A parenting tragedy if I ever heard of one. I read this while holding my sleeping 10 month-old daughter… Warning! Do not read if emotional
Before he got on the train, little Alexandra looked up and asked, “Daddy, will you bring me a cane?” Bucky [Fuller’s nickname] promised he would bring back the souvenir as he set off for an enjoyable day of football and friends.
Harvard won that day, and Bucky spent most of his time lost in drink, camaraderie, and parties, forgetting his troubles as well as his family on Long Island. When he arrived in Pennsylvania Station in New York the following afternoon, Bucky telephoned Anne [his wife] who could barely speak. She told him that Alexandra had suffered a relapse and was in a coma. Stunned, Bucky caught the next train to Long Island. Arriving home, he found Alexandra still unconscious and a doctor doing all he could to save her life.
Bucky could only sit near her bed looking on helplessly as the doctors and nurses continued their work well into the night. Eventually, the situation calmed down, but Alexandra’s condition did not improve. Then, in the early hours before dawn, she opened her eyes and smiled up at Bucky. As he bent close to his daughter, Bucky heard her tiny voice ask, “Daddy, did you bring me my cane?”
Fuller could only turn away in shame and agony. In the furor of drinking and celebrating, he had forgotten his daughter’s simple request. Following her question, Alexandra closed her eyes for the last time and died in her father’s arms a few hours later. Bucky never forgave himself for that incident, which, even in the last years of his life, would bring tears of remorse to his eyes.
I know it is anecdotal at best, but based on personal experience, I believe this 100%. Not only does it make me instantly crave a drink on many occasions, what I crave depends on what the actor or actress is drinking. Last evening was a perfect example. My wife and I were watching Becoming Janewhen the male lead sat in a pub with a mug of beer. My taste buds instantly lit up. If it wasn’t for the Strawberry Nestle Quick I had just downed, I may have given in to temptation.
If you find yourself craving a beer next time you’re watching someone do the same on your TV, you won’t be alone.
Two studies suggest that people drink more when viewing drinking behaviour in films and advertisements. The results strengthen calls for tighter regulations on how and when alcohol is portrayed in movies and commercials.
"Although we do not argue for banning alcohol portrayals in movies, it might be an idea to explicitly warn people, especially parents, that movies contain such scenes, and that these affect drinking directly," says lead researcher, Rutger Engels of Radboud University in Nijmegen, the Netherlands.
I wonder how many diseases and other medical problems are caused by weakened immune systems due to mouth infections related to poor oral hygiene. Anybody?
Discovery Channel - Jan. 13, 2009 — Previously undiscovered bacteria usually found in the mouth could be responsible for up to 80 percent of early preterm labors, estimate doctors from Case Western and Yale Universities in a new study published recently in the Journal of Clinical Microbiology.
The research could help doctors prevent preterm births by encouraging oral hygiene or stop early labor from developing by prescribing targeted antibiotics.
“The earlier the woman goes into preterm labor, the higher the chance that she will be infected,” said Yiping Han, a doctor at Case Western University and the first author on the study.
I have been told many times in my life that I am a dork, but I think I have finally proven it. I sat here and watched Mythbusters Co-Host Adam Savage talk for almost sixteen minutes about his obsession with sculpting an exact replica of the Maltese Falcon. I really didn’t even know what it was about or why I was watching, but when it was finished, I was happy I did.
So, hold that thought for a moment and consider this other piece of dork-hood.
The day after Christmas, I read ‘The Giving Tree‘ by Shel Silverstein to my sons, which I was not previously familiar with. In fact, when I bought the book, I thought it was another compilation of poetry. It was a memorable moment in the sense that we really did not sit down to read it. Instead, both of my youngest sons were running about the house playing with their new Christmas toys, and I just stood and spontaneously began to read the story out loud. I became so engrossed in the story and its beautiful simplicity, that either my kids thought I was finally losing my mind, or they were as inspired as I was, stopping in their tracks and giving ‘The Giving Tree’ their full attention.
I could not help but think that this was exactly the type of emotion Silverstein hoped to pull from his readers - and here we were, the anonymous family from St. Louis, nine years after his death, having a memorable moment because of his storytelling genius. My wife, who was apparently listening while putting on her makeup in the bathroom, came out wiping tears from her eyes, and said, “That was sad.” She then turned back around to go and fix the mascara job that Silverstein had just wrecked.
Later that day, we were at my father-in-law’s house and I was telling him the story of our memorable moment from the morning and he said, “I have that book!” Sure enough, within a few seconds, he had pulled it from his library in the den and began to pass it around the room for others to read, and it became a good memory for even more of us.
A little later, my father-in-law grabbed yet another Silverstein book, titled, ‘The Missing Piece.’ Being a big fan of Silverstein’s poetry as a child, and now as a father, I was pleasantly surprised that I was going to read two of his books that only hours before I did not even know existed. He whispered, “Here. This one is just as good, but a little weirder.”
So, I read it and liked it, but I did not really understand it. The story was about an almost complete circle that had a missing piece, which it searches for and later finds. (I hope I didn’t ruin it for you.) But, the story ends without the circle being very happy with its newly found piece, and the two parts eventually go on their own way.
To many, the moral of the story was really pretty obvious, but it was not so for me…at least, not until I saw the following, seemingly unrelated, video lecture from Adam Savage: (If you plan on watching the video, now is the time to do it before reading further.)
The point that Adam Savage makes in the story about his journey to develop an exact replica of the Maltese Falcon was that in the end, it was not about the end product all, but the journey that he would take to get him there. It was the journey that contained all of the fun, as was the case for Silverstein’s circle with a missing piece. It turned out for the circle that it was not finding the missing piece that brought it the most joy. It was simply the journey, or the many experiences it had along the way that brought it the most happiness.
But that is not the end of this story, because it was not until the circle found its missing piece that it realized what really made it happy was playing with the butterflies and rolling in the tall grass. Fortunately, for the circle, it had realized early enough in its ‘existence’ that it still had time to go back out and experience more of what really made it happy before it was too late.
Of course, if the circle did not have the goal of finding its missing piece to begin with, and if Adam Savage did not have the goal of replicating the Maltese Falcon, they would not have had the journey that helped them identify the source of their happiness to begin with. So, perhaps the real moral to the two stories should be that while it is not the attainment of goals that ultimately leads to happiness, the journey would not happen without them. Or, at the very least, knowing that in the end, all that is left of us is our legacy, or our journey, we should spend more time evaluating our goals in life with the an emphasis on the journey that we will take to get there.
And finally, in the case of Shel Silverstein and his gift of ‘The Giving Tree,’ we know that some journeys never end at all. As long as there are new people to read and listen to ‘The Giving Tree’ for the first time, Silverstein’s various adventures, cunning insights, and quest for meaning will continue to stand the test of time.
This Johns Hopkins School of Public Health study shows that not only are ‘Virginity (abstinence) pledges’ ineffective, but they also lead to substantially lower usage of condoms and other forms of birth control. Other studies have shown that ‘abstinence only’ programs in schools have been ineffective and pointless over the long term.
The obvious medical problem is that with the lack of use of condoms and other forms of birth control, teens are at higher risk for pregnancy and sexually transmitted diseases. (And according to the Population Council, abortion rates increase with the non-usage condoms and other forms of birth control.)
The new analysis of data from a large federal survey found that more than half of youths became sexually active before marriage regardless of whether they had taken a “virginity pledge,” but that the percentage who took precautions against pregnancy or sexually transmitted diseases was 10 points lower for pledgers than for non-pledgers.
“Taking a pledge doesn’t seem to make any difference at all in any sexual behavior,” said Janet E. Rosenbaum of the Johns Hopkins Bloomberg School of Public Health, whose report appears in the January issue of the journal Pediatrics. “But it does seem to make a difference in condom use and other forms of birth control that is quite striking.”
Actually, I’m lying, I lie to my sons all of the time, and I presume that I will lie to my daughter when she is old enough to understand what I am saying. It’s the Santa Claus conundrum that is causing me this angst. Here is the reason why:
My number one goal as a parent has always been three-fold:
Create an environment for my children to grow up where they feel relatively safe.
Provide opportunities for my children to build their self-esteem.
Build a relationship with each of my children based on trust.
As you can see, it is number three that is challenged by the Santa Claus tradition. In every other case I can think of, I tell my children the truth, and when they ask me difficult questions, I usually do not beat around the bush with the answer; however, I will try and soften the blow with a euphemism or two when one is available. (There is the other death/religion thing that has come up several times already, but I just take the safe route with heaven and God and spirits and all of those chestnuts. Perhaps that is another topic for another day. Unlike Santa Claus, if there is a “final disappointment,” [see “Is That All There Is” by Peggy Lee] they won’t know it. )
…It is amazing how difficult this actually is for me. I am not sure why I have such a hard time lying to them (other than that I tend to over-analyze some things,) but I think I might be on to something.
The problem with Santa Claus is that at some point, my children, one by one, will get to an undetermined point in their young lives when they will discover that he does not exist.
There are several movies that have addressed this issue over time. The most popular being ‘The Miracle on 34th Street.’ Of course, Hollywood being what it is, Santa Claus turns out to be real and stumbles across the one girl in New York whose mother does not want her to believe such nonsense, so that movie is no help.
There are also famous scenes in movies like this one from Shirley Temple’s ‘Bright Eyes’ where the bratty rich girl pontificates that her psychoanalyst told her that there is no Santa Claus.
So, what is a parent who values truth, logic, AND imagination to do?
I posed that question last year at a Rotary Christmas party to some people who also had children. I was just throwing it out there for some fun, post-eggnog discussion, but everyone looked at me like I had three eyes. One person said, “Why do you think of such things, Karl?” Another said, “Have you ever tried just to ask them what they think?” (I am not sure they were going with that one.)
The next day, I searched the internet and found the following article titled, ‘The Delicate Matter of the Truth of Santa.’ You can read it yourself, but the following excerpt calmed my worries a bit:
“Forcing an elaborate Santa Claus story on children serves no good purpose for child or parent,” he said. “On the other hand, following the child’s lead in fantasy play about Santa Claus is likely to do no more harm than imaginative play surrounding Elmo or Mickey Mouse. Parents can respond to direct questions honestly with answers appropriate to their children’s developmental levels.”
I had originally posted this on another blog of mine back in January, but since it is one of my favorite education/parenting articles, I thought I would share it with Daddy Hogwash readers as well.
Scientific American: The Secret to Raising Smart Kids The Secret to Raising Smart Kids Hint: Dont tell your kids that they are. More than three decades of research shows that a focus on effort—not on intelligence or ability—is key to success in school and in life
By Carol S. Dweck
A brilliant student, Jonathan sailed through grade school. He completed his assignments easily and routinely earned As. Jonathan puzzled over why some of his classmates struggled, and his parents told him he had a special gift. In the seventh grade, however, Jonathan suddenly lost interest in school, refusing to do homework or study for tests. As a consequence, his grades plummeted. His parents tried to boost their son’s confidence by assuring him that he was very smart. But their attempts failed to motivate Jonathan who is a composite drawn from several children. Schoolwork, their son maintained, was boring and pointless. Click here to read the rest of this article by Carol Dweck…
This is gross. How pathetic can these people be? Knowing the abuse these children will receive because of their parents should be grounds for Child Endangerment.
I have to ask though, who puts their child’s middle name on a birthday cake?
This morning I woke up, tired and crabby. It was a late night last night and getting up to my oldest son missing the bus was not the way I wanted to start my day. Unfortunately, staying in bed and not taking him to school was not a responsible option. So, I rubbed my eyes, yawned a few times, put on a pair of sweat shorts and a fancy brown button down shirt. After bumping through the family room a little bit and kicking some toys out of the way, I found my Helly Hanson’s and slid my feet in to them. The truck was warming, but putting my hands on that ice cold steering wheel wasn’t something I was looking forward too.
After having a couple of words with my son about missing the bus, I walked outside, bare-legged and sockless with a three-quarter length leather coat on and climbed in to the twenty-three degree seat and began the silent fifteen-minute round trip to the high school. The traffic was jammed and the parking lot was full, but we made it none-the-less. He opened the door to get out, and I said quietly, “Be careful and have a good day.” He nodded his head and closed the door, and I was on my way back home thinking, “It’s going to be one of those days.”
I could not have been more wrong.
Upon arriving home, I walked to the front door, with my bare ankles and knees knocking and entered the house. As I did, an enormous wave of joy greeted me at the front door. My other two sons were waiting there to greet me, half-dressed and messy-headed.
“Daddy!”
In one fell swoop, all of the irritation I was feeling was gone. Like the flip of a magic wand, I was the happiest person in the world. It was like my boys had super powers or something, but only the kind that I can see. Hugging them and kissing them only made their smiles bigger, and I could not help but laugh out loud a little. My six year old, I call him The Bones, and my seven year old, My Buddy. Bones has brown hair and big brown eyes and sits in the bottom five percent of height for his age. My Buddy is average height, has blonde hair, blue eyes and big spacious front teeth.
As a father, I am always looking for ways to return the favor to my children for the happiness they bring me, but in these tough times, it cannot always be with the latest Wii game. So I decided to test them for superpowers. It was a simple plan really. All I needed were two bowls, two spoons, some milk, and a bag of Magic Stars cereal.
After they had a few bites, I asked them as seriously as I could muster, “Are those magic stars making you magic?”
The Bones giggled at me and said, “Yes, they are turning me in to a frog.”
The Bones’s quick wit made them both carry on with laughter like only young children can do. So, I said, “Well let’s test your magic.” To test their super powers, I did not want encourage them to assess their ability to fly, so I chose simpler tasks, like lying a ruler on the table and telling them to stare at it really hard and make it move.
“Okay,” they snickered in unison, like I was the crazy daddy from Mars. They clinched their fists and crinkled their noses and raised their shoulders, but after about five seconds, I let them know that they must have canceled each other’s magical powers out. Of course, my buddy was able to move the ruler by banging on the table. Magical? I guess not. Pragmatic? Certainly.
So after some more superpower tests, like attempting to see through walls and read each other’s minds, it was time to go. (My wife could not have been happier. The super power stuff was apparently freaking her out a bit.) We put on our coats and climbed in to that twenty three degree truck again, but this time it did not feel so cold. The boys were laughing and having a good time, and I continued to relish in the bliss of fatherhood.
As they hiked their legs up the two foot stairs of the big yellow bus, I watched them sit in their seats as I always do, hoping they would look back and wave. Sometimes they do, but most of the time, they are engrossed in seeing their friends again - but not today. As the bus began to pull away, my buddy was the first to look over at me from the front seat and through the window of the bus and begin to wave. Just before the bus was out of sight, the Bones looked at me with his big glowing smile and joined his brother and me, waving goodbye to each other, until later - proving they really were superheroes, once and for all.
For whatever reason, my seven year old always gets really shy when he hears Feist’s song, 1234 that iTunes used for one of it’s commercials. It was well over a year ago the last time I tried to play it for him on YouTube. I tried to play it several times because his shyness was quite funny to me and my wife.
Today, I tried to play it again, and he actually left the room! Strange stuff. However, I did find this version of 1234 on YouTube that Feist did on Seseme Street. Believe it or not, I had actually seen it before. With four kids, I have seen a lot of Seseme Street.
Just in case you have never seen the real version, here it is:
By the way, my seven year old couldn’t resist the Seseme Street version. He just had to watch it.
Thanksgiving in my family has always been overshadowed by some kind of minor tragedy.I will never forget the time when I was around ten years old and we visited my Aunt in Arnold, MO.We were just stopping by to say, “Hi,” on our way to my grandmother’s house.(Incidentally, at the time, we really did have to travel over the river and through some woods to get there.)Upon saying goodbye, my mother slipped down my aunt’s freshly waxed staircase…breaking her tailbone.
Why in the world anyone would wax their staircase is beyond me.Regardless, we spent the rest of the day at the hospital and my mother sat on a foamy orange thing when she went to the bathroom for quite awhile.
Thanksgivings have always been a little like that for us, and somewhere along the line, at least for my immediate family, Thanksgiving was less about doing anything special, because it brought back too many memories, and more about just staying in touch. This Thanksgiving, my father and one sister are visiting my grandmother in Florida and my mom and step-dad are visiting my other sister in Virginia.
However, now I am a father of four, my kids love the holiday, and all they have talked about for a week is the turkey they can’t wait to eat and licking their lips over the sweet potatoes. (I hope it isn’t the one from the Sarah Palin interview.) We also have a new tradition.For the last three years, we visit my wife’s Aunt in O’Fallon, MO.It is a great time.We do what most families do.We sit and eat, a lot, have a beer or two, a glass of wine, maybe another beer, continuously tell the kids to stop running in the house, and watch football.
Thanksgiving has taken on new meaning for me.I am truly grateful for my wife, three boys, and a new daughter.I am thankful that my wife and I have managed to scrape together enough money to have and keep a house, I am thankful for my parents, step-parents, grandparents, sisters, aunts, uncles, and friends, and I am very thankful that we can all get together in our own due time to enjoy some turkey and some laughs.
Unfortunately, in the tradition of Thanksgiving tragedies, my wife’s Aunt has come down with Pneumonia and we will be having Thanksgiving at my in-laws.Not that that is a bad thing, if you knew my in-laws you would know that it’s not, it’s just one more typical interruption in a wonderful family tradition.Happy Thanksgiving!
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This is gross. How pathetic can these people be? Knowing the abuse these children will receive because of their parents should be grounds for ![Reblog this post [with Zemanta]](http://img.zemanta.com/reblog_e.png?x-id=a868094f-f27e-448e-b884-2ebbe52c64cb)
This morning I woke up, tired and crabby. It was a late night last night and getting up to my oldest son missing the bus was not the way I wanted to start my day. Unfortunately, staying in bed and not taking him to school was not a responsible option. So, I rubbed my eyes, yawned a few times, put on a pair of sweat shorts and a fancy brown button down shirt. After bumping through the family room a little bit and kicking some toys out of the way, I found my Helly Hanson’s and slid my feet in to them. The truck was warming, but putting my hands on that ice cold steering wheel wasn’t something I was looking forward too.![Reblog this post [with Zemanta]](http://img.zemanta.com/reblog_e.png?x-id=ba2561d7-77f9-4113-9ba5-788a5d7566b4)
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