why on October 31st.

I can't stand the constant reminders that you need to be "safe." In my neighborhood, kids go out and play every night--at least this night they have their parents around and everyone should be looking out for them. And Snopes has a good article speaking to why you dont' have too much to be afraid of your Halloween candy.

I guess this isn't new. My parents, I'm sure, could tell stories about opposition in their times. Heck, there was opposition thousands of years ago! But I guess that's kind of comforting; it's been around forever and it's not going anywhere.

Being very interested in the holiday, I've spend a bit of time researching its roots. It's fascinating to see how a ceremony of death, harvest, endings and beginnings can run through so many cultures in so many different ways. And while its roots are dark, creepy, and revolve around death, I just can't find anything evil about it.

Even in its most roucus forms the holiday really perpetuates the goodness of our kind. The fact that we dress as demons and monsters isn't a form of devil worship so much as it is a testiment to free will: we show the world we can act however we want, be murderers, pirates, beasts, but that we choose not to (at least 364 days of the year). For those reasons, I really support not the dawning of commercial characters or role-playing as firemen and princesses, but the adoption of that which morbidly fascinates us. At least that's much more in the spirit of things.

We went to a pumpkin patch this past weekend that had a cornfield maze and a jack-o-lantern walk during the night time. My daughters were a bit scared of those elements, but I am content to let them be scared. I tell them that being scared at Halloween is fun: we toy with the ideas of fright and recognize how vacant it is most days of our lives.

But then again, they're both being princesses for Halloween.

While our current version may be much more commercial than I'd like it to be, the fact that it does make money for the big-wigs may at least serve the purpose of keeping it around and popular in the modern age. There are many sects of Paganism that still treat the date as New Years: a time to banish what didn't like about the past year, letting them drop away from your life like leaves, and adopt new ideas for the rebirth. And much as Easter still contains elements of Paganism that are really hard to explian relating to our modern interpretations, the commercial elements perpetuate them, for better or for worse.

I find it easy to embrace many sides of the holiday. In a culture where we hide death and fear away as best we can, it's a time when we can bridge conversations with our families about them. And though we spent way too much money on costumes, pumpkins, and candy, we can thank those elements for keeping old traditions in the mainstream.

Whatever your family's Halloween traditions, I hope you all have a good one!

Learning how to Lose

noreply@blogger.com (Sol Smith) — Sun, 26 Oct 2008 19:23:00 +0000

Too often in my life, I've been witness to highly respectible people being down in the dumps, upset, and downright angry when they're favorite college football team loses. And they--very strangely--swell up with pride when they find that same favorite group of 18-22 year old underacheiving students with more points on the board than the other team when the clock runs out. And in both cases, I just don't get it.

I was playing HiHo Cherry-O with my daughters yesterday. And when Solstice was within one blueberry of winning, she spun a "spilled bucket." This, of course, meant that she was back to square one, haing to empty her bucket back onto the tree. You know, like in real blueberry picking.

Without much respect for the real-life situation of spinning a spilled bucket, she threw a massive fit. She wanted to win, she said. If she wanted to be happy, well, she had to win, she told us over and over. I did not let her get by this; she put her blueberries back on the tree, tears making rivers on her face and wails woven into the fabric of the air.

I felt mean. After all, it's a stupid game. I mean, really, spilling bucket? Do you know how many times each of the three of us spun a spilled bucket during that game? Having a 15% of having to start over every spin means that a game can go on just about forever.

Candy Land is another dumb game. I used to love it--I mean love it--when I was little. But now I see that all you need to do is shuffle the cards, decide how many players are going to play, and the game is already over; the end is predestined. There's no skill involved at all--whatever card comes next decides how many blue squares you go or how many spaces you skip if it's a special card. And every time I just pray that one of my daughters will get that blasted Princess Frostie card and advance the game to the final round.

I don't mean to be impatient with their games. After all, they love them. But what they don't see is that the overall value of these games can be boiled to one learned skill: how to lose.

I went to a very small middle school that specialized in the fine arts. We were good at those things; I never once lost a jazz band competition. But man, did we ever stink at sports.

And we wanted to be good at them. We knew what it was like to win, but it never happened in those oh-so-valuable physical contests. One might excel at a solo sport, like a track event or wrestling, but team sports were--much like Candy Land--decided before the first whistle: we were going to lose.

But there was something valuable in this. We were all good sports. We enjoyed the game and when we would pull ahead in baseball, or spike the ball in volleyball, we'd go wild. The excitement was not only invigorating, but did it ever make the other team mad. So what if we hit a solo homerun? We were still 12 points behind! Why were we so infuriatingly happy about it?

And man, when we'd win, we'd talk about it for a month.

We were liberated in sports from the importance of it all. We were able to see why sports were fun in the first place and it had nothing to do with winning. It had to do with pushing yourself, getting better, and accomplishing what you didn't think you could just a few weeks ago. We were excited about small accomplishments of our teammates. And when we'd lose, the bus ride home would be filled with happiness, laughter, and storytelling.

This ended when we all transfered to bigger high schools and learned the oneness of winning all over again. We learned that when you lost, bus rides home were spent in quiet self-condemnation. Or else you had to run a mile before getting into the locker room.

You try and guess which one was more fun.

So when four of us play HiHo Cherry-O, three of us are going to lose. And it's the loser's job to be excited for the winner. And when I kick myself for unknowingly drawing Princess Frostie and all but slaughtering my toddlers in Candy Land, I need to remember what's really at stake.

If the game weren't fun, there'd be no reason to win. And if it is fun, there's no shame in losing. If it's not fun, there's no sense in playing.

I just have to keep asking myself: when will my kids be ready for Chutes-N-Ladders?

Bringing Home Bad Habits

noreply@blogger.com (Sol Smith) — Tue, 21 Oct 2008 03:24:00 +0000

There's a new daily fight in our house. It's an all-out war that is guaranteed to end in hurt feelings, yelling, screaming, crying, and ruined feelings. It's about who is going to be the "line leader" when we leave the house.

They run. They push. They grab. They try and scare each other by lying about spiders or ants near the door. Yes, these are my angels of two and three. My older daughter is actually distraught when we get to a red light and are not the line leader of the light. She suggests that we turn or wait so we can be. Where did they get this idea that they need to be the first one out the door? God knows that their mother and I don't model this behavoir. And they can't possibly get it from TV.

They got it from "The little school."

They go to daycare at the college twice a week for a couple hours so that my wife can attend classes while I'm teaching classes. It's reasonably priced, run by people very vested in education, and its rarity in the week gives my daughters a strange sense of importance, being away from us.

But this line leader fight has got to stop. It has to, really.

I tried detracting from the importance of being the line leader. I tried to show why it had no real value, since the second and even third or fourth person out the door leaves within the same span of five seconds. That didn't work.

I tried initiating turns, encouraging them to be excited for the other one when it was her turn. That didn't work.

I tried letting the first girl out, closing the door, electing the second girl line leader, and opening it again. That fell flat. And nothing made them scream louder than when I decided that I was the all-time line leader for the rest of their natural lives.

I've installed a socialist regime in regards to who gets to be the line leader. One cannot become line leader by deeds alone. We have a chalk message board by the door and everyday I will write the designated line leader's name on the board. The board will guide us through our weeks. All will put their faith in the wisdom of the board.

If this doesn't work, I'm taking the damn door off.

But really, this whole line leader thing, as bad as it is, is just the tip of the iceberg. Hell, the other day, Solstice said she wanted a Barbie for her birthday--a Barbie! Where in the hell did she learn about those? I've gone through great pains to keep the secret of our patriarchal society hidden deep in the shadows of the ether. But the word is out, they know who Barbie is. (It turns out they read a Barbie book at little school. Wha-what? I thought this was about education!)

This is all thanks to their favorite weekly activity, going to little school.

I know, I get it, I'm overprotective, I'm sheltering, I'm trying to control their cognitive realities to match an idealized version of my own vision of the world. It's easy for me to justify since I'm someone who doesn't believe in an unconditional reality, but a socially constructed one. But what's with this whole conforming to the lowest denominator thing? Can we not make better decisions than the mass media does about how our children should view the world?

Like I said, this is the tip of the iceberg for us. In so many realms, peers influence children so much more than their parents do. Children of parents with strong accents don't grow up to reflect them if their peers don't have the same accents.

So I have to stick with other ideals of mine. I have to see this whole line leader thing as an opportunity; a chance for me to practice making the worlds of our home life mesh with the worlds of their social lives. I never thought it would be easy, but I was banking on Mattel going out of business by now.