The circle of life. We’re born dependent, then become independent, often encumbered with a few dependents of our own about the same time the once-independent people who ushered us to our independence become dependent upon us. Kinda confusing, but not as confusing as why I ever thought that puka-bead necklace I’m wearing in the above picture was a good look. Because it wasn’t.
If you stop by and read my words from time to time, I think you’ll agree that I have three primary speeds — ha-ha, deep, and esoteric. Lately I’ve been kicking out some ha-has, so I thought it was time to take one kinda deep. In fact, if I had to point to, say, five or six things that I’ve written that would give a total stranger the best sense of who I truly am, this piece would make the list without question. Not because it’s some work of literary genius. (As that clearly wouldn’t give someone a feel for who I am!) Far from it. Just some simple words about a complex relationship. One that I feel so fortunate to have.
You know what I did the other day? Marched into my library, dusted off Dante’s Divine Comedy and gave it a quick spin. Okay. No I didn’t. I don’t even have a library. Plus, the only Dante whose words I’ve ever read is former University of Tennessee football standout Donte Stallworth. And he spells his name with an “o,” so that doesn’t even count. Not that it’d count if he spelled it with an “a” because I doubt Donte Stallworth ever broke down the seven deadly sins like Dante…Dante did. (Dante’s last name? Anyone?)
Anyway, you know about the seven deadly sins, right? PEG LAWS? Pride, Envy, Gluttony, Lust, Avarice, Wrath and Sloth. Forget for a moment that I’m not entirely sure what “avarice” means and instead consider the following: there are seven deadly sins of fatherhood, too. That’s right. Being a dad carries its own PEG LAWS which you should try your best to avoid. You do know about them, right? Well, just in case, here they are starting with P:
I’m a huge Dr. Seuss fan and I’m fired up about his birthday tomorrow. But not just because of his birthday. It’s also the day that yet another one his masterpieces comes to life on the big screen, this time The Lorax. So when I was asked to take part of a campaign on Babble sponsored by The Lorax, I jumped at the opportunity.
I hope you’ll go visit me at BabbleVoices and read my thoughts by clicking HERE.
By now, I know that my readers have come to appreciate the fact that I often opine on pressing matters. Today, friends, is no exception, as over on BabbleVoices, I tackle the important sociological issue that is Chuck E. Cheese.
And I’m pleased to report that my hardscrabble analysis of this deplorable establishment has led to a breakthrough of sorts. No. Said breakthrough won’t stop your child from behaving like a buffoon while visiting the Rodent, as I like to call it. But it will, at least, help you understand his or her metamorphosis a bit better.
I was recently asked by YahooShine to write for them as part of their “Parenting Guru” group. Though I accepted, I’m about the furthest thing from a parenting guru you could ever possibly imagine. In fact, I’m usually leery of people who position themselves as such, but, hey, it’s just a name, right? So it’s not like I was going to turn down an opportunity to write for Yahoo over a semantics issue, right?
Anyway, since February is host to Valentine’s Day, this month’s parenting guru topic was love, so I wrote a piece for them called “Love is patient” that I hope you’ll check out by clicking HERE.
It’s raining outside, just as it has been for much of the month. Only this night, it’s really dumping, angry hurtful pellets slapping against my sweat-soaked flesh as I dash ungracefully from the gym to my car. Once behind the wheel, the steam from my body counteracts whatever modest progress the defrost is making, a humid mess I am, not only affected by the high pressure system outside, but also, apparently, by the one from within.
A few Friday’s ago, my wife and I were channel surfing when we stumbled upon a rare treat. Grease is the word, my friends. And it’s also a classic, one that I first saw at a very young age.
Which is how I started watching the movie. With the wide-eyed wonder of the ten-year-old whose tummy felt all funny inside the first time he saw Sandy, her fair complexion, cardigan sweater, full-length skirt and prudent yet playful ponytail.
But by the end of the movie, my perspective had changed to that of a 42-year old parent.