i'm not mucking about this summer

Mucking about: to my knowledge it's a British term that's very similar to f**king around or fumbling your way through something. It's what happens when you spend time idly. You would say something like, "stop mucking about in there and let's get out of here" if you wanted somebody to hurry up. Or you would say, "you've been mucking about all summer, now it's time to get ready for school!."

Last summer we had Jack's (British exchange student) parents and siblings visit Memphis during June and July. I worked all summer while Lori and the kids spent time mucking about with the Lambros family. Kenzer and Izzy (Jack's little sister) spent all of their time laying around, swimming and eating. It was disgusting, and I'm not putting up with it this summer.

I'm determined to kick some major ass this time around. I cannot watch my kids screw around all summer with nothing to show for it when it's time to go back to school. The fact of the matter is that last summer they did absolutely nothing and I let them. I can't help but to think that maybe I was the one mucking about, but I promise that I won't be thinking that this year. I've got a plan folks. This will be daddy's summer. Stay tuned.

first time for everything

I've been gone for a while, and for that I apologize. Honestly, I just got bogged down with work and the daily grind. But here I sit, feeling a little relaxed after hours of yard work, drinking a beer on the front porch watching the Tennessee sun make its descent behind the western treeline. It's warm--but not hot--with an occasional breeze. Birds are singing their last songs for the evening, tucking themselves in to rest up for their morning serenade. This is one of the things I love about the south. It is truly a beautiful place, despite the checkered history of so many grotesque and horrible things. As I sit here, I have love for this gorgeous region of our country.

Enough of that. The important thing for the day is that Baby D is growing up. It's inevitable, I know, but it's not always easy. Tonight she is having her first sleepover at a friend's house, and I can't imagine what it will be like tomorrow waking up with here not here. All the other kids have had their first sleepovers, but there is something profound about the last first time. It's the first, but yet it's final. I feel a door closing, and it scares the shit out of me. It lets me know that no matter what I do, all of them will grow up and they will become adults. They will have lives of their own and it's highly probable that they will follow in my footsteps and move to other regions of the country. If they grow to be the people we are striving for them to be, one of them may even leave the country!

If this seems to be an unusual reaction to a sleepover, then I don't care. My youngest and final child is showing signs of independence. If I have to go down deep to that place where I sometimes avoid, I realize that I call her Baby D for selfish reasons. You can read between the lines, because I'm just not ready to go there yet. So I'm signing off tonight feeling much older than I did yesterday. Maybe I should just go and pick her up now...

master of the grill

When I was 14 I ate BBQ for a whole summer. It wasn't as much fun as it sounds; we grilled out just about every day, because my parents could not pay the electric and gas bill. By the third week, I was sick of the taste of charcoal and the smell of bbq smoke. It was a smell that I couldn't shake and it stayed with me all day every day. Anything you can think of, my mom threw it on the grill. I had bbq sausage for breakfast, and bbq chicken for dinner. BBQ pork chops, grilled corn and eggs cooked over an open fire--it actually sounds a bit romantic. In retrospect, my parents were pretty creative with some of the stuff they came up with on that grill. At least we were eating.

For years I couldn't eat at a bbq or cookout without feeling a sweet nostalgic sadness inside. It was just one of those reminders that sometimes life plays cruel jokes on you and brings bad memories back in the midst of a good time.

The weather in Memphis has finally settled down. The air is warm and the sky is blue. Green grass is now creeping in and gaining the advantage on the dormant brown blades that were marking time all winter. It's my favorite time of year. Yesterday I fired up the grill for the first time this year. I sipped rum and coke, and two-stepped to Michael Jackson from time to time. The kids came in and out asking, "is the food done?"

I cannot pinpoint the day, but at some point grilling out became something that I love to do for my family. Maybe it was when I figured out that they look forward to it. I mean, they really look forward to it. I know that they like to eat...that's a given. And my grilling skills get better every year, so I know the food is good. But there's something else. It's a look on their faces, and something about it that makes Lori relax a little bit more than usual. Maybe it's because they know it's a good day, because I'm happy and have time to stand over a fire for several hours. When you have as many people in a house as I do, you remember the times when everyone is in a great mood.

Every once in a while something stirs up memories of childhood. The funny thing about having kids is that the significance of the memories changes for me as the kids get older. Some of the things that used to give me the blues now give me a feeling of victory. So yesterday when I opened up the grill and the smoke enveloped me, I thought of that BBQ filled summer when I was a boy. I thought about how hard it was and how much I wanted things to be normal for our family. Then I looked over to my right, and behind the glass screen door to the kitchen stood Baby D, smiling at me. I smiled back at her, because I felt like I had overcome something major. I had just created a memory. Things come full circle when you least expect it.

holding out

Outside in the driveway today, Pog (my 7 year-old son) and I stood side by side washing our family cars. He was in a pair of rolled up jeans and a Grizzlies jersey, barefoot. At seven years old and all of three feet tall, he was responsible for washing and drying the bottom portion of the cars. As expected, I ended up going over everything he had done, but what's important is that he was out there with me working...voluntarily! Sweet Jesus...the boy may actually like to work.

Anyway, at one point I was washing my rims (no not the cool rims that I want...factory Saturn rims) and I said to Pog, "you know I used to work at a car wash in high school." He looked confused...like he was trying to put pieces of a puzzle together.

"I didn't know that" he said. It was genuine. It had a tone like, "why have you been holding out? I'm supposed to know this about you by now."

It was a great indicator for me that my kids feel like they know me. An even better indicator that they are always interested in learning more. I wonder how long this lasts?

exposure

I am tired of Radio Disney. I'm sick of Justin Beber and all the other little kids who sing songs about love, school, and teenage angst, but at this point I don't think I have another choice. It seems as if every other radio station is determined to play songs about sex, drugs and violence. When I was 18, I thought it was awesome. Honestly, when I'm in the car by myself, I still tune in and bob my head to the southern beats. I have a connection with hip-hop that I cannot deny...but I don't want my kids being bombarded by all that nonsense every day. I know that they will hear it all in due time, but I have trouble riding with my 5 year-old daughter listening to somebody talking about bending a girl over. I'm just sayin'.

I had a conversation in passing with a colleague and he told me that he doesn't have cable tv in his home. I said, "then what do your kids watch? How do they get to see Hannah Montana and Sunny With a Chance?" He said, "they can watch that stuff on Saturday morning on network tv."

I immediately thought, "this guy's kids are going to be space cadets." I don't want to shelter my kids to the point where they are disconnected from their peers and the world in general. But I also want to make an effort to filter out some of the nonsense that our media constantly pushes on us. It's so much different than when we were growing up. If 2 Live Crew were to release an album with similar content to their old stuff, most of the songs would be "clean" enough to play on the radio. When I was a kid, it wasn't that way.

So I give them exposure when I can. I invite people over for drinks, and when they cuss, I don't get mad. I don't cuss around my kids, but I want my kids to know that people cuss. I want them to know that people smoke and drink and that they're not bad people for doing it. They need to know that good people make bad choices...but they're still good. It's funny when I have a beer at dinner and Kenzer says, "daddy, beer is a drug." I tell her, "your teachers are right, beer is a drug, but I'm over 21. I can have a drink when I please. You on the other hand cannot, because it's against the law." Well...sometimes I say, "your teachers don't know what they're talking about."

It's difficult to acheive a balance, but we have agreed that it's not healthy to allow them access to everything that's out there. We don't want our kids singing "I can make your bed rock." But at the same time, we think it's just as unhealthy to have them out here thinking that the world is all smiles and roses. We allow them to watch cable tv, but at this point BET and MTV are so far out of control that we don't let them tune in. They have ipods (spoiled) but we have to make sure they're not just downloading any and everything. I know that some things will slip by us, but I'm ok with that. Maybe some things need to slip through the cracks. It's called reality and we can't hide from it. But it's a full-time job trying to filter it.

some really cool stuff happened today

Baby D is 5. When I came home from work today she and Young Pog (7) ambushed me after I set my bags down. After they knocked me down, Baby D worked her way behind my head and clamped on with a choke hold that I taught them. When she locked her left hand around her right wrist she pulled up and yelled, "TAP OUT! TAP OUT!" I tapped out and she laughed uncontrollably. It was the best ass-whoopin I've ever taken.

how much is too much?

I teach a sports writing class to a bunch of rich kids. Every day that I teach that class I am reminded of the economic inequalities that are perpetuated in our society. I'm not bullshitting when I say that 5 of the kids in my class have parents who are known millionaires. Not 6 figures...millions. One of my students has been on MTV Cribs...he's the kid with the deer in his house. I have a kid who misses class to fly to Texas for football games (on a private jet). Another student drives a Range Rover on 22's with a Superman symbol on the front grill...she got the Range at her Sweet 16 birthday party after a performance from Omarion. The great thing about the class (and my school in general) is that we also have some kids who are on financial aid. They are from families who are scraping together every dollar they can to pay their tuition. It makes for an interesting mix.

Recently we watched a documentary about two kids from inner-city Chicago who had aspirations to make it to the NBA. The film sparked some discussion about whether or not kids from wealthy neighborhoods have a better chance to be successful than poor kids. The students in my class said things like:

*The kids in the film are able to deal with more adversity as a result of their surroundings.
*It doesn't matter if you're from the upper, middle, or working class; it's your work ethic that makes the difference.
*Kids raised the middle class have it easier. Rich kids have more support and more options, but they still have to work to make things happen in life.
*Rich kids tend to get lazy, because they know everything will be taken care of.

I was surprised by the variety of responses that I got from this group of kids, some of which do not understand the head start they have. I was also shocked by how many of them do understand the advantages they have.

Anyway, that's not he point here. The point of it all is that yesterday I met two women who want badly for their daughters to be great basketball players. I met them during a skills clinic at my school that my varsity girls coach offers every Saturday. In a brief conversation the women informed me that they both drive 2 hours each way every Saturday to bring their daughters to our gyms. That was astounding, but what they said next is stuck in my head:

"It's worth it!" they both said with smiles on their faces. "It's worth it."

I walked out of the gym thinking, "Is it really worth it?" I go to some extreme measures to make sure my kids are competitive and that they have access to things to make them better. But would I drive four hours round trip each week for a 90-minute skills clinic? I thought about it, then I felt a twinge of guilt. I knew that my ten-year-old daughter was at home eating chips and dip, watching Hannah Montana. DAMMIT!

I thought about the number of people that do not have the resources to drive their daughters on 4-hour excursions every week. I thought about the single mothers out there who may have the desire but not the time. Then I thought about every great basketball player that I knew as a teenager. 85 percent of them figured it out on their own. They got up early and worked on ball handling. They played all day anywhere there was a game. They put up hundreds of shots everyday. Their parents didn't drive them to clinics every Saturday. They had a fire burning inside of them that poverty could not extinguish. In my neighborhood we put on our own clinics. But sadly enough, my transition into middle class America has taken me further away from that mindset than I would like to admit.

Everything in this new world is "organized." Kids have trainers and year-round competitive teams. Everyone goes to camps and personal workouts. Parents spare no expense to make their kids dreams come true. My problem is that I still have the North Toledo mentality: if you want to be good, you have to fight for it. But I do understand that there has to be a balance. But where do I draw the line? How much is too much? I will let you know when I figure this one out.