Because it is such a quietly poignant film, I asked them to just watch. I didn’t want to interrupt the presence of the film by reading aloud the subtitles.  I asked my Darling 5-year old Daughter to watch closely and then tell me what it was about after it was over.  When it came to the part where the son shouts at his father, my Sweet, Smiling 2-year old Son, ducked his head, wrinkled his brow, and shied from the PC.  That fascinated me – and scared me.  For far too often, I am like the son in this short story.

When it was over, I asked them what it was about.

“A bird.” My Darling Daughter said hesitantly.

I then gave them a brief, yet succinct narration of the story and we watched it again.  My son, in anticipation of the yelling, covered his ears with his hands.  I know he’s sensitive to loud noises, but I was a little concerned that the soft piano music was hurting his ears.  Then it occurred to me to ask if it was the yelling that bothered him.  It was.

When the son finishes his tirade, I told my kids the yelling was over.  Sensitive Son, cautiously removed his hands from his ears.

Now my Dancing, Darling Daughter was full of questions.  She understood more, had some context, and despite the language barrier, I think she “got it.”

As I write this, the kids are in brushing their teeth.  I can hear my daughter telling her Mommy the whole story.  Then my son says, “I no like it.”  a moment of yelling, and he missed the beauty.  This is an intense insight for me.  He is very sensitive.

It’s a great story, and a lesson I hope to learn sooner, than later.  I have a ways to go.

How about you – are you as patient with your parents as they were with you?

Well, being older than most soon-to-be-fathers, means I have older friends – friends who have already experienced parenthood and have now moved onto the empty-nest phase of parenting.  My friends with this advice knew of which they spoke.  I just pretended that I knew what they were talking about.  But as the last five years have slipped by, I’ve started to grasp the reality of how much time passes during a blink.

My little sweetheart is turning into a little lady; and it’s scaring the Hell out of me.

The other day, she jumped out of some nook and tried to startle me.  We’ve repeated this scenario several times in the past week:

“Did I scare you Dad!?” She eagerly asked.

“You terrify me,” I replied with a smile.

Of course she has no idea what I’m talking about – and to be honest, I’m not sure how terrified I am either.  I keep nodding and acknowledging the velocity of our shared lives, but with every step, I feel like I’m the one trying to keep up.  This Darling Daughter of mine is amazing.

A day or two ago, she kept messing with something in her mouth.  I asked her what was wrong and she explained that her tooth was lose.  I couldn’t believe it.  How could this be?  Of course it’s an important right of passage for any kid, but I’m not ready for her to grow up yet.  I’m not ready for her to lose her childish innocence; and her childish beauty.

She loves dates with her Daddy!

I took her with me to run some errands this afternoon.  We had an amazingly good time.  Of course, we always do.  I’m rarely in a hurry when I bring the kids along – it doesn’t do any good, and being in a hurry only creates expectations and disappointments and tears.  Kids are never in a hurry either and my five year-old is no exception.  She loves to discover and explore.  She loves dates with her Daddy!

First, she loved the special attention of being alone with Daddy.  She didn’t have to share me with her little brother or her Mom.  I think she talked and giggled for the first hour we were together.  Once we got to the first store, she began to explore and discover lots of new things.  It was fun watching her soul being filled with new things.

Our second stop was at Lowe’s.  She jumped, she skipped, she ran, she chased me, she ran to the ends of the aisles, and she loved to explore. Her heart, like mine, is fed by new sights and experiences.  She was having a blast!

Our third stop was Fred Meyer.  I promised her we’d get a Mother’s Day card there.  While we were looking for cards, she noticed a little girl, who also had braids, shopping with her mom.  She mentioned the other girl’s braids, then turned and flipped hers towards the older girl in the shopping cart.  The two established an instant bond, and after the other girl climbed down from the cart, they laughed and played like long last friends.  (She gets this social prowess from her mother – not me.)

As we walked out of the store, I looked down and told her how glad I was that she came with me today.  Instinctively, she put her hand in mind, and without looking, she said, “I’m glad I came with you too Daddy.”  And we walked out of the store hand-in-hand.

Sometimes I want to put her in a jar and keep her just like she is; and other times I can’t wait to see her next major accomplishment.  A couple of weeks ago, she was learning to swim, a couple of days ago she took a dive from the floor and performed a well-executed somersault across the bed.  Today, she performed a head-stand for about one and a half seconds.

As we sat down at the table for dinner, she was still bubbly from a great afternoon.  She looked at me and said in the most serious voice she could muster, “Dad?  The sky is purple.” And then she gave me a big wink, just like I taught her – to let me know she was teasing.  That’s my girl!

Blink and you’ll miss me. Yes, life really is that short.” ~Tia Carr Williams

What will it be tomorrow?  I’m afraid to find out.  I’m not sure I can keep up.  But at the same time, I’m excited.  Excited, terrified, awestruck, and amazed.  I suppose this is what parenting is all about.  And yet, I’m beginning to understand those knowing nods of advice my friends shared with me just a few years ago.

I’ve been given a gift – and I’ve never been more blessed.

Neither of my grandfathers completed the sixth grade.  My parents completed high school, but neither completed more than a few college courses.  My brother and I went on to graduate school.  Someday I’ll finish my Masters, and he’s about ready to finish a Doctorate.  In addition, both of us are professional speakers, educators, and trainers.  In a word, education is something I do.

But that doesn’t mean I know anything about educational or learning theory.  I have friends who have PhDs in education and learning theory, and I have other friends who are school teachers.  Anecdotally, I can share experiences where teachers and instructors were awesome – and vice versa.  My other two claims to expertise in this arena are a history of that includes three grade schools, three middle schools, and two high schools.  Additionally, I had a brief tenure as a school principal last Spring!  In other words, I may not be able to define good educational theory, but I can certainly spot it when I see it.

With all that said, my preamble, so to speak, I’d like to address some thoughts I have on our current state of elementary education:

• First, the majority of our public schools do a great job academically.
• Unfortunately, due to numerous concerns, publicly funded schools no longer deal with issues of morality or character.
• Over the past few decades, public school systems have developed fantastic programs for developmentally challenged and gifted students.  However, due to limited funding, these systems are unable to deal with the special niche needs of individual children and their families.
• Private schools exist for various purposes.  Some value academics, others value creative pursuits.  Some private schools exist to protect the children of various religious sects, while providing a solid educational experience.  Private and parochial schools are more free to pursue character, moral, and values-based experiences.
• Most private schools don’t have the resources to provide for children with educational and developmental challenges.
• Finally, while there may be no perfect solutions, each family has to make choices based on their values, needs, and the vission they have for their kids.

Three Distinct Choices:

Because of the values, character, and morality issues, our family has decided against public education for our kids.  This isn’t to say that schools are corrupt or deranged.  Nor is it to say that our family’s values are better than others, it’s just that our family has chosen a different path in the raising of our kids.  The values we seek as a family, are basically unavailable in the public school system.

Our next choice would be the parochial system sponsored by our current church of choice.  Unfortunately, from our perspective, the majority of schools in this system emphasize behavior over principles, and religion over spirituality.  In many ways, this makes the church-school option more distasteful than the public school option – to us anyway.

A third choice would be a non-parochial, private school.  Despite the fact that most of these schools are above our pay-scale, which rules them out right away, it is ultimately a difference in values that would stop us from sending our kids to most top-rated private schools.  While they tend to prepare kids for great social and financial success, these aren’t values we put at the top of the list.  In fact, when I sat on a school board last year, I frequently was heard saying that I didn’t care if my kids ended up as trash-haulers, as long as their hearts are spiritually pure.

While there may be other choices that we haven’t fully considered, we look forward to the home-school option.  It won’t be easy, but it will allow us to stay true to our family’s values, spirituality, and to encourage our kids socially and academically.  Additionally, we want to encourage our kids to pursue a healthy and sustainable lifestyle.  Homeschooling will allow us to continue to be the parents we feel we need to be.

I started Kindergarten before I was five years-old.  Throughout the rest of my childhood, I was usually about a year younger than the other kids in my class.  Academically, I always did fine.  In fact, because I was rarely challenged, I was usually bored and only got average grades.  I could have skipped my senior year and graduated from high school when I was 16, but I’m so glad I didn’t know that!

Despite my good academic success, socially school was always hard on me.  What I’ve learned in my lifetime, trying to deal with some of the school-inflicted, social scars, is that it is better to start kids later rather than sooner.  While all kids have unique skills, talents, personalities, and issues, eight years-old seems to be a great age for kids to start school.  Before the age of eight, few kids are equipped to deal with the social pressures they experience.

I don’t care if my kids ended up as trash-haulers, as long as their hearts are spiritually pure.”

There are no easy solutions.  Single-parent homes, dual income families, busyness, stress, and various health and developmental issues make this all very complicated for everyone.  There is no way I want to come across as critical of the various options – or the people who make those choices.  For some, one option is out of reach, for another, there may be no other options except the one they’ve chosen.  It’s a jungle out there.

The key, to me as a father, is to have the courage to make the tough choices and not just go with the flow.  It would be easy to drift through the next 15 or so years of my kids’ lives without choosing – and just let the status quo choose for me.  But when I look back on the past 15-20 years of my life, they are a blur.  Those years seem just like yesterday.  So, knowing how quickly these years will go by, I’m willing to make the tough choices to give my kids the best foundation.

To our family, the best foundation isn’t always academics.  It is much more holistic than mere education.  We have chosen to play a deep and active role in our kids’ lives.  Whether it be unhealthy school lunches, bullying, abuse, or a lack of values-based learning, these are some challenges our kids won’t have to face.

I would love to hear your ideas and experiences in the comments. What has your family chosen?  And why?  What do you value in an educational system?  What values are important in your family and how has that translated into your schoolastic choices?

(This post is in response to this post I read yesterday)

He looked up at her, and without hesitation, exclaimed: “I love Daddy.“

Now, in this tender moment, my Snuggly Son wasn’t trying to be silly or sarcastic.  He was just expressing the innocence of his heart.  As you may know, there is a special bond between Mommies and their kids – a Dad could never replace that position, nor supplant the bond between mother and child.  However, several times in my son’s short life, he has had periods of absolute infatuation with me, his Dad.  Sometimes, it’s good to be me.

With compassion for Mommy’s feelings the other night (we’ve both been laughing over this for the last couple of days), it is really fun to be in the middle of these storms of affection.  I think it started when I promised to take him swimming last week.  His sister was taking lessons and he was feeling envious.  Our time in the pool was a blast.  He absolutely loved the water and loved the contact the two of us shared.  I think his favorite part though was the shower – he loved to mimic me in the shower.

Then on the morning of The Wife’s birthday, I gave both kids a couple of bucks to pick out birthday presents for their Mommy.  While browsing the store, Sweet Smiling Son found a pair of sunglasses that fit him perfectly.  He’s been wearing his sister’s pink ones for a couple of weeks, and I just figured out that he was mimicking me.  He’s been doing a lot of that lately.  He’s been actually walking in my footsteps at the beach; using the tools when I hang a window shade; and, the best one, repeating my half-muttered phrases while I’m working on projects.

Well, it turns out that $1.29 was one of the best gifts Smiling Son has ever received.  He and his sunglasses have been inseparable for days.  Rain or shine, he has his sunglasses with him.  Sometimes he wears them upside down, and he rarely gets them on straight, but he always has them with him.  In his hands, at the dinner table, in the bathtub, or on the toilet.

In the last several weeks, this Sarcastic Son of mine has found a creative way to disobey.  When I ask him to do something, he reverts to silly mode, but when I call him on it, he looks me in the eye and utters one word: “Funny.”

I just say, “No, it’s not.” But it is kinda funny – yet like any good parent, I really don’t want to encourage this devious sarcastic attitude.  But I think he’s beginning to learn that his “funny” act isn’t working, so he’s moved to outright refusal to obey.

Today, after a long day away – a fun day, mind you, but a long one, the kids were ready to be home.  After a quick stop, my Son was not smiling, sarcastic, or silly – he was just plain mad.  He wanted me to turn another direction, he wanted a different sandwich, he was just unhappy about everything.  He began hollering and generally melting down into a tantrum.

Sometimes, it’s best to just ignore these tantrums – especially when I know they are fueled by fatigue or a lack of food.  But after about 10 minutes, with no let-up, I told him he needed to stop this.  ”NO!” he said adamantly.  I tried to reason with him, but obviously that wasn’t getting anywhere.

Finally, I pulled one out of the book of Dad Standbys, “If you don’t stop now, I’m going to pull over and spank you.“

“OK,” he said, and continued.

“Do you want me to give you a spanking?” I asked.

“Yes.” He replied meekly.

I repeated the question twice, and rephrased it twice. He was definitely giving me permission to pull over and spank him.  ”Oh crud,” I thought.  Now I have to follow through.  Unfortunately, pulling over along the freeway is not recommended, and some of the convoluted exits off of I-205 in East Vancouver are not easy to navigate.  It took over five minutes to get off the freeway and find a suitable place to pull into.  (It didn’t help that I had some hopped-up idiot tailgating me as I tried to negotiate with my son and find a place to conclude this madness.)

I got out of the car, walked around to my now Somber Son’s side of the car, opened the door, and asked him if he really wanted a spanking.  (I obviously didn’t want to give him one.)  At this point he changed his mind, so I gave him a good Dad-lecture about who’s in charge and how he should obey better.

“O – k Dad – ee.” He replied.  And I got in the car and we returned to the freeway.

All was good for about five minutes, when the tantrum returned.  After asking him to stop a couple of times, and warning him of the impending spanking, he continued.  I pulled over along side of the freeway and walked around to his side of the car – dreading my mission the whole time.  I unbuckled his car seat, took him out, and laid him across my knee.  My five year-old watched me with wide-eyed amazement.

I love the part of being a Dad where my kids are absolutely enamored with me. I hate the part where I have to be the enforcer.

Two quick (and painless, I might add) swats, and I buckled my now crying son back into his car seat.  Down the road we went, and after the tears stopped, the rest of the 45 minute drive home was uneventful.

Spanking is rare in our home, but it is not off-limits. It isn’t done in anger, and it isn’t done without good reason.  Direct disobedience is what leads to disciplinary punishment – usually a time-out.  But where some people say that time-outs don’t work with their kids, my kids know there will be an escalation if they don’t get it together.  Sometimes a doubling of the time-out – or a repeat.  Sometimes a loss of privilege or possession, where we try to match the punishment to the crime.  However, when all else fails, sometimes a quick swat to the backside helps our kids to learn that their parents mean what they say.

As I told The Wife as we drove home, this was clearly one of those cases where it hurt me more than it hurt my son.  I asked her if she thought he was calling my bluff.  Although he seems a bit young to be that manipulative, he has certainly figured out the comic/sarcasm angle of disobedience.  He even has a well practiced fake-cry that he pulls out several times a week.  I don’t know if he was intentionally bluffing me (eg; “Sure Daddy, yes, pull over, cuz I do need a spanking!“), but I certainly had to follow through nonetheless.

I love the part of being a Dad where my kids are absolutely enamored with me. I hate the part where I have to be the enforcer.  But because of my love for them, I know that a lack of discipline – especially the kind that leads them to not learn how to be self-disciplined, can have nasty consequences when they are older.  Our goal, as parents, is to teach our kids to go beyond good behavior – we want them to have good values.

This is why I sometimes have to endure the pain of being a Dad.  My kids need to learn that there are consequences to their choices.  They need to learn how to make good choices.  When they get older, the consequences aren’t always instantaneous, like when they are children.  But rest assured my sweet kids, there are consequences.  This is why being a parent takes courage.  This is why we can’t ever be too lazy to do the right thing.  This is why we need to remain balanced and reserve energy – all the time.  I love my family too much to not put them first.

This is why I sometimes have to take endure the pain of being a Dad.

Yet, having good values doesn’t always mean we, as people, know how to practice those values.  Sometimes we talk-the-talk, but we don’t always walk-the-walk.  Learning to be self-disciplined, and to control our impulses, will enable us to delay gratification, endure our impatient wants, and work towards the ideals that we need.

This is what I want for my kids.

Let me back up a bit…

My Darling 5yo Daughter started her first swimming lessons this week and it has been pretty exciting week for the whole family.  She has been doing amazingly well.  Her little brother, my Seminally Smiling 2yo Son has been watching his big sister with great eagerness.  It has been really hard for him to not be in the water.  So yesterday I told him I’d take him swimming today – and it is all we’ve talked about all day.

During my daughter’s swim class, my son and I played in the pool.  We had a great time.  I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him happier!  The water was warm, he had absolutely no fear of the water, and we laughed, giggled, and played.  It was awesome!  It is times like this that make being a Dad the most incredible job on the planet.

Since we were in two cars, two of us went home and two of us stopped by the store to get some groceries.  Mommy and her son went home to get dinner started, while Daddy and his daughter stopped by the store to get some groceries.  While at the store, and in the car to and from, my daughter and I talked, laughed, and just had a great time.  It was a great time and a nice follow-up to the time I spent with my son in the pool.

And that’s when things begin to fall apart…

Just before getting home I took a call from my aunt who just found out she has lymphoma.  It was one of those calls that took all my attention.  As I parked in the driveway, turned off the engine, and sat in the driver’s seat finishing the call.  Distracted as I was by the phone call, my Smiling Son came bouncing out into the driveway, most likely to continue the great experience we had at the pool.  Yet, I ignored him.  And that led to lots of tears.

Of course, simultaneously, my Darling Daughter was trying valiantly to survive the gauntlet of Dixi the Dancing Dog’s enthusiasm. 2D‘s 30 pounds were no match for 3D‘s enthusiastic 40 pounds.  More tears began echoing in our tiny forest.  Now, both kids were melting down in earnest.

Communication breakdown…

This is where it becomes about me.  I wasn’t prepared for the noise and confusion.  I too was tired, and despite the great day, I was spent.  I don’t know how I expected the day to end, but my fantasy evening certainly didn’t include two crying children and family chaos.  I’m pretty sure The Wife wasn’t hoping for this kind of an end to the day either.  Either way, I found myself retreating into a cocoon of sullen silence.  It’s a place I know oh-too-well.

Looking back on the evening, it really wasn’t that bad, we were just all tired.  As the parent, I’m supposed to understand that and roll with the punches – literally.  When I told my kids that it was late, we weren’t going to read anymore stories, and it was time for bed, the tears again began to flow.  But this time, Smiling Son became Stormy Son and began to hit me as I carried him to his room.  I told him to stop, but as anyone who has ever dealt with an angry 2yo knows, words have little meaning during a meltdown.

Temper, temper…

I lay my son on his bed and let him cry, but knowing he wasn’t in his right mind, I didn’t put him in a full-blown time out.  I lay down next to him, tried to ignore him, and let him work through his emotions.  Unfortunately, it seems as if kids see this as a weakness and they begin to prey on our tenderheartedness.  It’s as if they have an innate ability to manipulate our hearts.

Stormy Son ripped the leg off of one of his toy tables (not really all that difficult), and began to beat the table with the leg.  It was actually quite impressive.  He showed tremendous intensity, great prowess, and pretty good coordination – not to mention, he was very focused.  Again I told him to stop, at least once, probably twice.  He looked me in the eye and began to beat on the table again.

A thin line…

As the enforcer of the family, I am often called upon to give a stern look, lower my voice an octave or two, and sometimes raise the volume a bit.  I’d like to think I handle these tasks with great finesse.  In fact, I probably strike the right cord at least 99% of the time.  In just about anything we tackle, 99% would be considered stellar, if not outright amazing.  But tonight I was a little off my game.  Tonight was the night I failed.

As I lowered the pitch of my voice, raised the decibels a bit, and leaned in to give a little body-language emphasis, I went beyond playing the role of enforcer and I lost my own temper.  The empathetic face of a child lets one know at exactly the point they cross line.  Their whiny, angry, tumultuous temper tantrum immediately turns to fear.  And that’s when the real tears start.

Unfortunately, as a parent, or in any relationship for that matter, once the toothpaste is out of the tube, it can’t be put back in.  The damage is done.  In that split second of misjudgment and over-reaction, I went from being the fun, safe, loving, Daddy, to being a monster to be feared.  Not only were my son’s feelings hurt, not only was he scared and confused, but there’s nothing I could do at that moment to take it back.  He didn’t want me, he only wanted his Mommy.

Backing Off…

Of course I knew what I’d done, but I hadn’t really figured it out yet.  I sat down on the floor and watched him cry.  His big sister stroking his forehead.  Knowing when I’ve been defeated, I kissed my daughter goodnight, offered a kiss to my son, which was refused, and I went to bed.  Not to sleep mind you, but to escape.

I read the news, played a game of Suduko, browsed apps for my mobile, rearranged icons on my home screen.  And then, around midnight, it hit me.  I realized what happened.

Confession…

I was going to get up and write about school bullying.  I was also thinking about writing a followup post to my last post on Universal Healthcare.  But just before I rolled out of bed, my wife sleeping soundly next to me, I realized what had happened tonight.  I lay there in bed and wept.  I wept for my son and the unnecessary pain in his heart.  I wept for my failure as a Dad and Husband and a person.

My son didn’t deserve to be yelled at, and to be clear, we don’t yell at our kids.  He was tired, he had a fun and exciting day, he was just done.  That isn’t to excuse his poor behavior.  What he was doing was naughty and unacceptable, but as a parent, it is my job to absorb those meltdowns and channel them into a more productive and healthy release.

• • It’s OK to be angry.  It’s OK to have hurt feelings.  It is certainly OK to be tired.

• • It’s not OK to hit one’s Dad.  It’s not OK to be destructive to people, objects, or oneself.

• • It’s also reasonable to believe that those closest to you will understand, absorb, and help us process.

None of us functioned well tonight.  These past several months are breaking us – financially, spiritually, emotionally, and socially.  In fact, since learning we’d be moving, about six-weeks before my son was born (bad timing, in case you were wondering), until now, it’s been a very difficult two and a half years.  We are all ready to resume the American Dream of normalcy.

Tonight I failed my Son, his mother, and his sister.  Some days are pretty good, but some days aren’t.  Tonight is one of those nights I wish I could do over.  I want a do-over.

A Private Note to My Son:

Dear Son,

There’s a very real possibility that you may not read this until after I’m gone.  Given my “advanced” age as a Dad, I’ll be in my 70s by the time you get out of college.  By then, neither of us will remember this night.  Although I hope you forget, I hope I never do.

Tonight I made a mistake.  I went beyond mere discipline and crossed the line into anger and frustration.  I raised my voice too loudly, and put too much emphasis into my facial expression and body language.  I knew it instantly when you recoiled in fear, and then cried the tears of broken innocence.  I am sorry.  I am very sorry.

You see, I take my job as a Dad very seriously.  I feel honored that I’ve been blessed by your presence in my life.  I sincerely want to protect you from harm, foster your maturity, and nurture your strengths.  These past two and a half years have been amazing because of you.  That’s why it breaks my heart to know that I wounded your soul.

I have really been working hard to find, and keep, the serenity in my soul.  I don’t want to pass on to you the anger and frustration of a generational curses.  Instead, it is my desire to share peace, abundance, and contentment.  That is what I would like to be remembered for.

I love you my Smiling Son!

Your Dad!

However, this is the first time I’ve used the key he gave me – and it’s probably the first time I’ve been in his house without him there.  I took the opportunity to look around.  I felt a little sad, a little nostalgic, a little pity/compassion, and a little sad.

Several times in my EMS career, I’ve treated patients in their home, loaded them into the ambulance, and sent them off to the hospital. Often, I was not the lead paramedic, so I was left behind to clean up the mess and chaos.  Medication boxes, IV disposables, and other assorted messes we make when we are busy treating someone in the midst of a medical crisis.  Indeed, someone must lock up and secure the home too.

I remember a man with a lot of clocks. The first time we saw him in his 30×30 studio apartment of a house – which was a little bigger than the place my Dad is currently living in – I was struck by the many clocks.  They were in various states of working order.  Some completely disassembled, and others working quite well – then everything in-between.  It was a striking scene, and appeared to be a great hobby.

On that particular day, this gentleman was clearly having an MI – or, as you might say it, a heart attack.  I was the lead paramedic that day, and we treated him with efficiency and kindness.  Although his condition was serious, I assured him he’d be OK.

About a week later we were called back to the same house for similar symptoms – chest pain and shortness of breath.  As we walked into his home, I immediately sensed that things were different.  My first clue was that the house was in disarray.  And with a quick glance, I could see that all of the clocks had stopped – even the ones that were previously working.  Then I saw the eyes of this nice elderly man.  There was a fear and concern that wasn’t there before.  I did not have a good feeling about his condition, and after an assessment of his vital signs and EKG, I knew that he was most likely coming to the end of his life.

It wasn’t my turn to be the lead paramedic, but because of my previous contact with him, I took the lead. Mostly however, I sat on the coffee table next to his chair, held his hand, and talked with him.  The rest of the team took care of the assessment and treatment tasks.  As we put him into the back of the ambulance, my partner climbed in to ride with him – in case his condition should deteriorate en-route to the hospital emergency department.  I was left to clean up.

When I went back into his house, I was really struck by the stopped clocks.  After cleaning up our disposables, checking to make sure the oven and dryer were off, and turning off some lights, I stood at the doorway for a minute just taking in the home.  For some reason I had forged a relationship with this patient.  We only met twice, and we hardly spoke, but we seemed to convey volumes through our eye contact.  And now, just before I locked up his house, I surveyed the scene.  Disarray, stopped clocks, and emptiness.  My heart was heavy, for I had a sense that he would never come home again.  And, unfortunately, I was right.  He died the next day.

I’ve had twinges of those feelings about my Dad lately.  It isn’t a good feeling.  It makes me want to cry.

My house, car, or office sometimes fall into disarray.  I get busy, stressed, sick, or have to take care of some other priority in my life.  But, I have the ability to bounce back and recover.  There are situations, like the one we are in now, where it may take a couple of years (or so) to recover, but due to our health and resources, we are usually able to turn the situation around and pull out of the disarray.

It appears that my Dad, or any aging person for that matter, may at some point lose the ability to rebound. Of course it doesn’t happen all at once.  It’s gradual.  After my Dad’s stroke in 1998, my parents sold their retirement dream home in the Columbia Gorge.  They knew they didn’t have the resources to maintain two homes anymore.  Not too long after that, they sold their primary home in Tualatin, where they had lived for 20+ years, and moved into a manufactured home park.  After my Mom developed cancer, they moved to Colorado so we could better care for them – again, they downsized their home.  My Dad has continued to downsize since my Mom’s death four years ago; to the point where he’s now living in a 300 square foot, studio home.

His health continues to deteriorate, his car problems escalate, and his stuff discombobulates.  It is hard to watch and even harder to know how to step in to help.  I mean, he’s The Dad!  He’s the one who is supposed to call the shots.  My Dad has always been large and in charge.  I’m not in charge, he is!  However, my Dad is independent, stubborn, and clearly epitomizes the state of denial.

Several times over the past few weeks, I’ve had to rescue him from car problems.  I don’t mind this, surely he has done more for me in my lifetime than I will ever be able to thank him for, or repay.  I’ve had to loan him money, ignore cranky outbursts, and overlook dysfunctions that I once had hope of him overcoming.  But as I stood in the middle of his house on Friday, I was overcome with a sense that this entropy will continue.

• We would like him to move into our home, but he fears a loss of independence.
• We would like him to eat with us more often, but he likes to watch TV when he eats.
• The Wife, already does my Dad’s laundry, but there is so much more we could do to help.  He just is trying to protect his privacy and independence – which is understandable.

It’s difficult to watch. My Dad is not always making good choices.  He bought a 15 year old car that continues to be a strain on his fixed income.  He isn’t really cooking meals for himself and it appears he is living off of an unsteady diet of candy, coffee, and McDonald’s apple pies.  The VA wants to do surgery on him, but they don’t seem to be taking in his medical issues in a holistic manner – it is more a shotgun approach to medicine.  And sadly, his flowing river of a social life has dwindled to a trickle.

As I stood in his house on Friday, I had this sad sense of finality.  I didn’t like it that feeling.  I don’t like where this is going.

For that reason, I thought I’d take a few moments to share with you some of my common sense approaches to Internet safety.

Last week I received this email through the comments section of this blog:

“You might not want to be posting to foursquare when your away from home while this website is so popular. http://pleaserobme.com/ I was checking it out for a story and your name came up first. It linked to your Twitter page which links to your blog, which has your Vcard with full address and contact info. Burglars call your home make sure your still out and about and then rob you blind. Sure, maybe it never happens to you but it still doesn’t hurt to be safe.”

Now, little did I know that a huge controversy had just erupted online within the social media space, regarding the above mentioned website.  First, I have to admit, the email above made me angry.  The detail the reporter describes is not accurate.  My home address, phone, or contact information are not available.  As a public figure, I’ve gone to great lengths to assure this.

Let me take a few moments to share some of my tips:

• Post Office Box: I first started renting a PO Box when I was working as a street paramedic.  This makes it harder for people I may encounter (eg; crazy, mean, angry, criminally insane, etc) to find me.  There is a small annual fee, but I like not having to provide my home address all the time.

• Unlisted Phone Number: This used to be more difficult, and it used to cost, but now with more an more people using a mobile phone – or using a service like Google Voice – it is relatively easy to keep your name, number, and address out of the phone book.

• Information: As you know, knowledge is power.  So don’t provide any information that strangers could use to gain power over you.  For instance, scrub your Facebook (and other profiles) to delete your date-of-birth, middle name, address, phone, children’s names, mother’s maiden name, or anything that could be used to steal your identity.  (Also, I routinely delete, or modify, comments that mention my kids’ real names)

This is a great post to help in this arena:

The 3 Facebook Settings Every User Should Check Now

• Photos: Through trial and error, I’ve found that photos of my kids get a lot of “hits.”  That is, people like to see photos of the kids and the stats of my photos reflect this.  It’s for this reason that I’ve locked down my photos to mostly friends and family.  But if I do release a photo to the wilds of the Interwebs, I make sure there is nothing potentially provocative, or risqué, to potential perpetrators.  I am also careful about what labels I give my photos.

(I once posted a photo of my kids, in a bathtub with our friend’s kids.  They were all wearing bathing suits, but apparently the keywords “bathtub” and “kids” generated a lot of hits.  That photo was my most viewed photo, ever, until I took it down from public display.)

• Risk/Benefit: Facebook is not a walled garden community anymore, Twitter never was, and other sites have different privacy guidelines that you need to be familiar with.  It’s important for you to do your own risk/benefit analysis.  If you live in the city, have a high profile position in the community, and/or have the potential to draw attention from unbalanced people, then you need to take additional precautions than I have listed here.  Regardless, please consider everything you post to be public.  Privacy, in our current culture, is usually considered a myth.

When I first was involved in online social networking, back in the days of Compuserve, Prodigy, and AOL, I tended to use pseudonyms and online handles that obscured my true identity. In fact I had several anonymous email addresses that allowed me to reach out, while remaining protected.  As my trust of the Intertubes grew – and my own online prowess became more skilled – I began to use my true identity.  This happened to coincide with my own developing values of authenticity and transparency.

However, I still make it difficult to connect my online information with my real-life information though.  It was frustrating when my employer published a freely available directory with my home address – or when my constituents complained that they didn’t know where I lived.  I tried to compensate for that by using geo-location services and picking public places to work – like the Starbucks in St. Helens.  While my home number wasn’t published, my Google Voice number would ring both my home phone and my mobile phone.  In many ways, I was more accessible – and easier to trace.

We live in the country, and few of the three-tooth hillbillies out here use The Internet, let alone The Email.  Most crimes are crimes of opportunity – an unlocked door, a dark alley, etc.  Few are going to take the time and energy to track me or my family in order to do violence against us.  There is just too much low-hanging fruit elsewhere.  But, does that make us immune?  Should we be taking greater precautions?

Here are a few scenarios, I’d love to hear my reader’s opinions on how they would handle these situations:

Example One:  We are planning a cross-country trip to our former city of residence.  We know several dozen people in Colorado and we’d like to see as many as possible, but contacting each family directly is simply unfeasible.  In fact, some of those we would love to see, we just won’t have time for.  By posting a couple of messages on Facebook or Twitter, it’s like sending up smoke signals and our friends can then organize a gathering where we can all see each other.

We did this about a year, or so, ago – and about 40 of us got together for pizza, laughter, and fun.  It was really fun!

However, by posting this online, we announced to the world that our house was empty and our stuff free for the taking.  What do you think?  Do the benefits of connecting with friends outweigh the risks of broadcasting one’s travel plans?

Example Two:  I’m headed into town for a meeting.  It’s been a busy day, I’ve been to multiple locations and posted all of them via Foursquare or Brightkite (which simultaneously posts to Twitter and Facebook).  By posting my location and plans, I keep those with whom I plan to meet  informed, and my wife and kids know where I am.  But does this leave my family vulnerable to predators – knowing I’m not home, but my family is?

Example Three:  While at the coast for a glorious sunny afternoon excursion, I post a couple of photos or videos of my family enjoying ourselves.  Though I don’t post geo-location data, it’s obvious from the photos that we are an hour or more from our home.  Does this make our home vulnerable to some enterprising young criminal?  Or worse, what if someone at our same location were to take a fancy to my wife and kids, are they more vulnerable because I’ve posted these photos?

Besides the normal paranoia, I’m really curious as to what my readers have to say.  You will have trouble convincing me that this online sharing is more dangerous than driving – or eating a carton of ice cream every night, so please, try to be rational.  What do you think is reasonable?

PS: We have good neighbors, small arms, and a great watch-dog. 

But if you ask me where I was five years ago today – or over the past 72 hours, I could most likely give you a running commentary.  You see, it was five years ago that my Darling Daughter was born – on her due date no less.  It was a a landmark moment in my life, and I haven’t been the same since.

I didn’t know this little bundle of humanity was going to have such a life-altering affect on me.  I didn’t know she was going to consume my every waking moment.  I didn’t know what love was, until she was born.  It is clearly the most amazing event I’ve ever been a part of in my life – and I’ve not led a boring life.

My wife, Jennifer is beyond amazing for what she did for me, for us – and for this Darling Daughter. As I watched her labor, for hours, without food, without medication, and because of some sorry customer service attitudes at the hospital our insurance company chose for us, without much assistance.  My respect for The Wife shot through the roof – and I already thought she was amazing!  It was also the most helpless situation I’ve ever been in.  I would have switched places with her in a heartbeat!

At some point during the labor, our OB doc became concerned.  There was meconium and our soon-to-be-born daughter’s fetal heart monitor was showing signs of distress.  The doctor took steps to speed up delivery, but was also giving off classic signs of stress.  She was sweating, she called in the neonatal team, and then she uttered a phrase one hates to hear from their highly-trained, highly-trusted physician:

“C’mon baby, you’re starting to worry me.”

Did she not see me standing right beside her!? What was she thinking!?  I’d already seen the other six people come into the room; I saw them unpack a laryngoscope and ET tube; and, I saw the look of concern on everyone’s face.  Did they think I was an idiot!??

About twenty minutes later, around 10:30 in the morning, our precious daughter was born. After moments of skin-to-skin contact with Mommy, they whisked her over to warmer, suctioned about 100 ccs of meconium out of her lungs, dried her off, weighed her, and returned her to Mommy.  There was no need for intubation, her Apgar score was great, and she was very healthy!

The last five years have gone by very quickly. They told me it would.  In fact, they told me that before I knew it, I’d be walking her down the aisle.  At this rate, I know they are right.  There are times when I just want to put her in a jar and preserve her just the way she is.  Other times, I am so absolutely amazed by her growth, development, beauty (internal, as well as external), and intelligence – that I just can’t wait to see what’s next!

“Daddy?  I can’t believe I’m five years old today!”

She was so excited as her birthday approached. And even as the day passed yesterday, she could hardly believe she was five years old.  All day long, she kept telling us – as if to test reality.

“I’m five years old today Daddy!”

“I know!”

“Daddy?  I can’t believe I’m five years old today!”

“I’m five Mommy!”

It was a special day for everyone – even Smiling Son, who thought it was his birthday too – probably because of the thoughtful gifts grandparents had sent for him too. It was very cute.

When I look at this little person, asleep in the other room, I’m amazed at the perfection. Arms, legs, eyes, and a brain that is obviously superior to mine – what did I ever do to deserve such a special gift?  I am blessed.  I am amazed.  I am in awe.

All I did was show up with some borrowed genes and a willing attitude.  I praise God for this beautiful child and the opportunity to feel love like this.  It is, without a doubt, the most amazing thing in the world!

It’s been just a year since we participated in a family hay ride, at my aunt and uncle’s house, in Brush Prairie.  When we stopped at the barn, we discovered a mommy cat with seven kittens.  Of course my kids (and The Wife) thought they were adorable.  After waiting for their shots and sterilization surgeries, a month later we brought home two sibling kittens.  They were a perfect fit for our home.

A month or so ago, both kittens experienced medical and traumatic incidents.  Rocky apparently tangled with something bigger than him and his foot became inflamed.  We suspect he learned the importance of staying away from raccoons!  With some nursing by The Wife, he was restored to health.  Rozy, however, began to lose weight and we couldn’t determine the cause.  She was plagued by vomiting and diarrhea.  Because of our current financial situation, we couldn’t afford to seek expert medical attention for her.  The Wife used her best RN skills to nurse her back to health – and we had begun to see a turn around.

Tuesday evening we returned from a couple of days in Eugene.  We stayed with good friends there while I took an American Heart Association PALS course.  We left the cats in the garage with adequate food, water, and the all important kitty litter.  Upon entering the garage we were greeted by Rocky, but Rozy was nowhere to be found.  Jennifer grew gravely concerned.

We sent the kids into the house and I got a flashlight and began to search high and low. Interestingly, it’s not always easy to tell if something is alive from across the room, but dead bodies are unmistakable.  As soon as I saw her, I knew we had lost her.  She was curled up in a corner, motionless.  I had to move a mattress and some boards to get to her.  She was cold and stiff, but it was obvious she had gone painlessly.  Jennifer began to cry.

As I stood with my arms around my tender wife, I whispered silent prayers for wisdom.  How will I break this to my precious little girl?

Jennifer went into the house to make some dinner for the kids and I began to extricate Rozy from her place of rest.  I left her lying on the garage floor, covered with one of my old t-shirts.  When I went into the house, both kids were eating, and The Wife was quietly crying in the living room.  I was not yet ready to break the news to my Darling Daughter, but she is too bright for her own good sometimes.

“Daddy, did you find Rozy?” She asked.

I mumbled something just short of a lie, as she stared into my eyes.

“Did she die?”

I nodded softly, and quietly said: “Yes.”

My eyes were locked onto hers as I watched the realization creep into her soul.

How would she react?  Does she understand?  What is she thinking?  How badly will she be hurt?  Will she be hurt?  Am I going to have to have a long conversation about death? What will she... And with that a look of sheer pain broke over her face and she reached out to me.  I scooped her up out of her booster chair and held her close.  She melted in my arms as the sobs and cries pulsed through her tender heart.  The pain was real.  She understood.

She has been with me as I’ve officiated at funerals, but it was just under a year ago when we drove to Valentine, Nebraska to do Jennifer’s uncle’s funeral.  And it was just about a month ago that my Darling Daughter was sharing with me her memories of that event.  She talked about what it was like to see Uncle Aub in the casket; and she wondered why everyone was so sad.  Of course, she has also seen dead animals along the roadside, the birds and shrews that our cats have killed, and just a few weeks ago we found a mole that the cats had left for dead.  My daughter has seen death, but on this Tuesday night, she was tasting it.

It’s at this point that I have to admit that I’m not much of a cat person.  I had a cat when I was a kid, and I loved him dearly, but my experiences with cats since have not been ones you’d call endearing.  I hate to admit this, especially in the midst of my family’s grieving, but the loss of Rozy wasn’t affecting me that much.  But, when my wife started crying, my heart was pricked.  When my Darling Daughter started sobbing, I lost it too.  The three of us sat on the couch, in a big heap of arms, legs, tears, sobs, prayers, and runny noses.  I hated to see the pain of death in my precious, sweet, innocent, and Darling Daughter.  I cursed the disobedience and rebelliousness that brings death into our lives, and I cried out for salvation from the pain.

After crying for a bit, Darling Daughter asked if she could see her Rozy kitty. Of course.  When I lay her in the garage and covered her, I had already tried to prepare for a “viewing.”  The Wife was hesitant, but all my education on death and dying, plus way too much personal experience, has taught me that this is an important part of the grieving process.  Jennifer hadn’t wanted to see the body earlier.  She said Rozy was such a pretty kitty, she didn’t want the images of death to cloud out the good memories.  All four of us ended up standing on the in front of the car, looking at Rozy on the other side of the garage, wrapped carefully in my old t-shirt, with just enough of her exposed.  That’s as close as Darling Daughter asked to go.

She wanted to know why I covered her with the t-shirt? Because the garage floor is cold. Why is her face covered?  Out of respect. I also explained how she wasn’t breathing, wasn’t moving, and what death means.

“See how her tail isn’t moving?” I asked.  ”Kitties’ tails always move, even when they’re asleep.  Not even her tail is moving.“

After a few minutes of quiet reflection (absorption?), we went back into the house and began to discuss plans for the funeral. Of course there were more tears and more questions, but I was amazed at how aware and understanding she was.  Smiling Son was mostly oblivious to everything.  He showed concern over the tears, but mostly smiled curiously.  While she was getting into her nightgown, I asked my Darling Daughter if she wanted to draw (one of her favorite activities)?  This bit of informal art therapy allowed her to express much about her relationship with Rozy and her feelings.  It also opened up opportunities for her to talk about some things she was trying to wrap her heart and mind around.  Via her drawings, we decided to bury Rozy under one of our newly planted apple trees.  She spent a good hour drawing.

The Wife told me later that she and our Darling Daughter stayed up late laughing, crying, giggling, and processing.  (It was one of their most intimate times I was told.)  Later, when they came to bed, we all slept in a cozy heap of comfort in our family bed.

Wednesday morning we began preparing for the funeral.

Darling Daughter called a friend and very matter-of-factly, told another four-year old how her Cat, Rozy, had died and she wanted him to come to the funeral.  Unfortunately, he was unable to come.  After a bit, we decided to limit the funeral to just our immediate family.  I placed Rozy in a box and we dug a hole under one of the apple trees.  Darling Daughter asked if she could put the box in the hole?  Sure, I said; but thinking it would be difficult, I asked her why she wouldn’t let me do it.

“Because she’s my kitty.” I was told.

After placing her in the ground, I held my Darling Daughter close and gave a brief eulogy.  We talked about our memories of Rozy.  We laughed, we reflected, we smiled, and we cried.  As I shoveled dirt onto the box, we sang a couple of songs.  I pushed a stick in the ground, as a temporary marker, and then we prayed.  This is the text we read during the service, and this is the hope we cling to:

“And now, dear brothers and sisters, we want you to know what will happen to the believers who have dieds so you will not grieve like people who have no hope.For since we believe that Jesus died and was raised to life again, we also believe that when Jesus returns, God will bring back with him the believers who have died. We tell you this directly from the Lord: We who are still living when the Lord returns will not meet him ahead of those who have died. For the Lord himself will come down from heaven with a commanding shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trumpet call of God. First, the Christians who have died will rise from their graves.Then, together with them, we who are still alive and remain on the earth will be caught up in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. Then we will be with the Lord forever.So encourage each other with these words” ~1 Thessalonians 4:13-18

In my life, I’ve seen too much death.  I have images ingrained into my brain of tragic deaths.  It wasn’t until my Mom died, almost four years ago, that I really understood the pain of death.  It wasn’t until last Tuesday night that I really felt the pain when someone else loses a loved one. Clearly, this was the most important funeral I’ve ever performed.

I know my Darling Daughter will grow up, move on, and this kitty will become a distant memory.  She’ll never forget her name though.  And she’ll never forget her first real loss.  Neither will I.  Damn. Death stings!

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Related Posts:

• • Helping Children Deal with Death
  • Talking To Children About Death

In the last 60 years, he has owned three businesses, raised a family, owned a vacation home, an RV, and has always driven sporty cars. He pioneered some “green” practices within the municipal water distribution systems around Portland. (To be truthful, he wasn’t trying to be green ~ that word didn’t exist in the 1980s ~ he was just being frugal and practical)

My Dad is an optimist, he is driven, and everyone likes him. In 1998, after his stroke, I flew to Portland to take over his duties.  For two weeks straight, everyone I spoke with told me what a great guy my Dad is – and I still hear that from people.  He is very well liked.  My Dad works hard, he doesn’t take no for an answer, and he knows how to get the job done – no matter how many rolls of duct tape, sheet rock screws, or bailing wire it takes.

But, his chronological age doesn’t match his biological age. In the early 90s he had open heart surgery to replace a congenitally defective valve.  A couple of years later  a physician made a medication error  that almost killed my Dad from a cardiac tamponade.  I’ve spent a lifetime in the back of ambulances, it’s a whole new experience to be back there with my own father.  Then, as I mentioned, almost 11 years ago, once again due to a medication error, my Dad suffered a stroke.

All my life he’s told me that I may get bigger/stronger/smarter – but I’ll never be tougher than him. Now, I help him carry his laundry into the house from the car.  He’s still tough – there is no doubt about that – unfortunately, his body has betrayed him.  Sometimes mental toughness is not enough though.

During his Korean Conflict Army tour, they discovered his IQ to be 140. Well within Mensa qualifications.  Unfortunately, raised in abject poverty, with no emphasis on school, and very little post high school education, my Dad was never able to capitalize on that raw computing power between his ears.  In fact, it was his lack of understanding in capital  finance and business practices that forced him to leave self-employment – more than once.

Right after my Dad’s stroke, in another poorly made financial decision, my parents sold their house (which was almost paid for), and proceeded to burn through years of capital in a very short period of time.  Now, three and a half years after my Mom’s death, my Dad lives in a 20 x 20, one-room, studio “house.”  This is a step up from the 24 -foot RV where he was living in my driveway – but not much.

My brother and I, in an attempt to allow my Dad his independence and freewill, have tolerated this sub-standard living space.  The place is cold, drafty, and smells of mildew.  Less than 25% of his lifetime accumulations are in the house, the rest are at my house.  In addition to the downscale environment, the place has electrical issues and other safety concerns.

When he lived in our driveway, he would eat many meals with us. One concern we now have is whether he is meeting his nutritional needs.  It appears that he’s lost weight and vigor, since he moved  into his own place a few months ago.  He has lost stamina and even balance.  But despite repeated invites, he seems to prefer his independence.

Lately, we’ve been trying to find another solution that would provide a better standard of living.  We once again offered to let him move into our spare bedroom, which is a little smaller than his house, but he didn’t want to do that.  We offered to move out of our master suite – giving him fully 25-30% of our house, his own bathroom, enough room to set up a kitchenette, and a room as big as his current house.  Overall he would increase his living space by 30-40%.  He was reticent.

We persisted in inviting him to move in with us. Finally, I resorted to the idea that we needed the help – financially.  The $3-400/month that he would pay, might  enable us to keep our house – given our own unemployment/cash-flow issues.  This is the truth, by the way – but not the original motivation.  Finally he relented.

So, I asked him when he was going to give notice at his current place?  Not until the end of October.  Hmmmmm….

As The Wife and I discussed this, we came to the very real observation, that he doesn’t want to move in with us.  He would have his own entrance, we’d make accommodations for his dog, et cetera, and so forth, but…  The bottom line is, he values his independence more than he does his health and his comfort.

Of course, everyone has to die someday, but no one enjoys facing the death of their parents.  In fact, most people revert to infancy before their death – whether through dementia, failing health, or whatever, at some point the kids need to step in and parent the parents.  Sometimes we have to manage their medications and finances, other times we have to take away their car keys.

UPDATE: Last night, before I was able to post this, my Dad joined us for a nice dinner. (Yummy Lentil soup!)

I asked my Dad last night if he really didn’t want to move in. “Not really.” he said.

I asked him if he’d rather stay where he is.  “Yep”

I asked him these important questions:  “How will we know when you’re no longer able to take care of yourself? When will we know to take your car keys away?  When will we have to make those decisions for you?” Or, to sum it all up: “Are you going to fight us all the way?”

His answer was not unexpected, but was pretty funny: “You better believe it!”

And we all had a good laugh – but I hope he thinks about it.

http://www.caring.com/questions/

[Confidential PS to my brother: Dad is still planning to move in with you when you get your house built - "because he'll have more privacy there."]