Art Linkletter, call your office.

OK, maybe this wasn’t one of the “darndest” things Natasha has ever said, but if you’ve got a better category, then I’m all ears.

Natasha (4) is the older of our two girls.  She and her sister, Allie, (21 mos.) were born in China and joined our family through adoption.  While we were still waiting for Natasha’s referral, Tammy and I came up with the idea of going to Chinatown on the day after Thanksgiving for dim sum.  It’s our way of incorporating an element of Chinese culture into our family’s celebration of an American holiday tradition.  It’s also an opportunity to eat a meal completely unlike the one we gorged ourselves on the day before.  I love turkey and the trimmings, but after consuming too much all at once, the mere smell of it makes me ill.  It’s a lot like tequila that way.

This new custom has proven popular with our extended family, and this year there were 16 of us scarfing down shumai and bok choy.  The fact that our family has taken an interest in Chinese culture is of little surprise, given its makeup.  Both sets of parents divorced when we were in our teens. My siblings and I lived with our father, who then married a Jewish widow with 2 children from her marriage to an Englishman.  Tammy’s parents were also mixed-faith:  her mother is Jewish and her father is Irish-Protestant.  So our daughters are Chinese-American-Presbyterian with Jewish aunts, uncles and grandmothers.  Confused?  I know I am.

On this particular Thanksgiving I drew the short straw at the office and had to come in on Friday, but with the understanding that I would take a long lunch and would be bringing Natasha with me.  This left Tammy only needing to schlep 1 child into Manhattan.  As we emerged from the subway and made our way towards “Daddy’s Work” with a backpack filled with dolls and DVDs, the window display at a Hallmark store caught Natasha’s eye.

“What’s that, Daddy?” she asked, pointing at a 9-pronged candelabra.

“That’s called a ‘menorah.’ It’s a special candle holder that Jewish people use to celebrate Hanukkah, a holiday that comes at the same time of year as Christmas.  Your Grandmas Marilyn and Lois each have one, and Mommy has one too.”

“Can I have one?  It’s pretty.”

“Well, Mommy or Daddy will have to light the candles for you, but sure, you can have one.”

“Can Santa bring it to me?”

And there it was:  Asking Santa for a menorah.  “Darndest Thing?” I don’t know.  But definitely a poignant example of innocence and naïveté, of an outlook unfettered by the baggage we adults carry or the lines that we draw.  It was all the more apropos, coming from a member of a family not easily placed in any one “box.” I get nauseous whenever I have to listen to a bunch of empty suits ramble on and on about how important it is to “think outside the box.” (They’re a lot like tequila that way).  Maybe they just need a menorah from Santa.  Or to spend more time with their kids.

I like sports. Specifically I like the New York Jets. It’s not easy raising Jets fans in New England, but I’m managing to do it. My son regularly goes off to school in his Chad Pennington jersey; he did so even on the eve of the Patriots’ most recent Super Bowl win. He was the ONLY kid in school dressed in green. Even my youngest, just 20 months old, cries out “Jets! Jets! Jets!” when I put the football game on TV. I also had the only 3-year-old in New England who roots specifically for a defensive lineman of a rival team.

When it comes to baseball, I helped my oldest develop an affinity for the Red Sox, and he’s now a true fan. Personally I’m a Met, but I have a soft spot for the Sox. I root for them since they’re the home team and, most importantly, they’re not the Yankees. Frankly, I hate the Yankees. I’m a second generation Yankee hater, my dad being a Brooklyn Dodger fan (he’s still angry that they moved) and a converted Atlanta Braves fan.

One friend pointed out that it’s a cruel punishment to root for the Jets and Sox, it’s a life of almost-but-not-quite-good-enough. Then again, it’s the same in Detroit.

All this was going along just fine until my middle son, then 3, told me something I never wanted to hear: he likes the Yankees. “This isn’t happening”, came my first thought. “How can this be? A Yankee fan in my house?”

I tried to tell him he was wrong, he just couldn’t like the Yankees. I told him that I would never buy him Yankee gear, but he held firm. I tried to get him to like the Mets or the Braves, but he’s not moving. During Star Wars I read him the opening words by saying things like “The Evil Empire, also known as
the New York Yankees" and “the Emperor, also known as George Steinbrenner”, but he just told me to stop.

This means I have a Yankee fan and a Red Sox fan sleeping in bunk beds. This ought to be fun.

This past week at the pediatrician’s office I told the doctor that we had a problem.

“What is your favorite baseball team?”, I asked my son.

“The Yankees”, he replied.

“See”, I told the doctor.

Later we discussed how he’s pushing people’s buttons on a regular basis and made some comment about how I think that’s what he’s doing with me in regards to the Yankees.

“And it’s working”, the doctor pointed out.

He’s right.

I am fortunate to be able to work at home. The blessing is that I can see my family just about anytime I want to. The downside is sometimes family interrupts me while I am trying to work. But the other day I had an interruption that I was only too glad to receive. My youngest daughter, who is 8, came in and said “I just want a snuggle”. Every once in a while she’ll ask me to just give her a big hug. It’s her way of knowing that she is loved. It would have been easy for me to tell her I was too busy or that I had other things I needed to do. But at that moment, there was nothing more important than just giving her a hug.

So often we become busy (and Dads especially have to fight against the pull of our jobs on our time) that we neglect the simple moments that God gives us to remind our children how much we love them. Take time to give your children a hug now and then. More importantly, make sure that they are getting to spend plenty of time with you. Before you know it, they’ll be grown up and gone.

Today was a tough day!

Our littlest, Sydney, has been sick with a fever for two days and we have tried everything to help her feel better. Finally we called her doctor for an appointment and decide that everyone is going to go: me, my wife Liz and our oldest daughter Suzanne. First we have to return a rental van that we needed for our visit to see my mom. Not much of an issue. Still a lot of time to make it to the appointment. We get to the doctor’s office and in RECORD TIME we get into the room and are seen by the nurse. She checks Sydney out and decides...yep she IS sick! In RECORD TIME again, the doctor comes in. She checks Sydney and decides...yep she IS sick! After checking Sydney’s lungs and hearing that she is wheezing, we give her a breathing treatment in the office so they can check her again after. She passes and we get more prescriptions for more breathing treatments. Then the doc decides that she should check Suzanne only to find that Suzanne is wheezing also. Well, they are sisters aren’t they?

Now Liz is always a trouper...always...and I had to go into work for a few hours during the time that they are getting ready for bed. So my wife had to put two sick girls into bed and give them BOTH breathing treatments. (A trouper for sure!) I guess the real part of this entry is that we Dads can’t always be there to help make it better. We try to, if I can borrow a phrase, “Make it so!” but we can’t. All we can offer is a big shoulder to lay on and to be there for the important parts. Be supportive, always follow up, and most importantly, check on everything. It will make life a lot happier! Trust me! I know!

So here I sit in front of the TV, on the floor, watching a taped show, while our little one is laying on the couch sleeping. By the way, it is only 11:30pm! Thankfully I don’t have to go to work until early tomorrow afternoon.

Just another day being a Dad!!

Last year, Kevin and I started the tradition of a father/son shopping trip and continued the tradition again this year with great success. I know that he doesn’t remember last year’s first outing but I hope that he’ll remember much of this one.

This year’s goal was to find a present for Kevin to give mommy. Thankfully, my shopping was completed so all we needed to do was go in, have some fun together while shopping and get out. Our journey took us to a local mall with a carousel which did add another task to the list - ride the horses.

Once in the mall, we first checked out the video games before heading for the Discovery store to see what neat things they had. We looked around and Kevin indeed found what he thought was the perfect present. “I want to get mommy a dinosaur.” After a small discussion, Kevin realized my veto would stand. “I’m hungry” he said so onward we traveled to the next stop.

After eating a ‘cheese and burger meal with the toy in it’, Kevin thought it was time for the horses. We had another discussion and the decision was made to accomplish what we came for before heading to the carousel. Now we were fed and completely focused on the task.

We checked out a few stores and then found a store that neither of us usually ventured into but it held the perfect gift for mommy. We spent a little more time in there looking at the different things than I had wanted and got more than a few employees asking, “Can I help you with anything?” Why is it that a father and preschooler are seen as helpless shoppers? Although I’ve never been in the store, I knew the different types of things they had, what they were used for and what went together. Anyhow, we finished our shopping and then allowed the store to return to it’s 100% feminine state.

While in the store, Kevin picked a gift that I wasn’t exactly thrilled with. I struggled with letting him purchase it but after some reflection thought, “It’ll be a better gift from him because he picked it out”.

Once our shopping was done it was off to the horses, get some ice cream and then head home. But the shopping this year led me to several thoughts:

First: Despite how much I think something else might be more appropriate, allowing a 3 year old to pick the gift will make it a better one within reason.

Second: My mantra is again confirmed – “Slow Down!” Having a preschooler in the house has reminded me how much adults miss because they hurry from ‘to do’ to ‘to do’. There are many amazing things to be seen and much more enjoyment to be had if you talk to your children and help them see why the dino is a bad idea and why we can’t ride the horses right away. They’re people too and not just one more thing you have in tow.

Third: Dad’s need to step up. We let too many things happen while we’re spending excess time at the office. That leads to being seen as (and sometimes feeling) helpless when we’re alone with the children in a foreign place.

Fourth: A day of shopping is much more special when it ends with an unsolicited “You’re a good daddy. I love you the best.”