Dancin' Days

Sundays I take my son to my small group meeting, where he usually gets to meet up with one of the other member's daughters, who's also eight. She takes dance classes, and this Sunday, she was trying to get Jordan to slow dance. Jordan, of course, has no real experience that hasn't been on the goofy side, so his dancing looks a little more like that Brazilian martial arts dancing [insert name of that Brazilian martial arts dancing when I think of it].

I was able to at least get him set up in the right position. Next, the box step. I figure if he's going to be a lady's man, he needs to dance.

The two-year itch

Sometimes in the land of blogs, it's easier not to update than to figure out what and why to write about something. And in the life of an ever-changing little human, deciding when to listen to yourself or your dad is hard to figure out.

Jordan is now eight years and almost three months old. For the past year, he's been growing in character and personality at a greater and greater rate. Mostly, that's been all right. Sometimes he needs a little push or pull to one side or the other of a decision he makes. That's to be expected. I'm the same. Except no one is pushing me much.

Every couple of years, his independence runs smack into the rules of adults, and we have to intervene in ways not entirely fun. And it's been the same thing each time: he doesn't want to follow rules.

This time, he might have gotten the idea that because we didn't make a big deal every time he got into trouble for some little thing, we didn't care, which meant that he could do anything he wanted, trouble or not. He says that isn't the case, but sometimes we agree to disagree.

Whatever the cause, a thorough talk--complete with chances for him to ask his questions and tell his side--brought him to the point that his disobedience turned around completely, and his habit of making excuses for everything he did wrong decreased at least 50 percent.

I want to be careful that he doesn't feel like my dislike of his excuses means I don't want him to talk to me about problems. I'm learning in this deal just as he is, and together, and by the grace of God, we should get through pretty good.

The Creation of Mr. Pumpkin

The Halloween jack o'lantern is a thrill for every youngster, it seems, and nothing seems more natural for him or her than to give the goblinesque creation the most realistic of appearances, getting every tooth and whisker just so. That is, until they try to carve it themselves.

Just two months shy of eight years old, my son appeared ready to handle at least part of the chore of slicing the orange melon's considerably meaty flesh, and I'm happy to report all went well. We used the score and score again technique, where a light line is notched with the point of the blade along the area to be cut. Then a second stab deepens the line, and a third or fourth goes all the way through the meat.

For the nose and ears, I demonstrated out the cuts don't have to go all the way through, but still provide plenty of pumpkinized realism.

And we even ate some of the noble squash, just to prove we could.

The picture at the right would have shown some of the cubed delights, if I'd taken a second to make sure they had made it into the picture. But here's what we did: all the pieces we took out--the eyes and the mouth--we saved, plus I cut some pieces of the fruit or flesh or meat or whatever you call the part that you eat. I cut them in small cubes, melted some butter in a small frying pan, added a couple tablespoons of brown sugar, and cooked them for about 15 minutes, just till they were soft enough to eat, but not mushy.

Okay, so it wasn't the healthiest of meals, but if the pilgrims had brought butter and brown sugar, I'm sure they would have done the same. Probably.

Soccer world

Fall soccer season has begun and Jordan has a good team again. We've got a great coach, and I'm the assistant coach again, so that's as it is.

Team is second- and third-graders, and the kids are getting a much better idea of how to play. We have referees this time, so coaches are not on the field, but we still get to roam the sidelines and yell instructions.

Soccer is a cool game. It's a world game. Great soccer players can go anywhere. Might not understand what the people are yelling at you, but there you are.

Vacation post 2009

My second annual vacation with Jordan found us plying the Lake Erie coast again, because, hey, if it isn't broken, don't repair it. We did add a couple of things, though, and left out a couple others, just for balance. And variety.

One thing left out was forgetting to pack the Cedar Point season pass. This time, we forgot nothing important (three unimportant things I don't recall right now) and were on our way shortly after church. Didn't take long for Jordan to fall asleep, but that's cool. He'd watched a movie on the way, so a little nap afterwards while the wheels go round couldn't hurt a thing.

We had two places reserved, one a motel with a fridge, coffee maker, microwave, pool, playground, and excellent breakfast. We began our stay there for four days and ended the week with two days of camping out at East Harbor State Park on Lake Erie. I'll spend a few weeks between now and next year thinking about starting out at the campground and winding up up at the motel. Could go either way. The camping really helped us to wind down from the fun of...

Cedar Point amusement park. This year's visit to the park came with the revelation that Jordan had grown just enough to be eligible for the rides that required him to be 52 inches tall. And we took advantage, believe me. The best new ride was Maverick, a twisting, turning metal coaster that had a line an hour long every time we rode, but it was worth it. A close second was Top Thrill Dragster, which also featured a hefty line, but we got there early and only had 30-minute waits.

The weather on Lake Erie (where Cedar Point lies) cooperated with our plans to spend as much time at Cedar Point as possible, but we also visited a couple of other play areas where Jordan got to drive a go-kart, play some putt-putt golf, and his favorite, ride bumper boats. If you've never experienced bumper boats, do yourself a favor and do it.

What can I say about Sandusky, Ohio, the lake, the park that you haven't already heard? Probably not much, so I'll throw some out here and you can make up your own story: Dippin' Dots, Vintage Cars, Dodgems, Ferris Wheel, sea gulls, forgetting where you parked your car, finding your car, the evening fireworks extravaganza. Can you think of more?

One thing different this year was the proliferation of cell phones. I admit to carrying mine around everywhere and taking over 100 pictures during the week with it. My digital SLR stayed in the motel's safe and deep in the darkness of my car during most of the trip. I took four pictures with it. But they were darn good ones.

I even took a picture of some people on the Ferris wheel and tried to bluetooth it to them. We couldn't figure that out. I think my phone might be to blame, although I can bluetooth easily to my old phone and to my computer. Getting to another iPhone and another computer isn't as easy as it should be; indeed, it hasn't been possible yet, so I'm missing some important piece of information. But I was able to message the picture to the folks from the Ferris wheel, which was pretty neat in itself.

We spent half a day on Kelleys Island. (For you punctuation nerds like me, they don't use an apostrophe in the island name.) Jordan likes to go to Kelleys because he gets a chance to drive the golf carts we rent to go around on.

Kelleys has a great beach, where we spent a couple of hours, and an excellent state park, with a couple of rentable yurts that are right on the beach almost. Very Hawaiian feeling. Might consider staying there a night sometime.

One thing we quickly found about the island entertainment: it's largely adult-centered. Very few restaurants that didn't also offer liquor, which is part of the mystique, perhaps, of a maritime-themed business district.

But there's good news, if you're like me and my son and not so big on the drinking and smoking:

Erie Island Coffee Co. and Papa T's, two places on Division Street where you can find good coffee and good food, along with great service. Of course, I zeroed in on the coffee shop because I like coffee and needed to augment my blood-caffeine level. Erie Island Coffee, according to Jessica, the beautiful and helpful attendant at the shop, is based in Cleveland. I think they are giving Starbucks a run for the money when it comes to coffee drinks and non-coffee drinks for the little ones who don't need the added stimulation.

Jessica directed us to Papa T's just up the street for good food and ice cream sans the alcoholic haze. The picture of Jordan eating an ice cream was taken on the porch of Papa T's. The only trouble we had at that place was choosing one of the over 30 flavors of ice cream for the cone. Anyone know what Superman flavor is? Or want to go half on a peach ice cream cake?

Soon enough it was time to go camping, Jordan's first experience with it. He especially liked the idea of the campfire and kept trying to get me to fetch more wood and make it bigger and bigger. So for our final night, we built a monster for roasting hot dogs and marshmallows. He ate two hotdogs and half a dozen marshmallows, but the fire burned for over five hours. It had been a long time since I spent the evening watching a fire burn. Felt like a pioneer, albeit one who buys his wood in bundles at the local general store.

Our first evening at the camp, we spent a couple hours at the beach, which was nice, but they're doing some work on the bathrooms. It's not Waikiki or even Myrtle Beach, so it gets a little crowded, especially during July tourist season, and the waves, well, the waves are bigger at the Kings Island wave pool, but that's not the point, is it? The point is, you can go really far out into the water, throw Frisbee, football, whatever, and it's calming and relaxing.

Back to the beach for some sand/mud castle building and to the tent for a night's rest on the ground.

And then it rained.

The gentle thunderstorm wouldn't have been so bad, but it turned out the tent had never been seam-sealed. The manufacturer had kindly included a bottle of sealer in the tent peg pouch. I plan to ask them if anyone ever requested a tent that leaked and was that the reason they didn't just make the seams more water-resistant. Definitely a case of "buyer, pay attention to what's in the bag next time."

But only a pint or so of rain got into the tent and nothing was harmed, except a pillow. I gave Jordan mine and I used a couple of beach towels for the rest of the time there.

All in all, it was exciting. And something else struck me: the honesty of campers. I mean, it doesn't take a lot to unzip a tent and make all kinds of trouble, but you hardly ever hear of it happening. The same for beach people. Beach blankets, cell phones, car keys, all sorts of things get left behind while their owners enjoy the water that feels too cold at first.

We packed up on a Saturday morning. By Friday, the campgrounds, which had been practically empty the night before, had become filled with campers. It got noisy, and not the good kind of noisy that we experienced the first morning after the thunderstorm. That morning, birds of many kinds awakened us. From inside the tent, they sounded like all sorts of creatures: ducks, dogs, hyenas--who knows what?

Jordan had never heard so many so close, and he was amazed and enthralled. I recalled my youth as a child of the country, where I could recognize a lot of bird calls. Was quite an old memory those repetitious bird calls pulled out of me. Those were the days--having the time to memorize bird calls. Wow.

We left around 9 and headed for Cedar Point for one last hurrah on the Dragster before heading south to Uncle Les and Aunt Grace's where Jordan made them uncover the pool, despite it being only 76 degrees. He seemed not to mind. Likes pools, I guess.

And that's it, folks. Vacation 2009. I put a hundred pics in a flickr account that you can see, if you're feeling especially voyeuristic. It's here, and you're more than welcome to take a look.

July the What?!

Before the month is over and I'm out the door again, wanted to quickly post a pic and a promise of more posting to come to let the family member and friend who read this blog (and whoever that other person is) that I am still waiting for the mythical time when I can spend a few unhurried minutes putting together my thoughts on vacation, softball, and many other things a father and son take the time to do when the days are longer and the nights are filled with blood-sucking flying beasts and the beat-down of thunderstorms on our tent.

Oh, it's an exciting story, one well worth pulling up a seat and a bowl of popcorn to hear/read. You'll see (I hope).

A moving story

We've finally learned as a society that movement is essential to health. Not a big revelation, until you think about how hard we try as a society to keep kids motionless and silent.

As soon as we can, we shuffle them into classrooms of other kids and tell them to sit still and do nothing till told differently. Then, when they're older, we wonder why some of them get planted in front of the TV or behind a desk and do little else but add to their posteriors.

I'm glad summer vacation is here for Jordan. We spend a few hours a day reading, writing, learning, and part of it involves watching science programs on the computer screen. My desk, pictured, includes a NordicTrack ski machine that I use a few minutes most days. I have it set up for Jordan to use when he's here. Can't keep him off it, so I figured might as well size it for him.

While a program about the Kileaua volcano was on, I left Jordan in the chair and went to the kitchen to fix a cup of coffee. When I came back, Jordan was on the exercise machine while watching the program.

Did he deduce that his future life would be better if he trained himself now to keep active? Did he decide he needed to increase his heart rate so his brain would be fed more oxygen and he could learn more thoroughly? Or does he enjoy moving around on the NordicTrack and feel like he could do that AND watch the volcano show?

Movement is natural for children. Becoming a stationary blob takes a lot of effort from well-meaning parents, teachers, and employers. As a society we need to change that paradigm, drastically and soon.

Mad thermals

I strive to be a writer in my playtime, and to help, I'm in a critique group of various individuals who usually do not agree on anything much in the realm of writing. It's a good cross-section. Somebody's bound to like what you do. And somebody isn't.

A recent story I wrote for kids dealt with flying and the science of flying, specifically thermals. Couple of people couldn't believe that kids seven years old would have any idea what a thermal is. To them I say: watch some Sesame Street once in a while. But I say it with a smile firmly planted because everything we say to each other is given and taken with a grain of salt, which, I suppose, is meant to season the comment and make it more tasty.

From the photo above, taken at the Wright Patt Air Force Museum in Dayton, you can see the evidence that at least in the case of my son, flying is a way of life. He's known about thermals for at least two years, and while he might not be able to give you the scientific reason for their existence, he definitely knows they exist, that they are more prevalent on south-facing hillsides, and that they help you fly.

Couple of years ago, I observed him and a friend flying, and the other guy said, "Wow, Jordan, you got mad skills."

I could only agree.

What's good for the goslings...

Another soccer season is over and a new softball season begun. Our amazing kids have learned the game of soccer better and better, they've become good friends, and I've grown as a coach and a human being.

It's tough sometimes being positive when kids are doing the opposite of what you ask them, when they don't listen to you at all, when they don't listen to anything at all except the voice in their head that says to do anything but play soccer. It's tough for me, anyway. I'm not naturally a forgiving person. It's against my nature to put up with being ignored and to keep trying to make children listen.

But that's what I worked on doing, because you know why? That's what we tell the kids to do: Don't stop attacking the ball. Keep after it. Don't stop.

It wasn't till the last game that the message sunk into my head deeply enough to make an impression that lasts. But it did, and now I'm ready to coach softball. I think.

Tony the Tiger would be proud

At best I'm an optimistic pessimist, or maybe a pessimistic optimist, either way, it equals out. So I don't know how my son has developed into such a positive force. Maybe it's because his mom and I have always strived to give his thoughts and feelings their due importance.

Don't misunderstand. We don't negotiate every little thing. At least I don't. If it's green bean casserole for dinner, that's what it is. No begging for something else. For one thing, if it's green bean casserole, I probably don't have anything else. Besides, I add a little Tabasco and a touch of garlic and make that casserole rock, dude.

One day I made a new recipe of chicken and cabbage burritos, and I could tell by his face that the combination did not work for him. So I let him eat the chicken by itself, along with a side salad. (I think the disgusting cabbage made the salad taste better to him.)

So I keep it real for him, just like I'd treat (as I've said before) any obnoxious stranger. He deserves at least that level of respect. He is, after all, a human.

I took him to school this morning and pulled to the curb where we line up and let kids out. The principal came over and held the door for him. "Hi, Jordan," he said. "How are you today?"

Jordan steps out of the car into the 53-degree weather, big (mostly empty) backpack, shorts and aloha shirt, uncombed hair, and said as he closed the door, "GREAT!"

"What a good answer," principal Schwieterman said.

And I had to agree, though I'm not sure how it happened.

Pancake Serenade

I am a lover of the pancake arts. They inspire me to many things. We have no IHOPs in the Dayton area, and this is a travesty of pancake justice. Thankfully, we have many memories of IHOPs in Colorado. One of the earliest memories my seven-year-old son has is of him and me going to IHOP for specialty pancakes.

"That was in Colorado, right?" he asked me. "I remember we used to go there a lot, didn't we?"

Jordan was aged three through five during this time, so it's cool that the memory stuck with him. His brain is developing so fast now, many of those toddler memories are being wiped out.

We also stopped by Sonic once or twice a week in those days. For those who don't know, that's a fast-food joint where you pull up to signs outside to order your meal, and it's brought to your car, often by roller-skating waiters or waittresses. Jordan would unbuckle from the seat, take off his shoes, and go crawling through the Vibe station wagon we had at the time. It had a sun roof, too, so of course he'd be sticking his head through that, weather permitting.

The last time I asked him about that, he didn't really remember it. Stupid me, I didn't take any pictures of it. Stupid! Always take pictures, people. It's the 21st century.

Being without a member of the IHOP franchise nearby, I've had to perfect my own pancake art, and can report success. Whenever my son stays with me, we have pancakes the next morning.

One of the best memories I have of my own dad is the making of pancakes on Sunday mornings. Not every Sunday, but there was a period of time when it was semi-regular. I'm very glad to pass down that positive memory to my son.

Passing, shooting, and reading

Basketball coaching continues to be rewarding. The kids are doing much better at passing the ball. Some still have trouble guarding without going all helicopter on the opponent, and there is the problem of agressiveness causing more agressiveness till finally one or the other is called for fouling. Invariably, he doesn't understand it because the other kid was going it too. The no-touch policy works for a while, but soon, it's back to guarding by gymnastics.

Jordan's on the medium height segment of the team, though one of the younger. Next year, he'll be on the far end of the age range. He'll also be a bit more mature. He's already high up on the maturity scale, able to give up the bad percentage shot in favor of a pass inside. That's a hard lesson for this age to learn.

Tonight, he's playing computer games. I'm amazed by the online games and how they've grown over the past couple of years. They look like expensive games now. And Jordan plays them way better since he's learned to read.

Knowing that he has a good time reading is another high point for a writer daddy. His writing skills haven't quite caught up yet, but just to watch him sit and read a story book, that is about as good as it gets these days.