chicagodads

I found out why I can’t stay awake long enough to do a blog post anymore (well, without falling asleep several times, or pumping my body full of sugar and/or caffeine). But I’ll let my Facebook status updates tell the story.

JD Status: Going to the doctor’s soon for bloodwork results. Hopefully, she’ll tell me I have an unusually high midi-chlorian count.

RR: higher than Master Yoda’s? If so, you might be a sith

JD: Awesome!

RR:

JD: i mean, “Oh no, that’ll never happen!”

mu-haha-ha!

JD Status : Bloddwork results: Thyroid levels are off the chart. Simply, body’s constantly tired and sending signals to brain to pump stimulants. Even simpler: I am _biologically_ lazy.

MF: So what did your doc tell you to do about it?

JD:  she said i need friends and fam round-the-clock to feed me breakfast in bed.

no, she gave me a prescription at this point for about 1/2 dose. hopefully, i can get some more exercise if i don’t feel as weighed down in the mornings.

JD Status: Bloodwork results: Thyroid levels are off the chart. Simply, body’s constantly tired and sending signals to brain to pump stimulants. Even simpler: I am _biologically_ lazy.

JD: Saying “Bloddwork” makes me feel like a vampire, like Count Chocula or Edward or something…
Blaeh!

NWS: Hope they get you some good meds for that! If not, I vote for the count chocula persona.

JD: Not the Twilight guy?
got a prescription. just what i’ve always wanted, legal steroids. now i can get an even bigger head…

NWS: I have to admit I was thinking of your wife when I suggested count chocula - I mean who wouldn’t want to be married to a sweet guy who makes a living as a cereal box model? While Edward is dangerous and sexy, I’m not sure the situation is ideal. Glad you got some meds!!!

JD: she might try to eat me…

NWS: so long as you don’t try to eat her.

JD: I may vant to suck her blood.
Bleah!

CJK: Not diabetic, then? I’m glad you got results & meds. Hope it helps! (Maybe that’s what’s wrong with me!)

JD: common symptoms to watch for, CJ:
fatigue, muscle spasms (which i don’t have. guess i don’t have the muscles anymore…), constipation (also don’t have), dry skin, weight gain, slow heart rate, sensitivity to cold (that may just be the looong winter getting on my nerves though), or dry brittle hair that tends to fall out easily (not yet).

i wouldn’t be too surprised if i did come up w/ diabetes. but thank God not yet.

So, that’s about it. Thyroid problems. I try to go to bed at 10 now, and yet I still have problems getting up at 6:30 (meaning I don’t get out of bed til a bit later. This morning I slept until 7:10).

And now? I’m going to bed.

 And I would just like to suggest that I’m a very spiritual person and that the reason I haven’t blogged is because I’ve been fasting from such concerns this week. But really, I just got tired of it for a moment. And I’ve actually been busy when I haven’t been supertired.

But I thought I’d at least drop by and share a link. In light of all of the recent talk of designer parenting, I found this illuminating news analysis/interview rather… enlightening.

Status: Tonight being Maundy Thursday, I plan on eating a hefty meal — as if it were my last supper. And then probably be betrayed by one of my twelve twitter followers and handed over to the Romans. Busy night.

…In comparison to children-less couples. That is, according to at least this study-backed essay published in the British Psychologist Society’s The Psychologist. (h/t the Motherlode)

This may or may not be a shock. After all, we parents love our children. And we like to think that they bring us much joy. My daughter’s name means “Joyous.” But there is so much stress, worry and sadness associated with having children that the net result of happiness from having children (even in the long-run) is, at best, zero.

Yet, we continue to have children. And we continue to be overswept with joy for friends who announce their pregnancies. We have baby showers and lavish expectant parents with well-wishes and can’t wait to see (and maybe hold) the “little bundle of joy.”

As a further measure of paradox, we tend to wait til our “summer” seasons (our 30’s) - when we’ve passed our physical peaks - to have most of our children. We do this because we feel that our houses are not in order yet, that at the tender age of 20, 24, 28 we have not yet had our fill of the world, or certainly not filled into the world - our die has not yet been cast. And we wait until we are important people. Important and worldly enough to be able to hire nannies so that we can continue to work at our high-paying jobs so that we can continue to afford to buy the most lavish, happiness-providing toys that wealth can provide.

And I wonder if we’re not missing the point. I wonder if we think that we’re supposed to be pursuing happiness because that’s what’s in the DNA of our country, but not always the DNA of our DNA.

Does my daughter give me much happiness? Yes. Absolutely. I often grin from ear-to-ear just thinking about her, watching her hand reach out to stroke trees or laugh gleefully when I or Jennie somewhat surprise her in a riled-up game of peekaboo. Does she also cause stress, consternation, dread, worry, ear- and head-aches? I can barely hear out of my right ear now because she did a Spinal Tap-esque 11 in it yesterday for the simple reason that her playgroup was over.  The costs. The pangs of childbirth. The extra pounds. The extra time it takes to do simple tasks. Finding childcare. Destruction of property.

So why, besides self-destructive tendencies, have children?

It may not be about happiness in the first place. Rather, I believe that something deep within us calls us to spread, calls us to sacrifice, to give of ourselves, to expand our horizons and embrace that which could very well hurt us. It was love that caused my wife and I to look each other in the eye and say, I want to share life and meaning with you. It was love that caused us to say, let’s have a child together who will be a constant reminder of each other and our love for each other. I can’t help but be reminded of my love for my wife everytime I look into Jocelyn’s big eyes, or her thin curls, even her furrowed brow.

It’s love that calls us to be parents. And it’s love that gives us the strength to continue in this direction.

Say it isn’t so…

A new skate park to be opened shortly near our house was noted for vandalism by some concerned local citizens.

With no disrespect, tagging happens. At least it’s not a gang issue. Nor is it private or even business property being hit up by graffitti artists.

Here’s some history of graffitti art in Chicago.

“Just Don’t ” by garryknight via Flickr

On my other site, Left Cheek, I bi-weekly compiled a Links We Like to Link to list - somewhat as a way to clear my windows cache as a way to clear my head. Felt it was long overdue for a massive one, but since most of these were specifically Chicago and/or Dad-driven, thought this might be the most appreciative spot for this list. It’s long, so I’ll keep the verbage short.

Daley’s gift-horse isn’t to be looked at in the gift-mouth. Or, logged.

CPS coaches are put on a tight leash. (Paddling? Seriously? I knew some of these cats were OC, but I never really thought it was systemic. Maybe they should consider paying coaches like they do in the ‘burbs, though.)

ED Hirsch on validity of multiple-choice testing, but at a concentrating on so-called grade-level skills. I still don’t buy it. Too much time and effort wasted teaching kids how to fill in some bubbles. Try telling a youth how this will lead them to a well-adjusted life as an adult, and all you can say is, “Well, you won’t have to do this again.”

And the lone Republican candidate in the 5th Congressional District (the one formerly staffed by Blago, Rostenkowski, and Rahm Emanuel.), I think she takes the spewing cake of hate, revile, and disgust all for herself.

$250 million state insurance to guarantee against Chicago 2016 Olympics . Can you hear the Charlie Brown moan leave my gutterals? Arrghh!!

And finally, in the spirit of the blarney stone, kudos to this south side neighborhood for closing the St. Paddy’s Parade (mostly because of knuckleheads like this guy ) and downsizing festivities to put focus back on families, heritage and children .

I read this comment from a neighborhood . listserv this morning and it really got my head spinning:

Like the male (adult) black who lives at [omitted] and tells the 8 year old kid, “Shut the [omitted] up, mother [omitted]”

Now, of course, part of the reason my head is spinning is because the guy used it as an excuse to take a cheap shot at affordable housing and anyone connected with affordable housing (ie, low-income families and those who would fight for them - which the poster after him took to even further extremes). Another reson my head was (is) spinning is because I’m coming down with something. But, it did cause me to pause and ask, “When is it okay for neighbors to directly interfere with a parent-child relationship?” (Assuming that the child is his in one aspect or another.)

And no one can tell me that that type of language isn’t abuse (although people have told me that, I know better because I’ve seen the psychological ramifications years down the line). Yet I know that there is no way I would be able to just come by and tell this punk to not treat his girl in that manner. Not without knowing him. But even still, somebody should say and do something, right? Are our communities so broken down that we do not have a say in each other’s lives, that we cannot speak out for the protection of children? Or is this just a line of busy-bodiness (which it was with the writer of the post)? After all, aren’t there worse things to worry about than words said to a kid?

Such as this story where a (to quote the title from the blog “What About Our Daughters”), “1 Year-Old Liliana Goodman Beaten to Death by Mama’s “Boyfriend” for Being “Disrespectful” While Others Watch.” She was beaten for four hours! And there were others in the house! It wasn’t until late on in the beating that the mother stepped in.

Later I want to ask when is it right or necessary for the state to step in and do a parent’s job (or deem a parent’s job?). But for now, I do want to ask, when do neighbors step in? Upon threat of violence? When a parent spanks a child? When a parent smacks a child (even behind closed doors)? When there are whispers of violence? What are the guidelines, the boundaries, and whose boundaries do we abide by? (For instance, I have a lot of friends who lightly spank. As do we on ocassion - though I hate to admit it; I’d rather we didn’t. But then others say that a tap or a spank is always wrong.)

What do you think?

My wife’s parents picked up the babe on Thursday and were to drop her off on Sunday morning. The wife was to leave for a church leadership retreat on Friday evening and return late Saturday afternoon. I had to work a brief stint on Saturday morning. And Saturday was my birthday. So, you know what all of that led to, right? That’s right, a slew of unhealthy eating (not that I don’t eat unhealthily enough, but now all the gloves were off, so to say).

Jennie took me out on Thursday, officially beginning the weekend. I had wanted to go to nearby Hot Doug’s for a long time, but alas, they are closed by 4pm every day. However, since I had a clamoring for some American food (but not so-called comfort food like meat loaf & mac & cheese) for the last week, I opted to go to the delicious - and unfortunately unpopulated - Honey1 BBQ . Honey1 has been widely critically praised as being among the best barbeque in the city , certainly in the North Side. That night, we tried the pulled-pork. The sauce was - true to form - sweet and tangy and the meat was good. But not quite as delicious or delicate as the usual ribtips. My regret is that they may be underappreciated in a majority White and Latino neighborhood (with prices a hike up from similar, and busier, spots I’ve been to in the West Side).

On Friday, I decided to leave my work-study area and make the trek to Hot Doug’s . Since it was 2 o’clock by the time I got to the spot, I figured I missed the lunch rush. I may have, but the line was still out the door and around the block. Fridays and Saturdays, it turns out, the popular duck-fat french fries draws the rabid masses. And I could see why, after my hour + of waiting in line, the stuff was like coronary-lining crack. Oh, and the snappy taste of a Chicago-style hot dog. Oh, just one and my week-long thirst for the unmistakable yet unidentifiable was quenched. I saved most of the fries and the other dog for my wife (I foolishly thought I’d need more. I would, but not there) but I was so tempted to finish them off at home.

The wife wasn’t so thrilled with the idea of the place, though. But I did make at least one blogger-friend jealous.

Saturday evening was a retreat at home, away from people. Not a bad move for introverts.

Sunday evening was Dye family mainstay Borinquen. According to legend, the jibarito sandwich was birthed here after the proprietor read an article about a restaurant in Puerto Rico where they served sandwiches with smashed plaintains instead of bread. Smother the plaintains in butter and garlic, and slather lettuce, tomato, and cheese (basic American sliced, usually) over your meat of choice (my favorite has been the steak, but since that’s not been living up to expectation, the much juicier lechon - soft, roasted pork rolling off the sandwich - has been the go-to lately) and you’ve got yourself a sandwich ! Another critical favorite, this time shared with a small selection of fam and friends.

And, that was about it… The next day Jen & I shared ice cream cake with some friends from our church. I’m about a year now closer to a heart attack. And that’s the Chicago way to celebrate birthdays!

I cannot tell you how enthused I am, how filled with joy am I to hear my 20 month old speak. Yesterday, we got a package from Amazon including three Dr. Seuss board books (I will continue to hold out hope that these books will last through her toddlerhood). She took one of the colorful pocketeers and sat up on the couch next to her mother, rifled through the pages and began reading to herself. It was such a delight.

Later that evening, she was sitting on my lap as we were both on the floor (a soothing and bonding time I find very useful near her bedtime especially) and I was reading Mr. Brown Can Moo, Can You? – and she did! And she was also able to mimic “Hoo - Hoo”, “Owl” (ok, truthfully, it was more like ‘ow-e’, but a father’s ear is never wrong). and eventually “Cow”. She said that last word as I was holding her on the steps trying to awaken my legs and crack open the door.

It’s a wonder to watch her gather her vocabulary now. There are no sentences just yet. And friends who hear our testimonies must wonder about our sanity as they never hear her testimony. But, to be honest, it just makes my writer’s heart beat so proudly to hear her play with words right now.

How do you define success in education?

The way I see it, if you leave out of a classroom (or wherever the learning is taking place) wanting to know more about what you have learned, if you desire to continue that learning throughout your lifetime, if you, in essence, become more curious about a study or area of study as a result of schooling, then your education was a success.

Just a short story, shared from the perspective of one of my best friends.  (I’ll try to do her justice, although the words are from memory, so there’s a lot of meshing around in my head.)

I hated history; didn’t understand it. Never really knew much about history until recently. I went to Catholic school growing up - at first. And whenever time came for us to study history, they would have us reading outloud from the textbook. Each student would sit there, terrified and waiting for their turn. And then we would read our little passage, and then the next person would read. That was our education. He would give us a short quiz at the end of the class to make sure we were listening, and then that’s it. So I hated school and really hated history.

I wanted to get out and go to a public school. My parents were raised up having to go to public school and they wanted the best for us, so they tried really hard and sacrificed to get us into the private school, but it wasn’t working for me. I begged and begged and begged my parents to take me out, but they were sure it was good for me. Then I just started dropping grades; I guess I was so frustrated that my grades suffered dramatically. So then they pulled me out.

Even after she went off to public schools and university, she was so tainted by her experience in history that she never really studied it. It is only now that she is showing a general (albeit deep and wide) respect and admiration for the study.

Now, I understand that there are many success stories in the realm of private education, but I drag out this story to illustrate my point, I utterly believe that we should continue to look for the best options for our children (and for the larger world in which they inhabit) and I think that to assume that one way is naturally better than another is toxic.

What are your thoughts, impressions? And further, how would you define a successful education?

I was raised in the city. I wish I could say that I always felt home here, but that isn’t true. I wanted to live in the ‘burbs during my teen years. I wish I could say that it was always easy living in the city, but that wouldn’t be true either. I also wish that I could tell you and certainly my daughter that I have always felt safe here, but I’d be lying through my locks.

My brothers and I grew up and habituated in some dangerous neighborhoods (understood of in terms of plenty of poverty, gangs, drug-dealing, homelessness, etc.), but I’ve been fortunate enough to not really have to face much personal violence. Been the victim of a string of burglaries during my teens, never really had to deal with gangs (perhaps it was the whole geekery and/or the church-boy thingy, but they just left me alone), got mugged once (considering the places I’ve been and the hours I’ve been down them, it seems to me that the odds are better getting struck by lightning), a couple attempted and bungled pick-pockets (though I did become the victim of poaching once, it wasn’t in Chicago).

All to say, I turned out all right. But, I understand that not everybody feels as nonchalant about being near such circumstances, especially when it’s your kids on the line.

But I also know a little about the— shall we call it, seedy underbelly of growing up in gated communities. The drugs might be sold, for example, in the inner city, but that isn’t necessarily their end destination. Then there’s the suicide rate, and this general (but perhaps unquantifiable) feeling of angst, meaninglessness, and boredom that young ones feel - which is why so many of them move to the Big City at first chance, only to return to the ‘burbs (or extend the suburbs into exurbia) once they have children.

Which finally brings us to our point (I so don’t like to beat around the bush…): one of the primary decisions on where a child attends school literally centers on the location of the household. Many of those who can afford to relocate so that their children can attend the best schools do so. Even those that I know that could not afford to pack up and move packed up and sent their child to a relative who lived in a preferable district or neighborhood.

“Let’s Go To Work Boys” by Senor Codo via Flickr.

The reasons for moving are myriad: the cost of raising a family in the city is prohibitive for some (as I imagine it would be in New York, or if one was looking to own in Chicago, especially in a nicer neighborhood); others have carefully gauged all factors (I know a father that got out a very intricate spreadsheet and mathematically mapped it all out); some are worried about their children not fitting in a particular location (where there are few others like them, or too many like them); perceived or real notions of superiority of education based on empirical, intangible or imagined factors (I have some friends that I love dearly leave the city under the notion that any public school in any suburban zone is preferable to any public school in Chicago. I tried to convince them of the foolishness of that decision, and that was before I became a teacher/advocate. I am even more convinced now that they were wrong); cultural issues (for us, this is a paramount reason to stay in the city. We want our daughter to be able to understand that the world is filled with people who do not necessarily look or act like us, and that that is both a good thing to know and a good tool to have); and, finally, to be honest, safety issues.

But I’d like to know what you think: Have you chosen a route, did you regret it, will you choose, have you given it much thought, etc, etc.?

1) New Wave Cafe. It’s big for a brand new coffeeshop, first off. My wife and I were comparing it to two other coffee institutions (well, at least in this ChicagoDad’s world) Letizia’s Natural Bakery and Cafe (one of the first in Ukranian Village and my normal home away from home when I lived, worked and worshiped there) and Starbucks (previous to this opening, one of the only spots open for coffee - if you include Dunkin’ Donuts - in Logan Square). When I say that it’s big , I mean compared to, say Letizia’s which literally started as a take-out spot and then gradually upped itself until it used two spaces plus the outdoor cafe (in the spring to late fall) to accomodate its patrons there for the deelish natural baked yummies (fresh muffins were to die for! and totally worth the 2 bucks). Later, it morphed into a wine eatery, but, oh well. They still served Intelligentsia Coffee (some of our finest roast here in Chicago) and wonderful paninis, pizza blocks and cranberry cookies. But I think the difference in this regard is that Logan Square has long been ready for a cafe to act as a sort of cultural center. Add the new wave (read: 80s) kitsch , the not-too-loud music, the nice staff, the fine Metropolis roast (so much of a relief after Starbuck’s bitter roast. I’ve had two cups so far of their coffee and not once had the urge to spit it out), and the fact that there’s plenty of open space to chit-chat or work/study, I think this may be my new spot. Did I mention I had a blondie with bacon in it? WOW! Nice, huh? [Edit: So, apparently, some friends and readers informed me that 1) bacon is interspersed in various baked goods at New Wave and the menu changes constantly and 2) bacon in baked goods is become quite the vogue fashion - and therefore unfashionable - throughout Culinary World.]

The downside is that although it’s fairly close, it’s not that close.  It’s about a mile away, though if I need to, the bus and train are both kiddy-corner and a direct stop in front of my place.

2) The other spot we’ve been to recently (for a kind of neighborhood association mixer) is a nueva Mexicana BYOB called La Estrella Negra . As you can probably tell from its name (the Black Star ), it’s got kind of a quirky, dark theme - actually a Dia de la Muerte theme all over the place. The decor (including paintings displayed prominently not just on the walls but also the tabletops) is whimsically self-decorated by the multi-talented owner (who also plays in a band that sometimes performs there, apparently) and friends.

I thought the food was a bit pricey and the service a bit slow, but the La 25 tacos de pollo we ended up leaving with (we could only stay shortly as it was cutting into the baby’s sleep time) were quite delicious and featured - of course - bacon strips. Not sure that paying 10 bucks for three tacos is desirable (especially if you wait almost an hour for them), but I think the place has some promise as an ocassional spot. Especially if they find intriguing things to do with bacon.

Hey all. Sorry I haven’t been blogging recently. I like to think that we actually got some momentum going and then…  POOF! up I go.

But the truth is I got sick, the baby got sick, and my computer is down again. So regular blogging became less of a responsibility and sleep became more of a responsibility. I like sleep (and I think I need more and more of it), so I’m not going to disagree.

For the near future, I would love to do a series on schooling. In Chicago especially, we are inundated with questions - almost daily it seems - of whether we should send our kids to a local public school, magnet school, charter school, private school, or go out to the suburbs or home school. I see why one would prefer one option over another, but I sometimes wonder if we don’t closely investigate if one general option (say, suburban schools) is always better than an alternative option (say, city schools) when research and experience tells me that a) is never always better than b). And there’s a bunch of other questions that I’m just starting to wrestle with as a young parent. But that’s for a later time. I would love some feedback on that.

Shortly, however, I want to talk about a couple new spots I’ve had the opportunity to visit this last week in my own little neighborhood, and where bacon was a feature (at least in my experience).

Until then, I got some cleanin’ and daddyin’ to do.

When I was a teacher, I fell victim to all forms of minor viruses all the time. It may begin to manifest itself in the middle of the day, at the end of the school day, just as the week was ending or even beginning. If there was school to be taught, I would try to see my way through the day, but it isn’t healthy for myself or my students to continue to spread virus - especially since I’m really good at forgetting where I left that kleenex and my students were really good at using all my antibacterial soap for their desks. But when I got home, I would climb into bed and become the biggest baby. The next morning, I would kick-test the old body to check if all the systems are go; if not, I’d call in sick for that day.

The Lord bless my wife. She’d mother over me and allow me to sleep the next day away even though she may have disagreed. I don’t think she ever understood even up to this day why it is that men turn into the biggest cowards when we confront the smallest colds.

But here’s my question: what happens when the male domestic becomes sick? Who then takes care of him? Especially if his wife is depending on him to clean up the home and the baby needs him to attend her.

Time to clean the house and make my own soup. (Is this how Midwest mothers learn their Martyr tone of voice?)

7:40 am:

The little mama has been blocked up for almost two days now. Since she’s not eating bread  her fiber intake has reduced significantly. But because she has been insistent on at least one banana a day, well, like I said, she’s blocked up.

I gave her an orange this morning (rather than just juice, which has no pulp and therefore no fiber), and I’ll make some pancakes (not a lot of fiber. Maybe I can sneak some in somehow).

Makes me wish I had some wheat germ…

8:46

Finished breakfast. Still no sign of poo. Off to Jewels.

10:55

Just got back from Jewels (several miles, had to take public transportation). From what I could tell, no luck yet. The running consensus in the comments section is, I believe, to use dynamite. That may be an option. Time to strip the little mama.

11:20

Nada. Zip. Zero. On the plus side,  we’re eating cucumber. On the negative side, cucumbers are harder to peel than bananas.

12:26

I wish I had thought of prune juice. For lunch, we shared some oatmeal - but I don’t think I wanna wait three days for those oats to take their course. Although, come to think of it, it is called “Instant”…

2:16 pm

She hasn’t gone to sleep yet. She’s too busy making growling noises. If it weren’t so aggravating, it’d be really cute.

Too bad it’s so aggravating.

4:19

Still aggravated.

5:43

Rescued her about an hour ago. For not having a nap, she’s in a decent mood. But we’re kind of taking precautions.

I heard someone talking about how doctors don’t really know what a sickness is nor what caused it, but can only take educated guesses based on looking at the symptoms, patient history (past occurrences, related occurrences, events surrounding the malaise…) and then reactions to various treatments.

Gonna run and go get some prune juice soon (as well as bacon…).

8:44 pm

Jennie put the baby down earlier. We’ve had company over for the last two hours, so I haven’t asked nor observed that Joss went number 2, but I doubt it. Poor girl :(. We’ll see how it goes tomorrow.

February 15th

8:50 pm

Meant to update earlier, but was - umm… - held back. (Should I have put a caveat at the beginning of this post? Of the whole blog, actually?) She woke up from a relatively short but late nap before three and was walking really, really funny at first. By four, she was done making her first - and stinky - diaper. Really, like a normal day’s stool. Expected more. Got more a couple hours later.

She was really sensitive for a while there. (By the way, no prune juice. Just didn’t get around to finding any. But I’ve managed to get the fiber count back up, and will try to keep it coming.) I’m certainly more relieved. I know she is.

Shortly after I woke up yesterday my wife told me about an opportunity to meet up with a few of the other mothers and from our church and their little ones at the zoo.* The feisty weather reached a peak somewhere in the 60’s I believe. It was pretty windy, but miraculously, Jocelyn’s hair was pretty relaxed throughout. Wish mine was that cool and forgiving. I mean, after all, she uses my conditioner.

I like Lincoln Park Zoo. It’s been a while since I’ve gone, so everything seems so much smaller. Not that I’ve gotten taller - I don’t think - but it may have been a dozen years and a hundred pounds ago. There is much to remember and enjoy about our innumerable trips to the bayside and free zoo. It’s no San Diego Zoo nor even Brookfield Zoo, but it has its little cozy glories, such as the rental paddleboats. And, did I mention that it’s free. As in, absolutely free. And the fact that it’s fairly accessible by public transit. Personally, Joss and I got there in just a few minutes by taking the Armitage Avenue bus east for a few miles. This bus doesn’t run all night (although I believe and am happy to report that it seems that they’re finally extending the hours. It used to shut down at very unpredictable times around 6 or 7pm), but then again, neither does the zoo.

.

I was very glad that we got to go and meet up with the other families. Kind of bummed that I didn’t think earlier to take more pictures. Amused (and a bit worn-out from the chasing) that she was way more into the tons of other kids than into any silly cockatoo or wild African dogs, oftentimes leaving her own pack to hang and run around with other strangers.

*This was actually the first of our two very impromptu trips yesterday. Both times it almost came as a shock that my job is primarily taking care of Jocelyn now. Not that they should apologize, but maybe they should read this blog . Also, there was another article I read yesterday that ties into that. We should get into it tomorrow.

The other day, one of my friends asked what I do with the child all day. And the truth is:

Well, we usually just go hanging out behind the 7/11. Smoke. Those little candy puffer things. Get some slurpees. Act cool, act bad. Tell kids to stay in school because they don’t want to end up like us, washed up, nothing to look forward to. It’s a hard life. And we do hard time.

Some of my happiest memories when I was a child were when my father would wrestle with us. This was in the then-monthly window of time best described now as between having one drink and one drink too many. After a while, he would shut down and then shut us down, but while we boys were all wrestling, it was fun, knocks, flops, rolls, handcarts, tucks, dips, bruises, pins, crawls. Fun. Hanging out. That’s what we were doing during those early evening hours.

Just hanging out.

I was reading a parenting book a couple months. It said that when my child was upset and started making displeasing sounds (y’know, screaming, growling, howling, shrieking. All the fun stuff) I should mimic her. Not in volume or intensity but in tone. Let her know that I understand where she’s coming from. That I respect her.

Normally, I’m pretty darn good at mimicking. I’d be on SNL if I didn’t have such a wimpy, nasally voice. And I know that I generally get some kind of reaction when I playback people’s words and voices back to them (it slowed down my students, often causing them to laugh or question what’s going on. When I do it now for a special somebody, though, she just doesn’t find it to be so amusing). And Joss may have slowed down and been initially curious, but it didn’t keep her from screaming nor help me to find the real issue bugging her at the time.

But an almost incidental statement I came across in the book did make sense - to make eye contact at her level. When she screams, I’ve found it rarely does good to bring her up to my level, and it does no good to keep static. What I’ve started doing is sinking myself down to her level. Hanging out with her where she’s at. And she’s happy again. And she’ll play, or get a book and sit on my lap so we can read together. And/or grab a plush doll and sit on my lap. Or open up my shirt to play with my fat belly. You know what we do?

We just hang out. On her level. And it’s awesome.

The Family Guy’s Stewie nails and hangs me right here. Well, I’m technically not working on any novel, but I’ve got four small pieces floating around (essay/memoirs, one children’s book and one young adult novella [maybe]), plus some ocassional poetry. And sometimes, there’s that internal voice in my head going around. I don’t know how many other stay-at-home fathers are feeling like this, but I sure am:

Click [edit] here if because file doesn’t play.

Edit: It didn’t take too long to find it on Youtube (although the quality is pretty crappy):

Again, if file doesn’t play, click here .

If it still doesn’t play, it’s because you’re trying to watch it at work and somebody’s watching you…

Comic books have historically been dark. Batman operated within line of the pulp novels and for a few issues in the earliest episodes of the late 1930’s even carried a gun. And the moral code that he and Superman are known by now (never taking a life and doing everything in their power to save all lives, even those of the most dangerous villains), well, he didn’t have it for a little bit longer and acted accordingly.

It was in the post-WWII era that the Comics Code came out and they “cleaned up” their acts. The comics became purely a pre-adolescent medium, strictly for the kids. Stan Lee & Jack Kirby’s inventions at Marvel grew up the kids a bit and talked about more grown up issues (Spider-Man’s coming-of-age fables, the X-Men as outsiders and racial [and then sexual] identity , nuclear-age worries and rage with The Hulk).

And maybe that’s where I see the golden age. Because I’m just not into the thrills of ultra-violence and uber-navel gazing that so many of the “more important” comic series have taken since the nineties - especially with the advent of Frank Miller (”Sin City”, “The Dark Knight Returns”, “300″) and Alan Moore (”Swamp Thing”, “V is for Vendetta”, and most relevantly for this discussion, “Watchmen”).

I know that much of it is art, it is good, it is worth musing over and pontificating. I’m not lecturing. I mean, I’ve read much of these (I’m in the process of reading through “Watchmen” and the trying-to-outdo-each-other series “52″). It’s just that, if you didn’t know, the comics aren’t necessarily for the kids anymore. And, for what it’s worth, that’s kind of sad for me because comics are how I learned to read. Seriously.

Also, I definitely won’t be taking my daughter (or wife) to see the Watchmen movie.

And not so sure that I wanna go myself.

Edit:

Just in case you were still wondering if I’m a nerd, I love everything this guy puts out:

The great meltdown is slightly fascinating, if that makes any sense. I got to observe it first hand while trying to navigate Joss’s stroller down Milwaukee Ave (and in front of quite a few vacant lots, but more on that later). The streets, certainly the main streets have already been plowed through, have abundant problems there - meteorite-sized cracked concrete and asphalt holes as a result of the heavy snow and even heavier plowing. But we were mostly staying on the sidewalks. And not that everything is faulty, (for instance, we had a lot of snow build-up and most days were well below freezing, so there is bound to be plenty of running and even still water), but some thoughts did occur to me during our jaunt.

1. It’s dirty out there. A lot of it unintentional pollution, dirt from tires and exhaust trapped in the snow. Maybe there is little to be done about that. But there was also a lot of litter, cig butts, bottles, wrappers, a bunch of crude, nasty stuff everywhere. People, please, who cleans up your crap? Nobody! Your mamas don’t live outside. I would add that down my stretch of Milwaukee (Particularly from Western/Armitage to California), we are lacking in public waste cans (which are normally provided for by the local Chamber of Commerce or other concerned local businesses), but even still. I can’t recall the amount of times I’ve seen people litter within feet, inches even, of a perfectly usable trashcan. At the very least, have some pride in your city and yourself. Even more so, think of the misquitos attracted to the still water caused by drain blockage.
2. Speaking of local businesses…  A lot of the property is being run-down. For whatever reason that is/may be (and I know that not all of it is tied to the current problems with the economy, but rather a wanting to see things redeveloped in a different fashion), people still own the property. People who own the property, even when they are making no money currently off of the property are still in charge of taking care of the property and its surroundings. Which means, shovel the sidewalks! Many of us are aware of the ridiculous laws in Chicago concerning sidewalk care*, but you still have a civic duty to take care of your own image and prospective clients, don’t you? Not to mention the community for which you are a part of, even if just tangentially? There were about three times during our trip that we had to share the street with cars and other pedestrians because we couldn’t navigate on the sidewalk - there was too much ice left over. And, that goes for you too, Logan Boulevard property owners. If your house or property is worth several hundreds of thousands (if not millions) of dollars, then why can’t you pay some kid or homeless person $5-10 once a week or so to shovel out your walkway? Consider it your own economic stimulus package. Thank you for your patriotism.
3. Enjoy the day. It’s a lovely day of grace.

* Apparently, if someone falls in front of your property as a result of inclement weather (ice, say) and you did some work on it since the last snowfall (shovel and/or salt), then you are liable. If they fall and you personally left it untouched, you are not liable. I know: Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Every once in a while, I just need to step back and appreciate life from my daughter’s point of view, to just be a little less jaundiced and a little more wow-ized. Every once in a while, I like to consider change and what that could mean between us, between a man and a child raised two entirely different generations apart. These are thoughts among those ends.

First, my child wants to be me. Well, in some regards. She loves trying out different foods (especially vegetables) as I cook and tends to hang around our micro-kitchen especially when I’m cooking (not so much when I’m doing the dishes, though). Yesterday morning, she wanted to make pancakes. Voila:

Secondly, through high school and early on in college, I preferred cassettes over CDs largely because they were cheaper. At the time, there was (at least to my mind) real distinction between the media except for a) tapes rolled up on ya, b) CDs skipped, scratched and broke easier. Since then, we’ve been able to digitize music to the nth power and - along with DVD’s, Blue Rays, etc., the disc has been easier to manipulate given our technologies. The price to buy a CD has pretty much either stabilized (because the RIAA basically lied to us in the first place) and thanks to iPods and other MP3 players, we’ve been able to get rid of those troublesome and clunky portable CD players. Because a lot of the stuff I bought in the early-to-mid 90’s was obscure, finding much of that music in digital form has been tricky, and sometimes cost-prohibitive.

And sometimes I wonder about the climate change, why some technologies seem to last even when others come to overrun them (take vinyl, for instance. Or US-made cars), while others are understood to be completely transitional (eight-tracks and cassettes). Does anybody use floppy discs anymore? And if so, what model? How will information and data be transferred in the years to come? Will Jocelyn even remember what a CD or cell phone, or know what a cassette tape or VHS is? Will they use film still? Will she or her generation be curious? Will they find bigger and better warehouses for all the data and zeros and ones?

So, a bit of nostalgia bit my gut when I saw Jocelyn walk out of my bedroom with a couple of my old tapes. She had never seen such curious things, but just started handing them back to me, as if to say, “They smell like daddy.” Some songs I have not heard in a decade or so. But the legends, the familiar melodies, the cooing sounds, the click-click rhythms, the static undertones, those all came flooding back to me as I hit rewind on Joss’ tape deck (the only one in the house, ironically) and then playback. I listened to the last song on Jacob Trouble’s debut (a worship song before worship music became all the rage in white churches. The original version of “These Thousand Hills”, later to be made famous by Third Day) and carefully listened for any sort of slowing down or warping. I then waited until that end of the tape hit, took the tape out, gave it a glance, turned it over and hit play again.

And then I heard the warping. And it was over. And I know it’s been a few days, but I haven’t been able to get the tape out of the wheels and pins yet. And I remember now why cassettes are no longer in fashion and why I shouldn’t use them.