Crayons, Funky Ears, the God Thing, and Shootin’ the X

If I had a nickel for every…..wait, clique……My time seems to be slip slidin’….cheezzzzy…..If time was a vice squeezing my nuts…..wait, too dirty….Let’s just say that my wife and I, like most working parents, have a lot going on during the summer.

The biggest challenge that is literally coming down the pike (I flipin’ hate that expression) is the product of my X. And I guess I really shouldn’t call her a challenge because she ain’t so much trouble right now. I guess the big news is that it has actually become a she. Or as the doctor explained, “You’re either going to have a girl or a very disappointed boy”. So much for dump trucks, racecars (without the “s” it’s a palindrome, ya know), motorcycles, and other testosterone-laden times. Alas, I’m destined to play with pretty particulars and pink things for the rest of my life.

My future holds a house of three females, five if you include the cat and dog. Don’t get me wrong, little girls are the shiz-nit. If a snap was all I need do to change my life, I wouldn’t even consider it. However, girls eventually bring boys into the mix. Now I’m going to have to worry about twice as many gropy little paws and shit-talkers. If I’m able to teach my girls one thing—and only one thing—about boys, it’s going to fall into the realm of kicking them in the nuts without hesitation. I know it seems harsh, but I was a boy, and I skirted—but completely deserved—getting a few shots during my teen years.

And the list continues….

My daughter starts school...SCHOOL…in two weeks. How did that happen? School supplies cost about $70 and included 800 glue sticks, 400 boxes of Crayolas, a sack-full of additional crafty-type things and a bag of M&Ms. When did M&Ms become school supplies? Are they included in the back-to-school tax-free weekend list of items?

In three weeks I have the pleasure of taking a 5-year-old and a pregnant woman to Disney World for 5 days. I’m going to eat lunch with the Disney princesses in Cinderella’s Castle one day. The next day I’m going to eat dinner with the Disney princesses in some other location. I wonder if the prince’s will be there. I figure we can shoot a little pool, smoke cigars and talk of conquering the world while the women eat. It’s a castle; they have to have a pool table, don’t they?

Last week I went to Promise Keepers. I’ve never been an overt Pentecostal-type Christian, per say. My religious beliefs and/or actions usually come in quiet form of being a faithful servant to God, my family and others. This, in addition to prayer, personal reflection, and fellowship with other Christian men at Brookwood Church.

PK, however, is the X-Games of Christianity. The program, at the very least, will make you stand up and take notice of your life. Dynamic speakers grab your attention with exciting stories of faith, adventure and leadership. Blasé Christian pop and a capella standards are kicked into high gear with the Promise Keepers band, PK7.

Highlights for me included comedian Brad Stein. The truth behind his Wussification of America bit is as real as it gets. Bob Cornuke told his tales of proving the bible, having AK47s pointed at his head and posing as a doctor to escape execution. I wonder if his captors ever considered filing a malpractice suite against him? Dan Seaborn hit so close to home with stories of normal family life that it made me fall in love with my wife all over again.

The embedded video is a project that I put together from a hodgepodge of video I shot at Promise Keepers 2006 in Atlanta, photos that I shot from PK 2007 in Columbia, SC, and video that I borrowed from the PK Website. It’s only about 4 minutes and well worth a look.

…and the beat goes on.

Look to the Cookie

My daughter floored me yesterday with a tale of pre-school discrimination, rendering me speechless for at least a solid minute.

Rew began our conversation with a question as we walked to the car. “Ya know what Dolly said today that got her in trouble?” By the way, Dolly is a real person and Rew’s best friend, not cotton puff held together with stitching. “She told Little Ms. B that she couldn’t play with us because her skin was brown.”

The statement literally stopped me in my tracks.

My mind began to race for words, kinda like the time when GROB’s daughter found that funny-shaped vibrating thing on the floor while she was helping dismantle mommy’s and daddy’s bed. However, I knew almost instantly that the “It’s a special screw driver for the bed” excuse wouldn’t work. I’m quick that way, ya know.

This was hard-core real life. The right words, correct delivery relating to her world, and proper praise for not participating were extremely important. I first had to determine if her participation in the circumstance was, in fact, exempt. I’m confident it was.

After thinking about it for a while, I’m willing to bet that this was more the type of discrimination that children do to the fat kid, or the kid with glasses, or the kid who is kinda stinky. I’m not saying it’s right. I’m saying that it probably wasn’t rooted in racial prejudice. There is a difference, but not much.

The obligatory discussion about green skin, red noses and/or purple toes ensued at length. A child’s definition of discrimination was invented, and praise for non-participation included the words, “how proud I am of you” and cost me one piece of bubble gum and a sucker.

At bedtime we prayed. In addition to thankful blessings, we asked God to help all people understand that discrimination is unacceptable.

I held Rew’s sippy-cup of milk, the one with the green top, in my hand as I tucked her in. After which, she asked me for one last drink. I rocked the cup back and forth in my hand as if it was speaking.

Then I said in one of my best character voices, “No Reilly you can’t have a drink of me. I have a green top and you don’t. Only people with green tops can drink from me…”

She held up one finger as such when making a statement and interrupted my last effort of the day.

“Uh, daddy. Daddy! Sippy-cups aren’t people and they can’t talk.”

Lesson of the day learned. Adult insight as to the comprehension level of a 4-year-old also learned.