Bubble Gum Bowling

We have a more relaxed schedule at my home during summer holidays than we do during the school year.  Much like other families with school age children and parents at home in the morning, summers offer a much needed reprieve from the grind of the before-school-mornings routine.

A relaxed schedule, in my mind, is less about sleeping in until noon, and ignoring bedtimes in favor of becoming "friends" with my children, but more about the relief of being able to sleep past eight in the morning and showering mid-morning as opposed to showering at dawn.  I still expect my children to bathe and brush their teeth daily.  I still expect them to take their medicine when needed.  I still expect them to make their beds.  Essentially, I expect them to meet their obligations by completing normal tasks, only with fewer time constraints.

On one such summer holidays morning in late June, I was walking past my five-year-old son's bedroom.  In-between sips of my coffee, I glanced into his bedroom to give him a smile, hug, or whatever the occasion called for.  I was planning for this to be a bit of a drive-by so I could finish my coffee, until I noticed him squatting between his bed and his train table, not wearing his glasses.  My intention was to admonish him for the oversight, and then to tie things up with some words of encouragement, when something caught my eye: in each of his hands were the different colored balls from his toy bowling set.  Before I could say a word, he turned toward me; his face lit up into a massive grin as he exclaimed, "I'm growing bubble gum!"

Of course you are.

The Hippopotamus in the Room

Despicable Me was released when my daughter was three-years-old, and like most fans of the film, she absolutely fell in love with how Steve Carrell was able to bring "Gru" to life.  Not only is it an excellent tale of redemption, but the path to his redemption was through fatherhood — something he did not have the slightest interest in.

The most memorable part for my wife and me was when Gru makes a "pinky promise" with Agnes, his youngest daughter, because of Carrell's brilliant delivery of the sarcasm-laden, "Oh, yes!  My pinky promises!"

We laughed especially hard at this line the first time we saw the movie, mostly because we also had a young daughter who (much like Gru’s daughter) the sarcasm was completely wasted on.  My daughter, consequently, felt compelled to try to channel her inner Gru for a few a few laughs of her own, only it sounded more like, “Oh, yes!  Pinky hippopotamus!”

How reassuring.

Games and Scooters

Fatherhood brings about joys I never really anticipated prior to having children.  Since my upbringing was anything but stable, I was blindsided by the positives of having a healthy parent/child relationship.   One such positive is routinely getting to share in the life experiences of my children because they genuinely want to share them with me.

My view of the back as he read.

One evening when my son and I were the only ones home, he approached me while I was sitting at my desk.  It should be noted that the desk was between us, and as he was very young, I had to sit up a bit straighter to see him properly and ensure he had my full attention.  He had an envelope in his hand (clearly left over from some birthday or Christmas card), and from it he withdrew a small piece of paper.  There wasn’t any real writing on it, which shouldn't surprise anyone as he was only four and had yet to learn to read and write.  Although it had been folded in half many times, I could see it most likely had only one side with anything on it: a near black out of ink on a white backdrop.  The color of choice had nearly bled through completely to the point of saturation, but not quite.

He discarded the envelope on my bed at once, and began to unfold my invitation.  When the paper was completely unfolded, he read the following words aloud:

“Dear Daddy,

Please come to my birthday party.  There will be games and scooters.”

Of course there will.

The Logic of Whiskers

When my daughter was two, we had an especially lean Christmas.  We were still coming to grips with how to make ends meet after both my wife and I had lost our jobs; casualties of The Great Recession.  Fortunately for us, not all consequences of our newfound squalor were negative.  One example was my childhood Garfield plush toy.  My daughter loved stuffed animals and loved Garfield.  Not only was it logical to gift it to her (after a thorough cleaning), but she was ecstatic to receive it: win win!

Fast forward five years, and my daughter is now seven, and much more aware of how things are supposed to be.  Keep in mind that she's owned this particular toy for five years after it had belonged to me for who knows how long.  Unlike me, she actually played with him, so the mileage on the toy itself was starting to show, making her inquiry all the more curious.

With an inquisitive look on her face, she asked me about the "odd" location of the whiskers on her Garfield doll.  

"Aren't whiskers supposed to be closer to his nose?"  She asked me, genuinely confused.

"Mija," I said, "Garfield is a cartoon character, and cartoons do not have to conform to reality, because they're not real."

"But in the movie, he is real," she countered, placing emphasis on the final three words, as though this settled the matter.

Of course he is.