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.

who's gonna keep it real?

I cruised around itunes today trying to find a decent podcast about family life. I was pissed after about 15 minutes. Here's why:

I was looking for anything interesting on parenting, being a father, or raising a family. It's just interesting to get someone else's take on this stuff from time to time.

What I found was
1. a bunch of nonsense about how to manage your child's text messaging.
2. a couple women talking about their weekends.
3. some dude trying to be funny by making crude jokes.
4. a Christian values podcast.

I'm all about managing texts, and I've been known to make a crude joke or two. But I was looking for something that relates to a 30-something dad.

Is there anybody out there keeping it real? It really pisses me off that it's so hard to find anything interesting or enlightening for somebody who just wants to raise my kids, love my wife, and make a decent living. But if I wanted to figure out how to get more women to have sex with me, then I would have a shitload of stuff to choose from. I don't want to hear more about famous people. I'm not trying to learn how to pick up women, not trying learn how to "make more money now", and I'm sure as hell not interested in how some 45-year old lady spent her weekend. So I guess I'm S.O.L.

Baby D steps it up

Baby D is the wild card of the family. Baby D is the one who still gets carried around at the age of five and receives more free candy, popcorn, and milkshakes than any child I have ever seen. My co-workers make over her like she's a precious gem, and the students at my school treat her like a celebrity.

I can look at all four of my kids and make a few predictions about what they will do over the next ten years. Mack Attack (14)struggles in school, is a solid athlete, and spends too much time talking to girls. Kenzer has a heart of gold, breezes through school, struggles in sports, and she aims to please. She is a father's dream. Young Pog is me reincarnated. He doesn't warm up to people too quickly, but when he does, you have a friend for life. He operates above the curve both athletically and intellectually. Pog wants to be good. He loves to win, and he will kick some ass when push comes to shove.

But what about Baby D? She is the cutest child I have ever seen...no bullshit. She's really that cute. She runs like a track star from trying to keep up with Pog since she could stand. But she doesn't seem to love sports. She has quick wit from verbal confrontations with Kenzer, but she's not a book worm. She has thick skin from having a 14-year-old brother who's just too cool, but she's not mean. She just takes it as it comes...usually with a smile.

Just recently, she's been showing more of an interest in hanging out with me (which I love). I have a Saturday (not every Saturday)tradition of waking up early and taking Pog to the donut shop to pick up donuts for the fam. It just happened that way, because he usually is the first rugrat to wake up on the weekends. I woke up a little late this morning, thanks to dinner guests and a bottle of rum. Baby D comes into the room and asks if she can go with me to the donut shop. I'm like,
"Of course you can go with me!"
"You want me to get my shoes on?"
"Yep, go get your shoes on and we will leave."

We get to the donut shop and I tell her that it's her job to pick the donuts. She nods calmly and I'm prepared to step in when she gets nervous. The woman behind the counter says, "Can I help you?" I look down at Baby D, and all of a sudden she opens her mouth and a voice comes out that I have never heard before. It's not the voice of a baby! It's assertive, polite, and articulate. It knows exactly what it wants and is very comfortable expressing it. I watch my youngest offspring, with a feeling of pride and shock.

"I would like two chocolate donuts with sprinkles please...and two strawberry. I would also like three glazed please..."

A woman at a nearby table chimes in and says, "She's so polite! We're working on that!" she says as she gestures towards her own kids. The woman behind the counter says, "mom and dad are doing a great job! Better than I did." Instead of basking in the moment, Baby D just continues ordering...just taking it as it comes.

It's a beautiful thing when your kids surprise you. Selfishly, it's also a beautiful thing when they surprise others. The thing with Baby D is that she never seems to surprise herself. It's like she already knows how everything is supposed to turn out.

the little things

After I sent the kids to get their PJ's on for the night they came into my room to say good night. Baby D says,

"Dad, I want to hear that song that you were singing today. It's stuck in my head."

It's an established fact in my house that music is a major part of my life. Almost every time period in my life has been accompanied by a soundtrack of sorts. At the age of 5 I was listening to the Temptations, Jerry Butler, and Bill Withers. My older sister says I was an old man by 7. I listened to ABC, Kwame, Hammer, and all the rest, but something about that old soul music was a part of my soul. I inherited that love from my dad and his old school music collection. We would sit in the basement listening to old records. I saw the way he felt the music and I wanted to understand. When things were going wrong, as they often did, he would throw on something sad. I would dribble the ball around the basement singing along to songs that none of my friends knew about. Eventually I grew to love it on my own level, and my understanding of my dad's music grows with each day that I live.

As I type this blog, Frankie Beverly is in the background singing about being back in stride. Whether it's the Wu-Tang Clan, Jodeci, Coldplay, or BB King, there's always a song in my head and in my heart. It seems as though I've managed to pass this love on to my kids. When I get new CD's they are eager to hear what they're all about, and they have fallen in love with some of my favorite stuff.

So Baby D wants to hear the song of the day. She's usually the one that's brave enough to make requests at bedtime...more about that later. I fire up my ipod for the song of the day, which just happens to have significant meaning to me. As the song is playing, Kenzer asks,

"Daddy, is this your favorite song?"
"Actually, it is" I respond.
"But it will change eventually. Your favorite song changes depending on where you are in your life" Logan says, quoting me directly from a conversation we had earlier this week.
"That's right. It will probably change soon, but for now this is number one."

They all look pleased.

Legacy is a powerful thing. I always say that you never know what your kids are going to remember. You cannot predict what they will take with them, what they will forget, or what they will pass on. It's an awesome thing to give them something that my dad gave me: a love for music. That love for music is also something that links us. It gives us something to talk about and it gives me another way to let them know who I am. As parents sometimes we spend so much time teaching, scolding, praising, feeding, and clothing our kids that we forget to show them who we are. Of all the directives I've given them today, (at least 100) the one thing they will actually remember is a song. With all that we work so hard to make sure they remember, sometimes it's the little things that never die.

btw...

By the way, our varsity basketball team lost in the sub-state. To make a long story short, we didn't make it to Nashville. We came up one point short, and I still can't decide if it was because we didn't score enough points or if we ran out of precious time. Either way, it was a heart-breaker. When the final buzzer went off I felt the hopes of the State Championship crumble. I watched our seniors walk off the floor with their heads bowed, headed to the locker room for the last time. I thought about how those boys would remember that walk for the rest of their lives. I knew that someday years later they would drive home from work and out of nowhere they would hear that buzzer go off. I wondered if they would tell their kids about the game, like I tell my kids about the last high school game I played in. I wondered if they would sit in the locker room wondering how they could replay the game.

I also thought about how I refused to take my uniform off after my last game in high school. When my coach was finished with the post-game speech my teammates showered, changed, and boarded the bus. I remained seated, planted in the moment. I replayed the previous four seasons and I thought about all the times when I didn't give it my all. I thought about the times when I didn't want to listen to my coach and I wondered if I would do it all differently if I had the chance. I sat in my uniform with my high socks, one blue and one gold, and for the first time in my life I knew what it meant to have a broken heart. I somehow thought that if I could figure out a way to keep that uniform on, I wouldn't have to give up the experience. I had been through so much: homelessness, family turmoil, winters with no heat, summers with no water, and many days with no food. I was a kid that knew what it was like to eat at soup kitchens and what it felt like to wake up in a shelter. I had seen so many things go wrong that I started to think that life was nothing more than a series of unfortunate events. But through my sport, I finally got to have the feeling of being a part of something bigger than myself. I got to see what it was like to be hopeful. I realized that I had finally found something that I believed, and it was over. Just like that...it was done.

I replayed the images in my head and at the age of 31 I stepped back into my 18-year-old shoes. I sat in a corner of the gym consumed in my thoughts. I must admit that I was lost in the moment. Then something caught my attention. I saw Lori sitting in the bleachers with tears in her eyes. She believed. On her lap sat Young Pog, who was sobbing uncrontrollably. I walked over to them and she gave me a look that let me know that she wasn't sure what to say. I took Pog into my arms and I asked him what was wrong.

"I thought we were going to win" he said. "I wanted to win."

I thought I would cry. My boy was 7 and he already knew what it was to believe. It took me 18 years to get there. I took a seat with him on my lap and we talked. I talked to him about how important it is to prepare. We talked about how it was ok to lose a close one if you had done everything in your power to prepare every day. I told him that we would have a chance to make another run. It's never too late to make another run. I told my son that in life it's impossible to acheive your goals without proper preparation. Then I told him that the same holds true for everything in life. It's important to put your best foot forward every day, because you never know when it could be your last. He looked me in the eye and said that he understood. I pray that he does.

Cat's in the cradle

A guy by the name of Harry Chapin wrote a song about being a dad. It just happens to be one of the most profound songs I've ever heard. It's about a man who has a son, and he never seems to be able to find enough time to spend with his boy. As a child the boy wants to be so much like his dad that he emulates his every move. But at every turn there's always so much for the dad to do that he constantly tells his son that they will get together "soon." Not now, but "soon."

As all boys do, the son gets older. He graduates from college and eventually has a family of his own. The dad (Harry Chapin) is retired and longs to spend some time with his grown up son. However, the tables are turned, and son is the one with bills to pay and a job to work. He takes on his dad's montra, and tells him that they will get together soon. The dad then laments in the final verse, "and as I hung up the phone, it occured to me...my boy was just like me...the boy was just like me". Something about that song gets me every time. It makes me proud, sad and scared at the same time.

My boy Pog has been wearing button-down shirts and ties to school lately. He says it's because he wants to dress like me. You already know, this is the stuff that dreams are made of. Of course this has me thinking that I'm the shit, and I plan on going to the store with him this week to beef up his tie collection. I can't have him out here looking like Poindexter, or like one of these dudes who has no clue as to how to put together a basic shirt and tie combo. But I digress...

It is so gratifying to have a son that thinks I'm the man. I love it when he says things like, "Dad knows what he's doing" or "Dad doesn't forget things" with unshakeable certainty. Like Harry Chapin, I think that one day I will hang up the phone with my son and say to myself, "he grew up just like me." I keep it in mind that someday my boy will be a man and there is a pretty good chance that he will have many of the same characteristics that I have. I continue to be amazed at how quickly they grow up, and I fear that it will all happen just as quickly as a four-minute song. There is no way to stop time or to even to slow it down. I'm not even sure if it's worth trying.

For most kids, a time comes when boys don't think their dads are so cool anymore. There's a time when they realize that their dads are regular people and that they don't always know what their doing. There will come a day when he realizes that I forget things and that I don't always know the answers. I pray that when that day comes, it's not too much of a shock (for him or for me). I sincerely hope that our relationship is one that leaves room for imperfections and for mistakes. I tell him that he doesn't need to be like me. Rather he needs to be better than me. But I have to be honest. My heart is full when he gives me a look that says, "How is that possible? It doesn't get any better than you." I know it's selfish, but for now I will take it.

Priorities

Last night I kept my kids out late. I took them out of town on a school night and didn't bring them home until 10:30. When we pulled into the garage they were asleep and it took 10 minutes to wake them all up and to drag them into their rooms to put them to bed. I did all of this with full knowledge that they had full days of school, rehearsals, and practices ahead of them the next morning. I did this with the understanding of all of the research on proper rest and nutrition and the benefits of a structured schedule for kids. To make matters worse, this morning I decided that it was ok for them to sleep in for 30 extra minutes which made them a little late for school.

What was I thinking? I'll tell you what I was thinking: IT'S TOURNAMENT TIME BABY! Intitially, I told Lori that it would be best for them to stay home to make sure everyone got to bed on time. But that wouldn't last long. At about 2:30 Tuesday afternoon, Lori walked into my office and said, "I think we're coming to the game." I simply said, "ok" because I already knew what she was thinking.

You see the night before, I had to attend a game out of town and by the time I got home the kids were asleep. We didn't get to see each other at all and it was a night when my job kept me from being dad. So Tuesday night, we had to consider our options:
1. Send dad to the game alone so everyone can get to bed on time.
2. Spend the evening together, witness a championship game, and make some memories (and possibly be exhausted the next day).

We chose option 2. Thankfully we won the Region Championship and after the game my kids took turns holding the trophy. I talked to Pog today about the game. We talked about the feeling of winning as a result of preparation and hard work. We talked about what it feels like to work really hard at something and to see the hard work pay off.

This weekend we play two important games. If we win, we will earn a trip to Nashville to play for the state Final 4 and State Championship. In the event that it happens, I have no question about my top priority. My top priority will be with me in Nashville, cheering on the TEAM. They will miss a day or two of school, but to me it's worth it.