Category Archives: Papa Prattle

Jan 15 6 comments
Papa Prattle

All that glitters

Recently, my 10 year old son shared with me that he might want to be an actor when he grows up. I cringed when he said it, but told him I would support whatever decision he made when the time came. I explained to him that celebrity puts you under a very public microscope and that if you are a big name celebrity your flaws are enlarged and your private life is basically non-existent. Your best bet would be to shoot for being a B or C list celebrity, this way you still get paid, but the papparazzi don’t hassle you as much.

He’s a great kid, well liked by his peers, and adults get a kick out of his good manners and respect for his elders. My wife and I get compliments all the time. I guess I should just hold on to these memories because if he ever makes it in the vicious cesspool that is “Hollywood” all I’ll have are memories.

I try not to listen to all the hype when the “media” pounces on a celebrity’s misstep/missfortune, but it’s difficult to ignore when it’s blared on all channels/stations all the time. The most recent victim of media-rhea is Tiger Woods.

Don’t misunderstand me. I know he screwed up, and it was all his fault, but couldn’t he have fallen from grace without the dirt diggers throwing away their trowels and replacing them with diesel powered backhoes to find #13, or #17, or whatever number he is up to? His disgrace should be a very private matter between a married couple and really, no one elses business. Now with all the press, and humiliation this has caused his wife and her family there will be less chance for this family to heal. Again, I am not condoning his actions, but forgiveness and repentance might have stood a fighting chance without the limelight.

If Mr. Woods worked at Walmart stocking shelves and golfed only on the weekends for fun I don’t think he would be married to his current wife (I doubt she would have given him a second look), and I doubt the media would care, or even have known, if he was promiscuous. Sometimes it’s good to be a “nobody”.

Looks like I went somewhat off tangent there. I guess I just want my son to know that all that glitters isn’t gold, and if you rub the luster off of celebrity it is the most tarnished piece of faux jewelry that carries a hefty price tag. I love him too much to see his potential future failings, whose fires will be stoked by celebrity to begin with, broadcast throughout a media hungry world.

Jan 07 6 comments
Humor Central, Papa Prattle

Between the lines

I haven’t used an alarm clock for almost six years. The kids have been serving this purpose quite well for some time now. This all changed within the last few months though.

Typically I could count on Ava (5) or Jada (3) waking up between 5:45 and 6:15. This was perfect for me. At the latest I need to be up by 6:30 and out of the house by 7:15. Sure, I could get out quicker if need be but I hate to rush my mornings and I do quite well on little sleep, depending on who you ask. The last few months though they’ve been sleeping later, staggering from their room closer to 6:30 or 6:45. It was on one of these late mornings when Ava had asked about the lines.

I was rushing to get my laptop into its case when Ava called from the kitchen, “Daddy, what are those lines?”

“What lines? What are you talking about?”

“Those lines, right there!” she said.

I love it when kids do this. They reference something that is clearly in sight but fail to be specific enough for you to know what it is they are referring to and then they get exasperated because of your cluelessness.

“Ava, you’re going to need to point at what you’re talking about or describe it better because “lines” just doesn’t tell me enough.”

At this point she pushed her chair away from the table (I mentioned exasperated right?) and makes her way over to me. By this time I’ve collected most of what I need to make it out the door and am getting my shoes on. My own bit of exasperation is mounting.

“These lines” she says as her hand touches my face just outside my eyes.

“Oh, those lines.” I reply, grinning.

“That’s cool! I can see them better now.” she expounded.

“Well, that’s because you made me smile. They’re called smile lines. I have them because you and your sisters make me smile so much.”

“I want lines too” she said.

“Soon enough kiddo. Soon enough”

I couldn’t bring myself to tell her they are also called crow’s feet. I give my kids enough reason to ridicule me. Intentionally loading them up with ammunition just doesn’t seem wise.

lines

Nov 15 11 comments
Papa Prattle

The cul de sac

The cul de sac hasn’t moved in all the time we’ve been here. This may seem like an odd observation but the cul de sac hadn’t been here when we found this place we call home. Maybe this is why it holds some of its magic because it came after us, because it needed us to be here first.

The oldest among our small tribe, Ava, had just left for a 4H meeting with her mother. A meeting her mother has waited years for as it was the first she would be taking a daughter of her own to. Her mother loved 4H as a child and remembers fondly the impression it left on her own childhood. To share this with her own kin, one as interested in animals and service as she was special indeed. However, this writing is not about that 4H meeting or the bonding between mother and daughter, rather it is about what happened after they left.

We stood at the door. The baby, Tessa, in the crook of my left arm and the three year old, Jada, leaning against my leg. We waved as the car moved past the house and out of site. Jada looked up at me and asked, “What special thing are we going to do today Daddy?”, a fine question. It was a beautiful day outside and wasting it indoors felt like a crime. We moved to the closet and gathered up sweatshirts and fall coats. Jada commented on kicking up the fallen leaves beneath her swing and Tessa jumped and squealed in my arms as she became aware we were heading outdoors.

The backyard and swing set held the allure they always do, a safe place for the kids to run while never far from the watchful eye of their parents. This was our first stop. Jada has a deep preference for the see-saw swing and wasted no time as she pleaded for me to push her “SO SO SO SO High”. Tessa was relegated to the hard red plastic of her baby swing and looked adoringly toward her older sister.

This November day was the kind only a Michigander can truly appreciate. The air held crisp and the sky shone blue. Clouds moved lazily through the spacious sky, not wanting to touch one another. Enjoying their own quiet meanderings without having to partake in the gossip and frivolity clouds are accustomed to.

An attentive father can often sense when an activity is nearing its end. Before giving the girls an opportunity to realize they were on the brink of boredom I asked Jada what she would like to do next. “Let’s go on a nature walk.” she said, a fine idea. We gathered up the necessities, loading them into the stroller and began making our way.

126 Our home is three miles from the nearest town. It’s a small town the likes of which wouldn’t exist without the farming community around it. Five miles in the opposite direction is a larger town, one that can even claim a handful of traffic signals and puts on one heck of a fourth of July parade. The parade consists mostly of tractors and the good ole boys that drive them and we’re just fine with that. We enjoy the quiet. Big city folk we aren’t.

A few years ago a new street cropped up roughly a quarter mile from our doorstep. The street stretched about a quarter mile in the warm months. The winter months often leave the end of the road covered in snow drifts making its full distance difficult to navigate. It’s a cul de sac and only a few homes have been built along it. I’m certain the builders had more homes in mind but we all know how the economy exhaled not so long ago and is just beginning to consider drawing breath again. This is where we walk most times because the landscape is rough and the paved road is easy on the stroller. Being close to home doesn’t hurt a bit either.

128 We moved along the street, Jada investigating the landscape and discovering all manner of treasures. There was a clever thing about these treasures. They were disguised as rocks. Each one relatively bland in color and less than fascinating in texture, that is until Jada clothed them in her descriptive words.

“Look Daddy! See how this one shines. I think it might be a diamond.”

“This one is red right here just a little bit. Ruby’s are red right Daddy?”

It should be clear to most that any walk worth its distance cannot be travelled far without a good walking stick. The girls have been taught that a good stick can be carried as a tool, crutch or weapon. This lesson was not lost on Jada, her gaze constantly surveying the side of the road for the right walking stick. Ultimately her perseverance paid off as she found a right proper walking stick indeed. Now sure in her step and well equipped we continued the way forward.

137 Our stroll was unrelenting as we entered the cul de sac. It was eerily quiet as Jada marched headstrong toward some destination unknown to me. She paused to investigate the dirt that met the road and noticed animal prints, prints she were sure belonged to a lion.

“A lion!” I scoffed. “That’s just absurd Jada. You do know we live in Michigan right? There haven’t been lions native to this area for three decades or more.”

“They are lion steps Daddy” she assured me. “We should be careful”.

“Then careful we shall be my girl. Careful we shall be.” I said as I scanned the horizon.

We moved maybe a quarter of the way back toward home when Jada stopped us abruptly. Her index finger in front of her lips as she crouched peering into the tall grass.

“I see it.” She said in her hushed voice.

“The lion?” I asked.

“Yes, don’t move” she whispered while she pushed Tessa’s stroller away with one hand, the other clutching the walking stick. In one fierce motion she brought the walking stick up over her head and yelled something in what could only be described as a tribal tongue and then fell silent. Tessa sat in her stroller staring wide eyed.

“Is everything ok?” I asked.

“Yes” she said. “It was jumping at us but I got it. I killed it.”

I was about to praise her quick and true response to the threat when I heard it. Had the dragon been any closer it may have been too late. The quiet of its wings was almost upon us when I turned. The sword free from its scabbard I slashed the air above my head.

The battle ensued until Jada’s cry broke through. “Noooooo!”

“Jada what’s wrong?” I asked while placing the sword back in its scabbard.

“That was a good dragon Daddy. It wasn’t going to hurt us.” she replied.

“I’m sorry honey. I didn’t know. I thought it was mean” I said, surprised at this turn of events.

“It’s ok Daddy. This one is dead,” she said, “but there are more. Good ones and bad ones.”

“Thanks for understanding Jada”

The remainder of the walk was relatively uneventful. Shortly after we were safely home the oldest girl and her mother found their way home as well. Jada wasted little time filling the two of them in on our adventure. Ava laughed as Jada and I shared in the telling while their mom listened intently.

Jada would throw glances at me as she talked, seeming to look for some nod of agreement.

“You’ve got it just right kiddo” I thought. “That’s just how I remember it.”

Where the lion waits

Aug 27 13 comments
Heart Strings, Papa Prattle, Pointless Posts, Public Service

Warning Will Robinson! Danger! Danger!

Not too long ago I posted about our Chicago vacation. This incident happened while we were at the Shedd Aquarium, and I had forgotten all about it until just a couple of days ago. It’s been on my mind ever since and I wanted to put "pen to paper" before I forgot about it again.

It started out like any normal day at a major attraction. The lines into the building snaked around the facility’s grounds, the sun was beating down on us. Children complained, parents grumbled. Finally getting into the building was a treat. We paid our admission fee and blended into the crowd of stroller pushing shlubs.

We meandered through the aquarium’s many vignettes, alcoves and rooms that peppered the facility until we came to a large enclosure that housed animals of the Pacific Northwest coast. Because it was supposed to emulate the Northwest I looked forward to it being nice and cool. Instead it was hot, crowded and noisy. A very large group of people dressed in bright yellow T-Shirts had taken over the facility and were climbing all over the chairs, handrails and static exhibits, shouting, laughing and yelling as they cavorted around the furniture. There were other people with the same yellow shirts with the words "STAFF", or some other similar word, emblazoned across their shirts scurrying about trying to keep the peace, but because of a combination of the staffers ages, inexperience, and general "outnumbered-ness" they were doing a pretty inefficient job of it.

I took a quick assessment of the situation and realized that the group was made up of individuals of varying ages and mental disabilities. I loosened my jaw and calmed down a bit. I have a difficult time with unruly behavior. I don’t allow my kids to act like wild animals, specially in public, and I expect other parents to do the same. This situation was different however, so I went from rolling boil down to tolerant simmer.

My baby sister belongs to a "Type C" group and they go on field trips all the time. She is considered "High Functioning", similar to some of the aforementioned yellow clad individuals, and is extremely affectionate – sometimes to the chagrin of family members. I am pretty familiar with individuals, and groups, of this nature.

I scanned the main room and found a small observation area tucked away behind a submarine display where we could view the Beluga Whales under water . I navigated my family through the melee and hustled them into the cavern like doorway. I breathed a sigh of relief as we ducked in and I started looking at all the informational plaques and doodads on the wall

imageOnly a couple of minutes went by before I heard exited female voices shouting a boy’s name and "NO! STRANGER, STRANGER!" repeatedly. My parent radar snapped on as I whipped around and looked towards the source of the commotion. I fully expected to see a little boy running towards a group of people he didn’t know as his smother-mother ran after him, instead all I could see was a large, towering, big boned man on the other side of the little room as he lumbered quickly towards me. Two 5′ 2"/ 100 lb. women were wrapped around his waist and arms, trying desperately to keep him from walking in my direction. We locked eyes as he barreled towards me, as oblivious of these two small women as he would have been had he had dryer sheets stuck to his shirt. I reluctantly readied myself for a physical confrontation.

In the few seconds after bracing myself I realized that although he was much larger than I was, and his unblinking gaze looked very determined, he meant me no harm. He wore a yellow shirt, just like the rest of the group, and an inordinately small child’s backpack was strapped to his back. The "dryer sheet’s" shirts helped clue me in also.

He finally reached me and grasped my shoulders as I put my hands on his shoulders to hold him at bay. This finally gained the girls some leverage. He struggled to pull me towards him as one of them caught her composure and sternly said his name along with "He’s a stranger! We don’t hug strangers!" to no avail.

I realized that developmentally he was probably the equivalent of a five year old and only wanted some affection, so I told the girls that it was OK (like there was any difference at this point). I loosened my grip on his shoulder and he gave me a big bear hug (something my sister likes to do to me). I hugged him back and patted his back. After a few seconds he gave me a gentle kiss on the cheek, released his hug, and allowed the girls to easily lead him away from the small crowd that had developed behind us. One girl gently, but firmly, tried to reinforce the "STRANGER!" rule to him as the other, in damage control mode, apologized to me profusely, and thanked me for understanding. I waved off her apology telling her there was nothing to apologize for.

As they walked away I unclenched every joint, and muscle and tried to shrug off the adrenaline. I knew that I had just broken a cardinal rule that the staffers try to reinforce to all their "kids" time and time again, but just saw no other way around the situation. I hoped they understood my position, and I hoped I didn’t just undermine everything they worked so hard to instill in their wards.

I replayed the incident in my mind several times over the course of the day and tried to figure out why he was so focused on hugging me specifically. There were other people in that room, and I am not particularly cuddly or huggable, just ask anybody who knows me (If I were a zoo animal I’d be more of a porcupine, skunk, or possibly even that dung flinging monkey). Of all the people that it could have happened to that day I’m glad, and thankful, it happened to me! Can you imagine how bad it could have been for him had he chosen to hug a jumpy homophobe, jacked up on testosterone, as he tried to impress his cadre of similarly minded, intolerant friends (I saw a few of those in the facility that day). The outcome could have been very, very different.

Jul 17 18 comments
Fatherhood Friday, Heart Strings, Papa Prattle

Lost and Found

ff My wife took our kids to a local water park a couple of weeks ago. I was at work during this excursion, wiling the day away with full certainty the kids would have a great time likely at the cost of my wife’s wits. I was right on both counts.

This particular park does an excellent job of helping parents keep track of their kids. They go so far as to sound an alarm every 15-20 minutes which serves as an opportunity for the kids to exit the water so they can be counted. The lifeguards are pretty relentless about this too. If some kid decides he doesn’t need to get out then no one else goes back in until he does get out. There’s even a drill that takes place in the event a child comes up missing. The parents are asked to lock their arms and wade into the water together (as long as they don’t have small children to tend to) searching and clearing the area directly in front of them. I lean toward the overly cautious side so these steps are just the kind of thing I like to see.

On this day the alarm sounded and kids were counted. Just as everyone was heading back into the water a mother cried out. She couldn’t find her daughter.

My wife and girls were at the park with our neighbor, another mom, and her two boys. They quickly sat the kids down on a blanket and directed them to NOT MOVE. The parents locked elbows and began wading into the water while others began looking in other areas of the park. My wife was looking over her shoulder at our kids almost constantly. The children sat on the blanket. Stock still and wide eyed.

Within minutes the girl was found. She had wandered outside the water area and was just out of sight. She was returned to her mother and I imagine there was a collective sigh among the parents and lifeguards.

When my wife returned to our kids, who still hadn’t moved, our four year old girl Ava asked, “Did you find her?”

“Someone did honey. She’s right over there with her Mommy. Everything is fine. Are you ok?”

Ava looked up and asked, “Kids really do go missing?’”

My wife responded, telling Ava that kids do sometimes go missing and our occasional warnings to she and her little sister are real. She explained that we just want to keep everyone safe and together.

3601377756_d3a1cb002d Ava said she understood and had a great big hug for her mom. The littler one, Jada, was also keen to what was going on and wedged herself in between the two of them.

My wife relayed this story to me on the phone after they had come home and the kids were down for their naps. I was obviously relieved there had been no tragedy’s to report.

When I got home that evening Ava met me at the door. She filled me in on what had happened at the park. The detail she remembered was impressive. The hair color of the girl that had slipped away. The color of her bathing suit. How she had hugged her mom when they were reunited. Ava also told me that “sometimes kids do go missing, Daddy”.

I told her, “I know” and we hugged for a good long time.

This may have been a tough way for her to learn the truth of the dangers that are out there, but I’m grateful she learned.

Jul 15 7 comments
Papa Prattle, Public Service, Tech Talk

ItzaWinner – ItzaBitza

I’m not a gamer. Never have been really. I was moderately interested in good old Mario Bros. for a time and could rock Galaga like there was no tomorrow in my early teen years.  The only console I own is a Wii and that’s just because I won it. I did have a brief stint playing Starcraft but that’s pretty much it. Games haven’t been of much interest to me.

Lately we’ve been introducing Ava, the four year old, to computer games. We started with the basics, Reader Rabbit, Living books (Stellaluna is a favorite) and the like. Most of these games were given to us by family members which is great. Ava wiled away lots of time with these games. Eventually though she became bored with them.

Way back in February, otherwise known as the bowels of Michigan winter, I was looking for quality kids games that were affordable. I happened upon a contest PG was hosting and ended up winning that one too. Trust me, I’m not near as lucky as this post would lead you to believe. The prize in this contest was a copy of ItzaBitza.

ItzaBitza is fabulous software. It took Ava a few months to really get the hang of it. We would let her play for a bit at her own pace and for short amounts of time.  Within the last several weeks she has really wrapped her head around how the game works and is having an absolute blast.

I’m not even crazy about calling it a game. It’s so much more than that. The interaction is unlike anything I’ve seen in a program for a child. Ava can move the mouse over the words in a sentence or instruction and the game reads them to her. This is helping her learn to read as well as improving her accuracy with the mouse. The game tasks her with drawing different things which often place the character into action. She can’t be lazy about it either. The game seems pretty good at detecting a scribble, and discarding it, when it was expecting a house or tree instead. The fun doesn’t end with drawing things either. The items that are drawn can be put into motion much of the time. Imagine a plane your child draws in the game flying across the sky with a simple shake of the mouse. Really excellent.

There have been plenty of reviews written for ItzaBitza so don’t feel like you need to take my word for anything. The software only costs $20 and there’s also a trial version available. Go ahead, kick the tires.

Jul 13 7 comments
Papa Prattle

Growing, weaving, kinship

We were walking from the horse pasture back up to the house. I was leading and the two little girls were walking and talking behind me while I was thinking ahead at whatever task was left to do. This must have occurred early in the fall of 2008 which would have made Ava a new 4 year old with her 2 year old sister Jada always following along after her.

I’m not sure what the two of them had been discussing but I took notice when Ava ran past me without her little sister struggling to keep up.

“Ava, where are you off to?” I called after her. She stopped and turned to meet me. Her hands settled with authority on her hips.

“Jada asked me for help and I don’t want to help her. I’m going inside.” Ava replied with no small amount of attitude.

I glanced back at Jada who didn’t seem bothered by this lack of support. Something else had caught her attention and while she was still following me toward the house the line was no longer straight but moving in and out of the shadows of trees and backyard toys. I knelt to meet Ava’s eyes with my own.

“Honey, Jada is your sister and when she asks for help you need to do what you can to help her. The two of you are going to need help from each other a lot as you grow up.”

She said something to confirm she heard what I said and went off into the house. Jada and I now following her lead.

A week ago my wife and girls met me for lunch at a park near where I work. None of us had been to this park before. The girls had time to play for a bit before I had to head back to work and they back home for naps. Kids and parks have always amazed me. I know this isn’t true of all adults, but when I am in the company of a large group of people my first thought is not “who am I going to make friends with”.  This is, however, exactly how my girls seem to react when entering into a group of their peers.

The girls played together and separately, moving in and out of circles of other kids at the playground. On a few occasions Ava would point out a girl and comment that she looked to be the same age as she. Off she would go to introduce herself and before we knew it she found a core group of girls all 4-5 years old.

Jada had been playing mostly by herself. In and out of the sandboxes, up and down the slides. Eventually she went to seek out her big sister and upon finding her asked if she could play with her. It was at this moment that one of the other kids chimed in to say “only big kids are playing here.” Ava didn’t lose a beat. She turned to the girl, the self proclaimed big kid, and told her, “It’s OK. This is Jada. She’s my little sister.” Ava then turned to Jada and grabbing her hand said, “c’mon Jade. You can play with us.”

theseSistersIt seems Ava has learned to hear Jada’s call for help even when it isn’t said aloud, and Jada has learned she doesn’t always have to ask for it. These girls of mine, these sisters, they’re starting to get it.

Yes they are.

Jul 10 24 comments
Papa Prattle

B(Brain) cells

I visited the Museum of Science and Industry last weekend while on a family vacation to Chicago. While I was there I happened across a booth in the museum where a museum employee was explaining anti forgery techniques the US Mint uses to thwart the illegal replication of US Currency. Something about lab coats and microscopes just draws me in.

As I sat there and listened to the rehearsed spiel and the show-and-tell I realized I was probably the oldest guy in the group. I was amidst raging hormones, 20 something’s and a smattering of wiseacre
10 year olds. I felt old, but enough about that.

As lab coat guy handed out some US currency for us to peer at through the microscope the 20 something beside me chirped “This is blurry!” Lab coat guy and I looked at her incredulously as he said “Turn the little white knob until it becomes clear”.

BrainCellI just shook my head and went about peering through the microscope at different things as my mind raced. I remembered my childhood. One of my fondest memories is playing with my microscope. I would scoop stagnant water out of a pond, or mount a dead fly onto a slide and I would sit there for hours marveling at the minuscule world that existed right under my nose. I felt pity for the person sitting beside me, for her generation and the ones after. Most of them would never know how exhilarating it is to discover things on your own, rather than it being handed to you. I left the museum a few hours later, but that feeling stayed with me for a little while.

A day later we packed the van and started the three and a half hour trek home. Twilight came and as darkness became more pronounced the glowing GPS screen in a passing car piqued my interest. I watched as the facsimile of a road curved on the screen in unison with the real road ahead. It brought back the memory of the microscope incident at the museum. More spoon fed information. Don’t get me wrong, I love technology, but there is something to be said about figuring things out on your own and not being spoon fed by a machine. There are way too many stories of accidents because a person was following the directions on a GPS and slammed into the side of a brick wall that wasn’t supposed to be there (per the GPS unit).

Keep your wits about you and keep them sharp. They are your best tool……. and they don’t require batteries.

ff