A Letter to The Parents of Golf Cart Kids

It’s the time of year when families young and old try to get away together to that special summer place. It could be a collection of cottages around a reservoir in Alabama, a favorite R.V. park in the Midwest, or mountain campground in the Adirondacks. For my family, it was always a small community of camps (which is what we call cottages in Upstate New York) along the shores of Lake Ontario.

I spent every summer that mattered there growing up, and learned all I cared to know on those shores. Now, my wife and I take our young kids there.

But something has changed about our little community.

As a kid, my brothers and I made the best friends we ever had there: Kids from Florida, the Carolinas, New Jersey, and Central New York, all spread out among camps of the community. We swam, skipped rocks, made bonfires. Between all those activities, we walked. We walked to the beach. We walked to other friends' camps. We walked to the impromptu rec hall that was Mrs. Woesner’s, where we played cards, and croquet, and spent many rainy summer days.

When I go there now with my young kids, I see a new generation of adolescents, all about the same age we were when we had the best summers of our lives.

And here’s the difference. Rather than walking barefoot along the dirt roads to get from friend to friend, and then on to the beach, all these kids zoom around on golf carts. Most aren’t even old enough to drive, but that doesn’t stop their parents from giving them the keys to the E-Z-GO.

While I know there are many communities that have a tradition of golf carts as the main means of transportation, ours was never one of them. When I was their age (ah-hem) 25 years ago, only one family in the community owned a golf cart. That family had a disabled child, and that’s why they had a cart. Now, it seems all the camps with teenaged kids have carts. As do many others.

So, here it is: An open letter to the Parents of Golf Cart Kids. By the way, I’m fully aware that there are likely so few of these people, I could have just written a closed letter and handed it to all of them. But, “open letters” are as fashionable as golf carts these days. So, bear with me:

Dear Parents of the Golf Cart Kids,

I’ve seen your kids zooming around, going the places they think they need to get, as quickly and easily as stepping on that electric cart’s go peddle. I’m not writing to say they’re going too fast, which they probably are. Or that the incessant buzzing of carts is ruining our family’s quiet vacation, which it likely is. I’m writing on behalf of your kids.

You may think your helping these kids by giving them the keys to the golf cart, thus allowing them to zoom around the R.V. park, or the beach-front community, or the campground. But you’re not.

Some of the best times had at places like these are on those long walks between all the things we just need to do. Trust me, I walked those paths.

More importantly, there’s a lesson on those walks. It’s not only the one about slowing down, and taking it all in – your surroundings and life. It’s also about the value of earning something. When you walk to the beach, you appreciate it more. The sand is that much softer, and the water that much cooler.

When your kids just pile onto your new golf cart and speed off to their destination, they may get there a bit quicker. But they certainly miss the accomplishment, and may just miss why these summer places are so special.

So do your kids a favor; Make them walk.

Peace out.

There. Now I’m officially an old fart.


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Finally, A Ninja To Inspire My Little Girls

As a parent, there are millions of little joys in the everyday, as you watch your kids discover the world around with all its profound beauty and untold mysteries. But once in a while, you can get crushed by it too, when you see them realize a harsh reality of life and the world they’re inheriting from us.

 

One of those little parental-soul-sucking moments happened to me recently, and it started with a simple drawing.

 

Our six-year-old daughter loves to draw. She tells us she likes drawing more than going outside. She even knows what she wants to be when she grows up – an author illustrator. She’s the best natural drawer in the family. I remember a drawing of herself she drew at age three. It was the kind of thing a cartoonist would conjure up. Of course, I am a bit biased.

 

Our little artist's first self portrait, from
quite a few years ago. She was 3 then.

She also happens to love the Ninja Turtles. It’s a family affliction I’ve written about before. In recent months, our two older daughters have grown out of their TMNT obsession. But not our third. She still loves them, talks about them, plays with their dolls and asks to watch the show – which has been reincarnated on Nickelodeon, after a 20-year hiatus, for another generation of kids.

One night a few weeks ago, our little drawing fiend took her art kit to the kid table in the corner and began a new masterpiece. When she was done, she didn’t want to show me.

“It’s just pretend,” she said. “It will never happen,” she added.

“What is it?”

Reluctantly, she showed me.

“I drew a girl Ninja Turtle,” she said, with resignation in her voice. “But I know Ninja Turtles are all boys.”

I smiled at the drawing as my heart sank.

I’m no dummy. I know there are many ways this world is unfair and cruel, to little girls and to everybody else. But for some reason, her belief that all Ninja Turtles have to be boys hit me in the gut.

She’s my third daughter. I’ve watched her older sisters grow up, and I’ve worried before about what it’s like for a little kid to suddenly realize the world is not entirely theirs for the taking, despite us telling them that, if they work hard enough and dream big enough, it is.

It reminded me of a few years ago when I was watching the Tour de France with my eldest, and she asked a simple question. “Why can’t girls win this race?”

Something I never thought about growing up as a boy surrounded by brothers is something that’s now painfully clear as a dad of daughters: there are countless examples of things little girls simply aren't allowed to dream to do. It’s especially true in sports.

Throwing the winning touchdown at the Superbowl? Hitting the winning run in the World Series? Only little boys can have these dreams, even if it’s not terribly realistic for most of us. And it's a profound moment for a parent when you watch that unfair reality dawn on your daughter.

Sure, there’s a girls version of baseball, but it’s not the World Series. There’s a women’s NCAA tournament, though I’ve never watched it. Occasionally, there’s a female race car driver these days or a female jockey in the Kentucky Derby. And my daughters always root for them. But when I sit with my kids and watch sports, which I do a lot, with the exception of the women’s World Cup it’s almost always men playing other men. They see that.

And there are many examples outside of sports, too.

We’re catholic. Every Sunday (okay, most Sundays … how about some Sundays) we attend church and watch a man lead the mass and perform the rituals of our faith. The question has been asked, why can’t women be priests? I don’t have a good answer, other than they just can’t. One less calling for my girls to pursue, I guess.

Priests, pro football players, baseball stars, Tour de France winners, and now Ninja Turtles: The heroes my daughters cannot aspire to become add up quick if you look around.

As a parent, all we can do is be more cognizant of these messages, and teach them about the need for the serenity, the strength and the wisdom, as the saying goes. Lord knows, there's room -- and need -- for change, on these issues and others.

After the female Ninja Turtle drawing incident, I did a little research to see if the concept of a girl turtle had been broached. I discovered that in the long lifespan and many reinventions of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle franchise, there actually was a female turtle character introduced. Her name was Venus de Milo. Though Venus has yet to make an appearance in the latest Nickelodeon version of the series, which is all my daughter cares about. But there is hope.

And then, this week, another female ninja of sorts burst onto the scene. She’s not a cartoon, or a turtle. But, she’s certainly a ninja. Her name is Kacy Catanzaro. And you can be sure my daughters gathered around the computer to cheer her on.

The world has many flaws, even more than I realized before I became a dad of daughters. But there’s also a million things that are great, and awesome, and inspiring about it. This is one:

(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XfZFuw7a13E)

 
By the way, the inaugural women's Tour de France kicks off July 27th. It's called La Course, and you can be sure we will be watching. 
  

 

 

 

 

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Cute and Pink to the Left, Cool and Blue to the Right

“Don’t be mad, but I got a couple of shirts from the boys’ section," my daughter proclaimed as she found me and her little brother sitting on the bench outside the Gap Kids at the local mall. Her mom was still inside paying with our other daughters. 

I wasn’t mad, not even close. But I asked why, purely out of parental curiosity.

“All the girls stuff is too cutesy, and the boys stuff is just cooler.”

My daughter is a pretty typical pre-teen – except in the many ways that she’s exceptional, of course. She likes to ride her bike. Plays soccer. Has read the Harry Potter series, the Percy Jackson series, and all the Hunger Games. She used to like princesses and Disney movies, and has recently discovered boy bands. She’s not what society would call a “gender non-conformist.” And that’s not what this is about.

But, it is very much about gender and conformity. And fashion, I think.  

I went back into the Gap, daughter and her younger brother in tow, to see what she meant.  
 

Why do boys get the cool shirts
and girls get hearts and butterflies?

Like all clothing stores starting with infancy, this Gap Kids is divided neatly into the girls’ side and the boys’ side. Just like the toy aisle at the department store, pinks predominate one and blues the other. Those are the colors assigned to us in the hospital, after all.

Looking beyond the color, I read the various sayings and slogans on the graphic Tees for each sex.

“Smile” proclaimed the first one from the little girls’ section. “Good as Gold” another. “Have Your Cake” a third, with eating it too being implied, I assume.

On the boys’ side, things were different.

“The Beach Life is the Only Life,” said the first; “All Work, No Play … Property of the Lazy Days Department, ” another;  And “Upstate Soccer, Lake George Strikers.” Somebody should tell the Gap the best soccer player in Upstate New York goes by the name of Abby.

Of course, it was the end of the summer buying season, which happens in early July -- don’t ask me to explain, it’s also when I start going through shirts like Andre Agassi at the U.S. Open. We were there because of the summer clearance sale and the “Take Additional 40% Off” signs. The racks weren’t exactly bursting, so maybe it was just that our Gap Kids was picked over, leaving behind only the nauseatingly cute Tees for girls and obsessively cool ones for boys.

I went online when we got home to discern whether this sample was representative of the larger population of graphic Tees. And it was. The girls Tees had animals and butterflies, cute sayings and lots of smiles. There were no "sporty" ones, and only two of 22 fell into the "cool" category. The boys, on the other hand, were all athletic and beachy, and exuded an abundantly laidback vibe.

 

There was also a boys Tee online that read, “I’ve Got the Skills to Pay the Bills.” I wanted to order it for my wife, but I don’t know what size she wears in boys’ shirts. Besides, that’s a different article. (Or maybe the same article, if it were longer and more introspective).  

It’s not just the Gap. On a separate trip to a local Carters, which sells clothes for babies and toddlers, I was surprised at the messages emblazoned across the gender specific cloths. I expected the pink and blue divide, but not the accompanying words.

The baby girls' onesies  included “Super Cute” and “Queen for A Day.” Not so bad. Until you compare it to the boys, which had “Mr. Macho,” “Ladies Man,” and “Chicks Dig Me,” among others.

There are few things cuter than baby
clothes that say: "I hope my boy grows
up to be a womanizing, macho adult."  

There’s no doubt about it, our daughters and sons are getting very different messages, beyond just pink and blue. And it starts when they are babies.

Of course, babies don’t have credit cards. So it’s us parents, grandparents, and aunts and uncles buying these things. After all, companies wouldn’t make these shirts if we didn’t buy the product. Maybe it is super cute to see a baby boy with a “Mr. Macho” shirt. And maybe most young girls prefer butterflies to soccer balls and surfboards. But what exactly are we saying here?

When you step out of the kids fashion world for a minute, you notice a culture in the midst of a change. People everywhere, and parents in particular, are bucking age-old gender-based stereotypes associated with work and home life. Women who happen to be mothers are launching startups and leading top companies. Dads are shelving careers to stay home with kids, or working from home to be more involved. There’s a generation of parents working together to raise families, doing whatever they have to do to survive, and trying their best to make sure their kids don’t enter the world with preconceived notions about what it means to be a pink or a blue.

There’s a reason. We need more women in fields like science and math, for starters. And I want my girls to pursue those fields, if that’s where their interest lies, not become obsessed with a need to be cute. The push to make girls conform to just cuteness limits all the things they could become. 

And young men need to know there’s more to being a man than being macho. In fact, much of what we think of as being macho is directly counter to what it means to be a man today. Wear that “Mr. Macho” shirt when you're 30, and see if “Chicks” still dig you.

All of us consumers out there are at least partially to blame. But the Gap Kids of the world should bear responsibility, too. In the design phase, doesn’t someone speak up and ask, “What are we teaching with these Tee shirts?”

Isn’t there a parent in the room to say, “You know, my daughter loves soccer, too.”  

If not, there should be. It can’t just be about selling Tee shirts. There has to be a wider responsibility to the world we all share.

We used to be able to easily point to Disney and Legos as the biggest offenders in this category. Both have been forcing gender stereotypes on our young children for a while, and both have made strides recently (more like small steps) to get away from that. It’s time for the clothing industry to follow, and it starts with big retailers, like Gap Kids.

Our daughter happily wears the few boys' shirts bought that day, even though the sleeves annoy her because they're cut different than the Gap's girls' shirts.

Next summer, she'd really like to see a soccer shirt for girls. And, no, it doesn’t have to be pink. And yes, we would likely buy that for her, too … after the summer clearance begins.


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A Parenting Skill I'm Good At...

I’ve discovered a critical aspect of parenting I excel at: Embarrassing my kids. 

It’s a good thing, because there are other parts of this job that don’t exactly play to my strengths, like multi-tasking. (More on that in later posts). But when it comes to embarrassing the heck out of my kids, I’m like a duck to water … or is it fish to water. Anyway, I rock at it.

Today, when waiting in the line of family cars to drop off the three girls at the local day camp – so their mom and I could have three whole hours of uninterrupted work-from-home time – the “Cruise” song by Florida Georgia Line came on the minivan’s radio, the one that goes, “You make me wanna roll my windows down and cruise.”

Being cool and all, I decided to slide my seat real low, crank up the bass and roll down the windows. I thought it necessary for all the other camp kids to see at least one hip dad in that dreary procession of minivans. 

Right when I got that radio blasting for maximum hipness, all three of my girls shrieked and made the most horrific faces. The two younger ones assumed the fetal position, and the older one dove for the radio power button. Then she frantically asked me to put the windows back up – which had the child-safety locks on – while she held back tears.

I obliged. I guess I’ll just have to cruise after I drop the kids off.  

Rad Ride, dad. Just imagine how
embarrassed this guy's kids are at pickup. 

I’ve seen embarrassment at work with my kids before, like whenever I wear that awesome yellow fleece vest brought to you by the 90s and the fine folks at Eastern Mountain Sports.  

“Please don’t wear the yellow vest,” my kids say. For the record, they wouldn’t know cool if it moonwalked into the room and started belting out Pearl Jam tunes. I know, because I've done that too.

We all know the ease with which parental embarrassment can paralyze a child with fear. The scope of that fear seems to increase exponentially as the child enters the pre-teen years.

Our oldest, who's pretty well-adjusted on most other fronts, has become obsessed with how we act around her in public, especially when other kids her age are nearby. She doesn't want us to sing or dance or do anything fun. Or hug her, or talk to her. Frankly, she'd just as soon not be seen with us in public at all.

When she is around us, the mere threat of potentially embarrassing actions is enough to get her to follow our subtle commands -- or to make her start bawling. That all depends on how close we get to an actually embarrassing event.
 

When handled properly, fear of embarrassment can be a powerful teaching tool. Of course, this is the part I'm still learning: how to wield this power to a tactical advantage and not just for the occasional fun. Using embarrassment right is truly a subtle parenting art form.

The whole drop-off episode was my attempt to change her negative attitude about day camp. I think it worked, at least as a temporary diversion.
 

Some parents clearly don't know how to use embarrassment properly, and underestimate its power. All those stories about parents shaming their kids online, or making them stand on a corner with a sign that says something derogatory about themselves -- that's idiotic. You never want to do anything that will leave permanent emotional scars.

And you certainly don't want your own silliness turned into ammunition for other kids to be mean to your offspring. If my kids came to be known as "that weirdo's kids," that would be embarrassing ... to me.

But, when it comes to making sure the kids have a good attitude, a sense of humor, and much needed perspective on life, nothing works better than a little parent-centric embarrassment. And sometimes, it’s just plain fun.

Now, I'm going to roll my windows down and cruise. It's almost time for pick up. 



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What do Luis Suarez and My Three Year Old Have In Common?

My three-and-half-year old son has something in common with one of the most talented soccer players in the world, and I’m not exactly happy about it: They both bite.

“No bite, Drew!” 

Those words, sadly, have been said around our house far too often in recent months. We thought he was through the biting phase – which usually happens for most kids around age 1, or maybe 2, when they are forced to move on from binkies (pacifiers) and other oral addictions, yet aren’t quite equipped with the words needed to express themselves.

“Don’t bite! Use your words!” That’s something that has been yelled – sorry, I mean emphatically suggested – around our house over the years.

We thought our boy understood that biting is widely considered socially unacceptable, and we figured he understood it years ago. I mean, he’s three after all. Three year olds know this, right? At least, three-year-old girls do. And that’s all we had experience with before he came along.

Use your words, Luis!

Then, in recent weeks, the boy bit two of his sisters; Teeth marks and all. We were very disappointed. We scolded him. We gave him gargantuan time-outs. Like solitary-confinement-type punishments. But, we convinced ourselves that it was just a phase. As parents of older kids often tell us, “This too shall pass.”

Clearly it would, because biting just isn’t something adults do.

Enter Luis Suarez.

For those who don’t pay attention to soccer … or news … or Facebook … or random banter around the water cooler … a world-famous soccer player, who plays for Uruguay’s National Team and led the English Premier League in goals this past season as a forward for Liverpool, went ahead and bit someone during a World Cup game.

That’s right. He bit someone.

Sadly, it wasn’t his first offense. He’s bitten before; He's bitten twice before to be precise -- and to sound vaguely like a bad 80s’ song.

 

Suarez served a suspension for biting an opponent in 2010 in a Dutch league. Then he did it again last year in the Premier League. This past year he seemed more intent on scoring goals than chomping on opponents, so lots of people forgot his cannibalistic past. Then, with a global audience watching one of the biggest matches of the world’s biggest sporting event, he struck again.

 

Chomp!



One Millionaire Bites Another. Again. 

Here he is, a 27-year-old millionaire striker for a World Cup favorite, and you just know there’s a parent somewhere in Uruguay (or watching in the stadium in Brazil) muttering, “No bite, Luis! No!”

This world-class player, and now world-renowned jerk, may have just written his own exit from international soccer, and possibly the professional game altogether, all because he couldn’t grasp what most three-year-olds understand: that biting is unacceptable.

Most three year olds -- except mine, that is.  

Still, I’m holding out hope that our child will learn this lesson, at least before he starts kindergarten.

If not, there’s always soccer.


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Average American's Guide to Soccer Lingo

Thanks to the World Cup, many Americans are watching soccer and rooting for the U.S. team for the first time in four years. As we all know, it’s not enough to yell "GOAL" for two minutes straight without taking a breath when we score. You have to do your best to also sound like a real soccer fan during the rest of the game. 

While it's easy to remember the general rules – like no hands – some of the lingo may be a bit harder to understand. So here’s an unofficial guide to some of the terms thrown around by announcers and all of us soccer fans, alike.  

The Basics:

The Pitch – The field.

To be a real fan, you need to sound like a fan.
GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAL!

Pace – It just means speed. But if you want to sound like a loyal fan, you need to say things like, “That squad has a lot of pace.”

Nil – Zero: for example, Mexico won an exciting match 1 to nil.

Draw – a tie. (Gasp, they have ties in soccer!)  

Equalizer – a goal that ties the score. Simple enough.
 

Related to the Rules:

Regulation Time  -- This is the 90 minutes the game is played, made up of two 45 minute halves. Often just "Regulation."

Stoppage Time/Added Time – Actually, the game is played for at least 90 minutes. While the clock on the screen runs continuously, the official game time is kept by the official. Yes, it's meant to be confusing. He keeps track of time lost to goal celebrations, substitutions, and millionaires writhing in pain because someone stepped on their toe. He adds time at the end of the half, and the end of regulation, and then stops the game once he feels good and ready.

Extra Time – Not to be confused with added time, extra time is overtime. We’ll likely see lots of extra time once the knockout phase of the World Cup begins. Note: You can have added time that's added to extra time.

Booked, or booking – Whenever a player gets a yellow card, they are booked, as in the referee adds them to their little black book. In usage: “That was a justifiable booking.” Yellows are the official caution card in soccer. Two bookings and you’re sent off.

Sent Off – When a player gets a Red Card or two Yellows, they have to leave the game. They get “sent off.” Sending offs are severe, as the player can't be replaced and their team goes down a player, and their side has to play with just 10 men. The player "sent off" also has to miss subsequent games, though the teams can replace them in the next game.   

Offsides (updated) – A slightly confusing penalty that involves the number of defenders between an attacker and the goal. Basically, when the ball is advanced to you, you need one defender and the goalie (or 2 defenders total) between you and the goal. But it all depends on where they all are when the ball is played, not when you get it. It also matters how it's played, and by who, and whether the "offsides" player is involved in "the play," and yada, yada. Basically, it requires more words than I care to write. So, here's a link.

"A High Line" – Using the offsides rule to their advantage, many teams have their line of defenders creep up the field, making it more likely for offensive players to be called offsides when a pass comes their way. Also known as an offsides trap. Doing so is often described as "playing a high line."

Set Piece – Any “play” that starts with a free kick or corner kick where the offensive team has a chance to score. Teams practice set pieces, and will usually have a plan they are trying to enact, like scoring.

The Stripe – The little line 12 yards out from the goal where penalty kicks are taken from, wither due to penalties or tie games after regulation time and extra time. When a penalty happens in the box during the game, the referee will just point to the stripe, and announcers will say, "He's pointing to the stripe!"

Penalty Kick – We all should know this one, but it's a free kick from the stripe. Any penalty by a defender inside the penalty box can result in a penalty kick. Non-serious penalties inside the box are often ignored due to the severity of penalty kicks.

Terms To Show You Know A Bit More About Soccer:

First Touch – Used to describe how a player handles the ball when it comes to them. “He had a brilliant first touch.” Just to be clear, it’s not the first time a player touches the ball in the game, just on any given play. (Be careful, overuse of this phrase can take you rather quickly from soccer cool guy to soccer douchebag).

Clean Sheet – When a team or goalie records a shutout. Not necessarily a win, as it could still be a 0-0 tie. In usage, "If the score holds, this will be Costa Rica's second clean sheet of group play.
  
The "Counter" - Short for counter attack. Often times teams will play a defensive strategy, waiting for the right time to launch a counter attack -- usually after a failed corner kick, or some other play that brings the other team's players deep into their end. Usage: "Here they go on the counter."

Flick-On – A header that subtly redirects and advances the ball closer to the goal or toward another player. A player can also "flick" with their foot, in which it's a quick redirection pass. 

Ambitious – Soccer commentators love to give out subtle jabs, a common one being “Well, that was a bit ambitious.” That means someone shot from too far away, or passed it forward beyond the range of an attacker. Imagine a quarterback throwing a bomb way-over the receivers head on first and ten: That's ambitious. (It can also be used to describe an unnecessary slide tackle, which may result in a booking.)

Terms in International Play:

Cap – Earned for appearing in an international soccer game for your country. "Tim Howard has over 100 Caps."

Cap-committed – Once a player has played in a game for a national squad, they cannot switch and play for another. Several German-American dual citizens play on the U.S. team.  Once thy appear in a game for the U.S., they become cap-committed to the team. Yay!?

Friendly – Game held between two squads, usually national teams, in which nothing is at stake. Also, a fancy word for a scrimmage.

Advanced Lingo:

EPL – English Premiere League: The top professional league in England, and one of the most highest playing pro leagues, so lots of top world players play there. There are other top European leagues, including ones in Germany, Spain and Italy. These leagues are actually better than the EPL in some ways, but none of those can be abbreviated.

Tika Taka – A style of play made famous by the Barcelona FC professional team and the Spanish team. It’s the short, controlled, one-touch passing that make it look like your just playing with the other teams' minds.

False 9 – This one is tough. It describes a position on a team when that team plays without a true striker, and rather has a midfielder who moves forward into that role in attacking situations (they are the False 9). It’s the soccer equivalent of the Wildcat.

Ballon d'Or – This is the Golden Ball, given to world’s top player each year. Portugal’s Cristiano Ronaldo won the latest Ballon d’Or.  Argentina’s Lionel Messi won the previous three. France’s Franck Ribery did not win it this year, and he was mad about it. Not to be confused with the "Maillot Jaune," which is the yellow jersey worn by the leader of the Tour De France.
 
*****
 

And, here are a few Quick Compliments which can be blurted out randomly between sips of your beer to look like you know what you're watching:

 

"Nice Touch"

 

"Great Ball"

 

"Brilliant!"

Now, good luck rooting for the American team. And remember, after the World Cup, you can just forget all these terms for another four years.

Go USA!


P.S. If there are any other confusing terms, let me know and I or another soccer geek will interpret, and it'll get posted here.




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The Omnivore Dad's Dilemma

The words I’ve dreaded since we started feeding these kids have just crossed my pre-teen daughter’s lips.

“Dad, what would you think if I wanted to stop eating meat?”

“What!? Like a, like a vegetarian?”

“Yes. Exactly like that. ”

Ay Caramba! Really? A vegetarian?

Now, I consider myself a reasonable man. I make certain food and I expect that food to be eaten … Hmm. That sounded frighteningly like King Triton before he blew up the Prince Eric statue. Anyway.

I do consider myself a reasonable dad. And, don’t get me wrong, I fully support the decisions by other people to become vegetarians. I’m not an anti-vegite (not my term). I have lots of friends who are vegetarians. … Boy, this doesn’t sound good.

I swear. My two sisters, whom I adore, were each vegetarians for years. I have a sister-in-law now who’s a vegetarian, I think. Maybe even two. I try not to pry about such matters. I really do support people who make that choice. Really.

It’s just that I kind of like meat. Sure, I’ve struggled with the concept of killing animals a bit. I remember when I read “The Jungle” back in my freshman year of high school. I avoided hotdogs for at least a solid two weeks. But I just couldn’t stay away. There’s just too much about meat that’s appealing.

You say Tomato, I say ...
You are not becoming a vegetarian!

Besides, we’re also kind of “foodies” in our house. We try to make and eat lots of cool dishes. French peasant food, southern bar-b-que, authentic Mexican, half-ass Thai, you name it, we make it and eat it here. And almost all of it has meat at its core. We even add chicken to our meager attempts at Indian food. My wife often makes fun of me because when I shop for our meals I like to pretend I’m a Top Chef contestant and always start by picking “the proteins.”

We not only eat meat proudly, but we're foodies in the shows we consume. I can survive months on a steady TV diet of Iron Chef and Anthony Bourdain. Pretty much all Tony does is travel the globe eating meat in tube form while he exalts the mere existence of pork fat. That's my favorite show.

And it’s not just me, my kids all love watching cooking shows, too – kind of the way my siblings and I loved when a “nature” show came on the tube growing up. In our family these days, the Food Channel is rivaled only by HGTV as most watched network. (Oh, and Disney, of course).

My daughter, who now wants to be a vegetarian, used to consider Cat Cora her personal hero. And just a few weeks ago she suggested that she and I make the 5 mother sauces this summer. She’s going to be bummed to learn animals must die for at least two of those sauces. Three if you’re a crazy vegan and count eating eggs as animal death.

Simply put, eating meat, cooking meat and watching people cook meat are regular occurrences in our house.  

But it’s more than that. There’s also a practical aspect. I do a lot of the cooking and food shopping in our house. Sure, it’s easy to throw a veggie burger on the grill, or order the cheese pizza to appease the vegetarians among us. But, what about all those other meals? Am I supposed to make Tofurkey every meal? Or tofish? Or topork? Do we have to find meat alternatives for everything? How will I do that? And how much will that cost?

A brisket that we cooked and ate
recently. BTW, those wood chips
are for smoking, not for eating.

I certainly want to be a dad who supports his kids, who helps them become who they want to become. And I totally respect the thought and perspective and conscientiousness that goes into something like this. But my kid? Already? She’s only freaking eleven. My God. At this rate she’ll be moving to a hippie commune and drinking only beet juice before she’s old enough to drive. Sorry veggie friends. Just venting.

I imagine this is just the start of her spreading her wings and asserting who she is.  All happening just as I’m settling into my ways. Is this what I have to look forward to? Is this what all those older parents were referring to when they'd wink and smile and say, “It only gets better?”

This is a big test. Am I going to be a parent who stands in the way their kids’ individualism, or am I going to help them grow?

 

Ugh. Why couldn’t she just give up television? Or discover punk rock music? Or become a Mets fan?

As for my thoughts on the whole vegetarian thing, I have personally come to accept the fact that we humans are omnivores by nature. We have teeth designed for tearing flesh, and our bodies need protein. Sure, it’s lonely atop the food chain. But that’s where we find ourselves  – usually.

In my life, as I’ve thought more about the food we eat – which I have done, a lot -- I’ve certainly believe we need to fully understand where our food comes from, to know how hamburgers are made, to know how cheese is cultured, to know what it takes to grow vegetables. I’ve helped promote policies that support local farmers and the whole “slow-food” movement. And I make decision based on sustainability, and environmental impact, and the humane treatment of livestock. There’s virtue in that.

But damn it, if someone roasts a pig, I’m there with a fork in hand. (And maybe some Achiote paste, for good measure).

So, this eldest child of ours has left me with yet another dilemma. I want to support her, but I really don’t want to start cooking two meal options every night.  And, as much as she may be considering giving up meat, I am not.

So, what’s a dad to do?

Help me, Bobby Flay. You’re my only hope.



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What’s Really Wrong With Politics is You…

Anyone who steps back and observes the current state of our politics knows there is something very wrong. And I think I have a sense of what it is. I’m not talking about recent rulings on campaign finance, high-powered lobbyists, or the prevalence of extremist factions; I’m talking about something deep seeded in each of us.

The real problem is our individual inability to separate our own opinions from the facts.

Don't get me wrong. Opinions are good. We should all have some. But we need to know when our opinion impacts our ability to see the facts.   

Consider this: It’s sport analogy, so my apologies in advance. But, have you ever watched a game where something questionable happens to your favorite team. It could be a possible fumble, or a charge/block call, or a handball (for those few soccer fans). Are you the type of person who watches the replay and lets the facts tell the story? Or are you like most fans who let their loyalties cloud their adherence to reality, and just look for some evidence that will make your team’s case?

 

No one ever admits to being that fan, but they are everywhere.  

Fumble! Or is it?
Well, it depends. Or does it?
Darn you, truth!

I’ve watched games with people I consider to be highly reasonable and intelligent who will yell at the screen that it wasn’t a fumble because the knee was down, when anyone with eyes could see the ball came out first. They made up their mind well before they took the time to see what actually happened. And no facts will change it.

In sports, at least, there are referees. Even if we think they are blind or total bums sometimes, they are there.

We don’t have any real referees in American politics. Sure, the public gets to vote every few years, but that’s hardly consistent or decisive enforcement. We used to have the media to act as a referee of sorts. But I fear one of the many side-effects of the changes that have taken place in journalisms in the past two decades is that nobody thinks of journalism as an effective referee of the truth anymore. Sure, many journalists still see that as their role. But when a few major outlets struggle with the opinion versus fact divide, and the mere definition of what constitutes a media outlet has so undoubtedly changed, that battle is lost.

 

Now, the closest thing we have to a referee runs on the Comedy Channel. Some people think he's a bum, too.

So, in reality it falls to each of us to wade through it all, and make our own decision about what is real and what isn’t, to separate science from fiction, and to know the difference between the truth and only partially-true talking points.  

 

Sure, having the people in charge is good. Call it the marketplace of facts, or the democratization of reality. Yet, if many of us can’t even tell a fumble when we see it, how are we going to do with the big questions?

Take the Benghazi attacks, as an example (and I know some people have just started yelling at their computer screen). This was certainly a horrific event that cost American lives. We should know what happened and understand it. But are any of the actions associated with it impeachable, as some of my Facebook friends have suggested? If you say yes, ask yourself if any of the actions by the previous administration associated with the attacks on the World Trade Center were impeachable too? Very few among us will say yes to both. Many more will say yes to one and not the other, driven not by facts but by our political predisposition. This is but an example.

Every day things occur in politics that cause similar reactions. Politicians do nefarious things, like telling lies or having affairs; And they do less nefarious things, like accepting campaign donations or supporting policies we might disagree with. How we react to such things often has less to do with the facts and more to do with the letter after their name. This isn’t a Republican problem, or a Democratic problem, it’s an every damn one of us problem.

In the post-referee world, or the world where everyone is their own referee, the human aptitude for bias and the ability to create our own reality is severely hampering our political process.

Sadly I don’t know that there exists one cure-all answer to the problem. We can’t resurrect a media that will act as our truth referee, not in this social media-driven, click-bait obsessed, post-modern “journalism” world. It really does come down to the individuals, which is fine when we consider ourselves as the arbiter of truth, but kind of scary when we think about all the idiots out there who don’t agree with our clearly-superior opinions.

But I also know that most people, in some shape or form, have an inherent sense of fairness. I’m not talking about economic fairness, or even equality-under-the-law fairness. Rather, I mean a general sense that there exist something formerly known as the truth, and that it’s only fair that the truth should be respected. That would be fair.

So next time we see some political story break, involving characters we all know, we should stop and observe before we form an opinion. And we should all ask ourselves, did that football come loose before the knee touched the ground? There is usually an answer.

 

Of course, that's just my opinion.

A Fool and His Fish

I decided to pack it in. The sun had already set, though the cloud cover hid any evidence of that fact. Still, it was surely getting late and cooling off too quickly to stay much longer.

For an hour I’d been casting onto the creek, drifting flies over the places I thought trout would be. And nothing had happened. 

Nothing good, anyway. 

I’d already lost three flies in the brush hanging over a particular hole, trying to drop one where I was sure a hungry fish was waiting. I had no proof, but I knew if I was a fish, that’s where I’d be. I pried a few other holes and flats, too, with no return on my investment of time and tiny, intricately-made little flies.

Maybe I’d lost my touch. It had been a while. Most years, I would have fished many times before late May arrived. But this year, it just hasn’t felt right. I’ve got too much to do and have accomplished too little to reward myself with time on the river. But today, I decided it was needed.

I’ve been feeling a bit gummed up on the writing side of things, which is unfortunate because it's how I make my living, and also my only real hobby, other than fly fishing. I’ve got press releases to write, and a book project I’m working on, and the whole blog thing. And none of it is flowing out of me these days. It feels like a chore.

I decided I should go talk to the fish about it, for a few brief moments, anyway. If only the fish knew how much thought I’d put into my post-dinner excursion to this river looking for a conversation, they’d surely be more cooperative.

Fly fishing is a repetitive endeavor. You cast and cast and cast, think a little, and then cast some more. There-in lies part of its beauty and, also, its ability to bring on a trance-like, meditative state.

Cast, drift, retrieve. Cast, drift, retrieve. Cast, drift, retrieve.

I’d been at it an hour this particular evening, a very short time considering the many hours I was capable of standing and casting. Yet, I was running out of daylight and, thus, out of time. Besides, as W.C. Fields once advised, “If at first you don't succeed, try, try again. Then quit. No use being a damn fool about it.”

It was decided, this damn fool was going home.

I turned and walked a few strides up the river, headed back to the car and back to my current struggles with writing and life, when my eyes beheld something beautiful: a swarm of flies a few feet off the creek. It’s beautiful in the eyes of a frustrated fly fisherman, to be sure. They were dancing and dropping and rising again, in a mating ritual that happens on lucky spring nights. Lucky for them, and for the fish, and for me.

I couldn’t get close enough to identify the flies, but I knew the rough size and color. Likely a Hendrickson hatch. And if there were fish in this river, they would be rising soon.

Maybe I had enough light for a few more casts, I convinced myself.
 

Nice talking to ya.

Others have written and I’ve often thought about how fly fishing is like life. It always seems that just when you’re about to give up, or when resolved you've made your last cast, a little luck comes your way. Now, I am not a total fool, and I know there are many times when that luck never appears. There’s a fine line between persistence and foolishness. Hope can be the enemy of acceptance.

But I also know when the luck does arrive, or karma, or grace if you’re a religious person, it often makes a dramatic entrance. Like a swarm of flies dancing over a river.

Within minutes I’d hooked up with four hungry trout, including one in that hole, who I knew was there all along. We had our conversations, and I put them back. All was right with the world, and I could go home.

And it’s a good thing, because I had a lot of writing to do.


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The Difference Between Kids and Adults #53: Dandelions

A kid sees a fluffy, white dandelion and thinks, “Yay!”  And proceeds to pick it and blow on it, so they can watch the little white parachutes float all over the yard.

An adult sees a kid blowing on a dandelion and thinks, “Nooo!” And tries to catch the little white seeds before the entire yard becomes a weed pit.

 

 

 

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