Monday, 02 April 2012
Today, when I picked up my son from school, one of his classmates invited him to play basketball. So, even though I felt pretty crappy, I sat on the cement wall and watched while he played basketball with three of his classmates.
After a few minutes of that, he and the first boy (the one who invited him to play along), ran up on the hill and played soccer.
Owen is way better at soccer than basketball. I’m sure part of the reason is height – it’s hard to make a basket when the net is towering over your head – but as long as I’ve known Owen (6 years, 10 months, 17 days), he’s been really good at throwing and kicking and pretty decent at catching. He kicked the ball with some good force, got it past his classmate a couple of times and even managed to stop it with his feet (about a third of the time) when it was kicked back to him.
Anyway, I don’t have hopes for Owen to be an athlete. I mean, if he wants to be an athlete, that’s great. He can be whatever he wants to be (except: Lawyer, Pope, Wet Nurse, and Bachmann Campaign Manager), but I’m gonna just throw out a guess that he’s not gonna make a living as an athlete. My point, though, is that it’s still good to be a well-rounded individual. When I began taking guitar lessons back in 2007, I didn’t carry with me any fantasies that I would be a sessions musician for Santana – I just wanted to explore that aspect of human endeavor.
My memory might be a bit fuzzy – but I don’t ever recall playing an organized sport with my classmates outside of school-sanctioned phy. ed. curricula. So I think it’s great that he’s getting invited to play ball with the sporty kids.
When we got in the car to go home, Owen explained that he spends his recess and after school time with three classmates in particular: with one, he digs in the sandbox like a paleontologist. With another, he discusses math and Star Wars. And with a third, he plays ball.
Good job, Owen.
Tuesday, 03 April 2012
WIFE-
Today is my wife’s birthday. She’s no longer a strapping, youthful 36 year-old (like I am).
SON-
So, I keep meaning to mention this: last week, when I was über-sick, Jennifer and Isla left to go to the grocery store. Before leaving, Jennifer said to Owen, “Daddy isn’t feel very good, so leave him alone and let him sleep, okay? Only bother him if it’s an emergency. Do you know what I mean by ’emergency’?”
Owen guessed that it meant “if I need to talk to him.”
Jennifer clarified that it meant “if the house is on fire” or “if you get hurt real badly.”
I heard all of this barely. I was, after all, lying in bed, with a migraine, with the door shut. About 20 minutes later, I hear Owen calling to me. I hobbled downstairs, afraid of what must have been wrong.
“What is it, buddy?” I said.
He explained that he was having trouble locating the bonus features on his WALL•E DVD.
I looked at the TV screen and said, “Arrow up. Up. Up. Okay, one more. Now press play.”
I know this doesn’t seem very significant, but I want to point out two things:
1) This is the closest Owen has ever come to being kicked out of the house.
2) This is a shining example of parenthood at its absolute finest.
DAUGHTER-
Another thing from the other day: Jennifer told me that some people, upon finding out Isla’s age and then juxtaposing that with her small stature, said, “Oh, well she’s just a little peanut, isn’t she?”
So, the other day, while holding Isla, I said to her: “People are saying you’re a little peanut. Are you my little peanut?”
She said, “Sure.” Which, I think, is 1 year-old-speak for “Whatever floats your boat, old man.”
Wednesday, 04 April 2012
Mecrifully, we are nearing the end of the book Grand Expectations, a book assigned in my college class. It’s a long, heavy book that hashes and rehashes and then regurgitates what, I’m sure, must be the finest 30 years in the history of the universe, at least according to Baby Boomers.
Anyway, there’s a lot of fascinating history in the book and, I am determined to still love histroy ever after reading the book. Of all the topics the book cranks through a meat grinder and then beats with a ball-pean hammer, however, I have decided to name the lest-interesting topic in American history:
(drum roll)
The Vietnam War.
Yeah, that’s right. It bores the snot out of me. If I never have to read another book, or watch another documentary, or watch another half-assed film about it, that will be just fine, thanks.
Of far more interest, on the other hand, is the civil rights movement…
Today is the 44th anniversary…
Early morning
April four
Shot rings out in the Memphis sky
Free at last!
They took your life
They could not take your pride…
I lived through the Viet Nam days, as I suspect your Dad did. I was lucky enough to get a high lottery number, so I did not have to continue with my application for conscientious objector status. I would have gone to Canada before I would have let them draft me.
I was listening to The Current today and they played this U2 song and commented as to what the lyrics meant. I have heard the song a million times, but never made the connection between the song and MLK. Thanks for posting that info here. I also remember 44 years ago it seemed like every hero I had was being assassinated. It was a sad time for me and all Americans.
Yes – both my Dad and his older brother began pursuing conscientious objector status. His brother (who turned 18 in 1967) was further along in the process. My Dad once showed me some of his records – he had letters from church elders verifying my Dad’s objection, among other things.
I didn’t know the Current talked about “Pride” today. I wish I would’ve caught that. And it’s a great U2 song, I agree. But they get the time of day wrong – MLK wasn’t shot “early morn’,” but early evening.
If you get to Memphis, check out the Civil Rights Museum, located where MLK was shot. Interesting, well done.