And To Every Teen Must Come An Accident

 My daughter has been driving for a while. She is a good driver–after all I taught him everything she knows. Yesterday, I sent her on some errands for me and on her way home the unthinkable happened. My daughter, the invincible one ran into the back of another car!
She called me in a panic saying that no one was hurt and pleading that the other guy did not have a turn signal. I was so proud of myself that I remained calm, cool and collected. After all, everyone was safe and no one was hurt–THAT is the critical part. She was driving my Expedition (not very environmentally friendly, but according to the salesman in an accident I automatically win by default) and apparently was unable to stop in time when the guy in front of her stopped suddenly to make a right turn. No damage to my car (guess the salesman was right) and a small dent in the tailgate of the other guys pick up truck.
I told her to exchange information and since both cars were drivable, just get the info and head on home. Apparently when she was doing that, a witness appeared and mentioned that the other driver (the one my daughter hit) was too busy talking on the phone and made the stop without warning. In California we just passed a law on October 1 requiring the use of a hands free device. At this point, the guy who was hit, decided that there was no need in exchanging any information and left.
When my daughter got home, she was still shaking and upset–probably more with worry about the consequences at home than the accident, but I explained that she was not at fault and could not stop the car–period. I told her to be more aware of it and to not let it bother her. They are called accidents for a reason and as long as no one was hurt–it was all good. I think Breana was shocked at my reaction.

Merry Christmas Everybody

Christmas to me means a spirit of love, a time when the love of God and the love of our fellow man should prevail over all hatred and bitterness, a time when our thoughts and deeds and the spirit of our lives manifest the presence of God.

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The Police and My Teen Daughter

It’s the police!
A text message sent by my teen daughter, not thirty minutes after she left for astronomy class. WTF!? Had she gotten into an accident? Was she pulled over for a driving offense? Did she get another parking ticket?


What’s going on? I texted back.

Silence.

I shifted into worried-dad overdrive. I figured I could drive to her class, and if she was there, I'd have nothing to worry about. But if that was the case and she was fine, she would have texted me back.

If she wasn't in class, no telling where she might be. She had her own loopy ways of getting around. I wondered – was she experiencing her own Book ‘em, Danno moment?

I've been pulled over a few times in my life. Running a stop sign when I was sixteen (I contested it in court, and won!) Speeding in my twenties (traffic school for me.) Plus two sobriety checks as an adult (I was totally sober both times. Cops get bored around here.)

I figured if my daughter had the wherewithal to text me about the police, she couldn't be that far gone.

Unless she was in custody, and that lone text was her one phone call.

Two hours later, my daughter came home from class.

“What happened with the police?” I asked.
“Our instructor was playing some song in class, and I was trying to guess who it was,” she said. “It sounded like Sting, but I couldn't remember the band he was in. And then the instructor told us!”

The Police.

“Why did you text me that?” I asked.
“I thought you'd be excited,” she said. “I know you like them.”

Thoughtful of her, though I could have used a bit longer text message.

“Okay, what was the song,” I said.
“It’s astronomy class,” she said. Then she grinned. “Walking on the Moon

                                           

   The Police, Walking on the Moon Video 

Pain

People are afraid of themselves, of their own reality; their feelings most of all. People talk about how great love is, but that's bullshit. Love hurts. Feelings are disturbing. People are taught that pain is evil and dangerous. How can they deal with love if they're afraid to feel? Pain is meant to wake us up. People try to hide their pain. But they're wrong. Pain is something to carry, like a radio. You feel your strength in the experience of pain. It's all in how you carry it. That's what matters. Pain is a feeling. Your feelings are a part of you. Your own reality. If you feel ashamed of them, and hide them, you're letting society destroy your reality. You should stand up for your right to feel your pain.

Mobile Blogging from here.

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Diabetes Knowledge Keeps Changing

Knowledge is power—that phrase is certainly true when it comes to managing diabetes. Knowledge can help you make the right decisions about your care, such as adjusting your diabetes medication, choosing a healthy meal at a restaurant, or treating low blood glucose. 

Today there are many sources of information about managing your diabetes. The Internet, magazines, diabetes education programs or support groups, are just some of the places to find the diabetes information you're looking for.

Be Open to Learn

As time goes by, you've probably realized there's a lot to know about managing your diabetes. It's easy to get overwhelmed. The best way to avoid feeling that way is by knowing where to find the answers to your most pressing questions.

Stay Abreast of Progress

Progress is constantly being made to make diabetes care easier. Fortunately, you can stay up-to-date on the latest developments by regularly visiting web sites to find information on diabetes such as Changing Life With Diabetes, American Diabetes Association (ADA) (www.diabetes.org), and the National Institute of Diabetes & Digestive & Kidney Diseases of the National Institutes of Health (www.niddk.nih.gov). You can also subscribe to one or more monthly diabetes magazines, such as the ADA Diabetes Forecast.
   
The ADA states that diabetes self-management education (DSME) is an "essential element of diabetes care." If you have never attended a diabetes education program or met with a certified diabetes educator (CDE), now might be a good time to take advantage of these services.

Your health plan or Medicare may cover the costs of diabetes education such as DSME and nutrition counseling for diabetes like medical nutrition therapy (MNT).

If you are entitled, ask your healthcare provider for a prescription and written referral for these services. To find an ADA Recognized Program, call 1-800-DIABETES (1-800-342-2383). You can also call the American Association of Diabetes Educators at 1-800-TEAMUP4 (1-800-832-6874) to find a program in your area.
     
Stay on top of the latest developments to learn about new ways that can help meet your self-care goals.
    
Focus on the important things you need to know to avoid being overwhelmed by all the diabetes information available.

Monitor a few trusted sources of information, such as e-mails, monthly magazines, etc. to stay informed.
 
Take advantage of any diabetes education services your health plan offers.

Note to My Daughter

Find a guy who calls you beautiful instead of hot, who calls you back when you hang up on him, who will lie under the stars and listen to your heartbeat, or will stay awake just to watch you sleep... wait for the boy who kisses your forehead, who wants to show you off to the world when you are in sweats, who holds your hand in front of his friends, who thinks you're just as pretty without makeup on. One who is constantly reminding you of how much he cares and how lucky he is to have you.... The one who turns to his friends and says, 'that's her.'

Mobile Blogging from here.

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What do you do when your teenage daughter tells you that she is no longer a virgin??? :'0(

My daughter is 19 (will be 20 in April). She just told me that she is no longer a virgin! I really didn't know what to say but I can tell you I was heartbroken. However it's too late to change it now so why get furious about what cannot be changed. What I told her is that I love her and want to make sure that she is protected because I know that she is going to do what she is going to do no matter what. I just want to know that she is safe. I didn't want to flip out on her because I feel then she would feel that she cannot talk to me when she needs to. However I AM her father! Where do you draw the line between father/daughter relationship and friendship with your child? Please if anyone has anything on this please, please chime in. Thanks in advance everyone!

My Sexy Daughter

My teen daughter is a good girl. She gets good grades, participates in church events, helps around the house when I ask her (er… make that, she helps around the house when I give her gas money for her car!)
So when one of the Hot Moms asked at the Hot Dads blog why it's okay for men to check out sexy woman, yet not let their daughters wear what they want, because isn’t that a double standard? – I reacted!

My daughter is a girl, not a woman. When girls like Miley Cyrus pose nude in bed, with messed up hair that makes her look like she just had sex, I’m disappointed. Fifteen is too young for displays like that. I don’t want my daughter being sexy just yet.

But as a single dad on the dating scene, I have to admit, I do like me a sexy woman. Someone smart, caring, kind, attractive, and compassionate too. There’s more to a person than their looks and sex appeal. But sexy is definitely an element that turns my head.

I don’t see a double standard in that. Girls are not women. And while my daughter is beautiful, she’s not sexy.

Yet!!

As a dad, I hope my daughter meets a great guy some day. I hope she settles down, gets married, has kids, etc. And I assume for her to attract a great guy, she will at some point have to be sexy. Just as he’ll have to be a stud. (And he’ll be smart, caring, kind, etc. – whatever she’s looking for in a man.)

How will I feel when my daughter turns on the sexiness? I certainly won’t start calling her hot. No creepy dad thoughts or remarks from me.

But I do hope she embraces every aspect of being a woman. And part of that femininity is being sexy.

Now then, where’s the Hot Daughters blog… just kidding!!

Mobile Blogging from here.

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Barroom Savvy

My daughter and I braved Los Angeles traffic to have lunch at one particular restaurant my mom raves about. Who knew getting into downtown on a Saturday afternoon would be so bumper-to-bumper hard? Not to mention, our GPS unit was on the fritz.
By the time we got to the restaurant, there were just 45 minutes before we needed to head to the Rose Bowl.

The restaurant had an hour wait.

“You can try the bar,” the hostess said.

The bar was beyond packed with patrons eating lunch. Several couples stood lurking, waiting for seats to open up.

“I guess we'll have to eat someplace else,” my daughter said.
“No, we came all this way,” I said. “Besides, Grandma loves this place. We're eating here.”

My daughter rolled her eyes, clearly thinking I'm crazy. She excused herself to use the restroom.
“I'll get us a seat,” I said.
My daughter made a face. Yeah right.

She went off to the restroom, and I cased the bar from one end to the other. There were two dozen people sitting at the bar itself, and another three dozen at tables. One couple looked like they were finishing up, ready to pay their bill. They might leave in another ten minutes. I positioned myself near their table.

Two other couples edged in close, just as ready to pounce.

Then I noticed the hostess come in and make a bee-line for a couple at the bar. “Your table is ready,” she quietly said.

Bingo.

I grabbed their seats before anyone else even noticed they were vacant. I sat and ordered two sodas, and waited for my daughter. I figured we needed to place our lunch order, pronto. How long could she possibly take in the restroom?

A few minutes later, my cell phone rang. It was my daughter.

“Where are you?” she asked.
“I'm sitting at the bar,” I said. “Where are you?”
“Oh, I'm outside. I figured we had to eat someplace else. How are you at the bar?”
“I said I'd get us seats, and I did.”

Clearly, my daughter hasn't seen her old man in action nearly enough. Welcome to barroom savvy!!

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When We're Incomplete

When we're incomplete we're always searching for somebody to complete us. When, after a few years or a few months of a relationship, we find that we're still unfulfilled, we blame our partners and take up with somebody more promising. This can go on and on--series polygamy--until we admit that while a partner can add sweet dimensions to our lives, we, each of us, are responsible for our own fulfillment. Nobody else can provide it for us, and to believe otherwise is to delude ourselves dangerously and to program for eventual failure every relationship we enter.

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Relationships

Relationships-of all kinds-are like sand held in your hand. Held loosely, with an open hand, the sand remains where it is. The minute you close your hand and squeeze tightly to hold on, the sand trickles through your fingers. You may hold onto some of it, but most will be spilled. A relationship is like that. Held loosely, with respect and freedom for the other person, it is likely to remain intact. But hold too tightly, too possessively, and the relationship slips away and is lost.

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Father Daughter Hit the Pump

Over the years, I've watched my daughter mature from preteen girl to car-driving teen, and she’s become quite the confident, intelligent, self-assured girl (young woman). My daughter rocks! (Proud daddy moment. Sorry.)
While I've raised her with tons of love and nurturing care, I never treated her with princess gloves, fearing that would hold her back. I'm a father who wants his daughter to kick-ass on her own strengths, rather than wait for a man to take care of her. (Note to Ann Coulter: I have nothing against men and women coupling up. Lord knows I'd love some feminine energy and regular sex in my life. I just want my daughter to know she can take care of herself.)

My ex has a similar attitude – that our daughter is better off if she’s confident enough to fend for herself. (My ex is someone else who kicks ass in that department.)

This means now that my daughter is driving, she doesn't turn to mom or dad for gas. She’s a responsible teen who buys her own fuel at the pump. Right?


By the time I was driving as a teenage boy, I had a fast-food service-industry job that gave me money for gas, movies, and cheap dinners out with my girlfriend. I never asked for hand-outs from my father or mother. (Okay, when I was down to my last dollar.)

My daughter knows this. So when we hit the gas pump in her hand-me-down car the other day, she pulled out her gas card, pronto.

“How low is your tank?” I asked.
“It’s pretty much empty,” she said.
“And how much money is on your gas card?”
“Six dollars.”

That would buy her a few gallons. Sheesh. She’s got plenty of time in life to learn to be self-reliant. I filled her tank on my credit card.

Sometimes a father’s daughter really is daddy’s little girl.

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Facebook – Social Network or Promotional Network?

I’ve been on Facebook for a few years now, but never really took to the site. I have email to keep in touch with friends, and my Blog lets me voice opinions. But then I saw the Facebook movie, “The Social Network”, and was friended on the site by my college age daughter. I learned I'd been using Facebook entirely wrong.
Facebook is intended as a social network, not a promotional network.
In the movie, college students rush like lemmings to use Facebook, primarily as a way to see who’s single. It’s not exactly a dating site, because only people you invite to be a friend have access to your details. That makes it exclusive to whoever you choose. (I know you can change privacy settings so the whole world can see your goodies, but you can also keep things tight and close.)
My daughter and her friends use it to keep in touch, organize activities, or find out when someone signs up for something fun. Pundits talk about the mob mentality, but I don't see that with my daughter and her friends. They make independent choices, then comment liberally on each other’s lives. They are connected as friends, and that’s it.
When I look at my Facebook wall, I don't see anything remotely social about it. It seems some of the more vocal people I've friended simply write about causes, events, and projects they want others to support. They use it as a promotional tool. That’s fine and dandy in small doses, but when it’s practically the only use? It’s not social at all.
For instance, on my daughter’s Facebook wall, I can learn about:

• A college football game she and her friends attended
• A fun activity she did with her dorm
• A party she'll be attending later this month, that she and her friends are excited about
• Her friends delighting in each other’s lives

My wall, on the other hand, has things like this from my Facebook friends:

• Someone pimping a new tech product
• Someone twittering about what they drank tonight
• Plenty of bloggers announcing their latest post (mea culpa – I do that too)
• Someone promoting a book that just came out

Where are the parties? Where are the mixers? Where are the photos for me to make fun of?
Where oh where are the single women who would love nothing more than a good guy like me to flirt and ask them out on a date? (Maybe we even flirt in real life after we both sign up for the same activity.)                            
I am thinking about changing the way I use Facebook. Rather than promotional networking, I want to start doing some social networking.
And so, it might be time for me to unfriend the people I don't know, have never met, and won't interact with socially. It’s time to remove connections to people who are promoting stuff I don't care about.
And it’s time to start expanding my social network by friending some interesting, fun people who I have the potential to meet in real life. Who knows, maybe we'll even go on a date.
First things first, I'll make sure my relationship status is appropriately set: single.
And if you're a Facebook social butterfly, feel free to give me some tips on how to best use the site.

Desire

I would do what I pleased, and doing what I pleased, I should have my will, and having my will, I should be contented; and when one is contented, there is no more to be desired; and when there is no more to be desired, there is an end of it.

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What a Dad Needs to Know About His Daughter

When my nineteen-year-old daughter told me she had a boyfriend, I was thrilled. Not only for her, since dating is a normal part of growing up, but for me, too. That I was in the loop meant our father daughter relationship was healthy and strong. Right?
Not so fast. I hadn’t yet met her boyfriend.

At first, that didn’t bother me. After all, I’m a single dad on the dating scene, and I don’t introduce my daughter to every woman I meet. But some Dad’s House readers said a teen daughter thrives when her father shows an interest in her life. Great point!

I asked my daughter, her friends, and some of my girlfriends to give me hot tips for fathers with teen girls. Here’s what they said.

What a Dad Needs to Know About His Daughter

Sex – we all know collage kids think about sex, even the ones with purity rings. A dad should know his daughter’s attitude about sex. Where is she getting her sex education? If from girlfriends, is the sex knowledge good, or is she being misinformed? And of course, is she having sex? (Good luck on that one.)

I talked to my daughter about sex when she was a preteen, and we've had conversations since. When a father daughter sex talk is uncomfortable for either party, make sure she has someone to talk to – her mom, an aunt, an adult female friend. Someone you trust. A dad needs to know his daughter is getting accurate and appropriate information about sex.

Boys – how are they treating her? How is she treating them? To find out, you can talk to her, eavesdrop, monitor her Facebook page. Also, if she does co-ed activities like track, drama, or band, go watch! Just promise you won't do anything that mortifies her. (I quote my daughter on that.)


Tampons – if you're a single dad, you might want to know where she keeps these. My daughter ran out once, and asked me to dash to the store on her behalf. Now I keep an eye on her supply, and help her stock up accordingly.

Beauty stuff – my daughter is beautiful, the apple of my eye. I compliment her daily. Still, teen girls are at an age when they may want to experiment with changing their look. Make-up, clothing, hair styles, nails. Even tom-boys might be curious.

For a dad to tell his daughter that she might want to change her hair or wear some make-up could send her a mixed message. Is she not good enough in his eyes? But, for a dad to accept that his daughter wants to experiment with her looks brings validation. Big difference. Just don't expect her to let you take her to the mall for beauty stuff. Better if she goes with a woman. I once sent my daughter on a clothes shopping spree with a buddy’s wife. It was a huge success.

Girlfriends, yours – a single dad’s daughter might want to know her father is dating, but she certainly doesn't need to hear every gory detail or sexy and funny story. She’s your daughter, not your confidante. My daughter said she doesn't want daily or weekly updates on my dating life, but if I've been seeing the same woman for a month, I should mention it.

Girlfriends, hers – don't tell your daughter that one of her girlfriends is hot. That’s creepy! Don't flirt with her girlfriends, either. (Moms shouldn't flirt with teen boys.) If you need a reminder on this one, go watch American Beauty. Enough said.

Details of her daily life – my daughter and her friends hate when a parent doesn't even know what classes they're enrolled in. If you ask about biology when she’s taking chemistry, you're clueless.

After school – where is your daughter hanging out? What’s she doing? If she says she’s working on homework with a friend, but then stays up all hours working on homework, maybe you're getting the runaround. Teen responsibility is something learned, and sometimes needs parental guidance.

What matters to her – a dad needs to know what his daughter thinks is important. Is she obsessed with saving animals? Fixated on boys? Can't get enough soccer? Whatever her passion, take an interest. Listen. Encourage her. Show up.

Some of my daughter’s friends have dads who have never attended one of her high school soccer games. That’s really sad. I know people are busy, but your daughter only grows up once. Make an effort to be present in her life, especially for something that’s important to her. Be a proud parent.

What she says – what your daughter says isn't necessarily what she means. According to my daughter: “you don't have to come” means she wants me to come, but is giving me an out if I can't make it. “Don't come!” means don't come. And “yes, come” means dammit, I better be there! Listen to her intonation, and hear what she means, not what she says.

Bottom line: A daughter wants to know (!) her father cares about her.

Now then, all you female readers who had dads, please weigh in with your corrections or validations! I'm learning this stuff as I go.

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Becoming Responsible Adults

Becoming responsible adults is no longer a matter of whether children hang up there pajamas or put dirty towels in the hamper, but whether they care about themselves and others -- and whether they see everyday chores as related to how we treat this planet.

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The Problem With Music

1. It would take a lot of work to stop the world, and I can't see why a person would go to all that trouble just to melt with someone.

2. When Freddie Mercury sang, “Each morning I get up I die a little,” he was terribly vague. Given that he died at age 45, which means he woke up roughly 16,425 times, there has to be a precise unit of measurement for EXACTLY how much he died each morning. I’m not a math guy, but I feel like the song would be a lot more legitimate if Freddie sang, “Each morning I get up I die by approximately 0.00491 percent.”

3. Tom Petty, the Foo Fighters, and Pink Floyd each have songs about learning to fly but none of them says anything about how to land. Tom Petty says, “Comin’ down is the hardest thing,” which…you know…no SHIT, Tom.

4. “Where it began, I can’t begin to knowin’.” Neil, it’s a fine song and all but who the hell talks like that? I’ve been inclined (bop-bop-baaaah!) to believe Caroline thinks you’re a hick.

5. There is no such thing as “nine in the afternoon.”

6. I don’t know about whom The Black Crowes are singing in “She Talks To Angels,” but the notion that “she gives a smile when the pain comes” is patently absurd. It’s a wince, you idiots. People wince when they’re in pain. It’s the same as when babies wince when they have to fart and the deluded mommies and daddies thing the baby is smiling at them. Friggin’ dolts.

7. “Good morning, sun. I am a bird wearing a brown polyester shirt.” Good morning, Ben Folds. I am a psychiatrist wearing a neutral-colored sweater so as not to agitate my patients. I’d like you to come in and see me. It would seem that you could benefit from some chemical intervention.

8. Of course the landslide brought you down, Stevie. It’s a fucking landslide!

9. Mr. Young MC, sir, if that is indeed your real name, the challenge to “come on, fatso, and just bust a move” is both vague and incredibly insensitive. The more politically correct sentence would be, “so come on, portly gentleman, and just invite the attractive female to come to your home and loofah your stretchmarks.”

10. If I am to believe that she’s buying a stairway to heaven, I’d like to see her financial records. That thing would cost billions, guys, and unless she is obnoxiously wealthy, this whole project is a joke. Plus, think of all the permits she’d need.

Attitude

People grow old only by deserting their ideals, Macarthur had written. Years may wrinkle the skin, but to give up interest wrinkles the soul. You are as young as your faith, as old as your doubt; as young as your self-confidence, as old as your fear; as young as your hope as old as your despair. In the central place of every heart there is a recording chamber. So long as it receives messages of beauty, hope, cheer and courage, so long are you young. When your heart is covered with the snows of pessimism and the ice of cynicism, then, and then only, are you grown old. And then, indeed as the ballad says, you just fade away.

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A Realistic View of the Effect of Diabetes

I found out I had diabetes in 1999. I was having chest pains and had a procedure done. Through all the tests, they found the diabetes. It wasn't easy at first, changing my lifestyle, food and way of thinking; my blood sugars (glucose) are always high. I found I needed to talk with someone who has diabetes also, to share my concerns, and listen to me and to hear what they had to say. I don't think people who are not diabetic understand a lot of what we feel and go through.

I am going through depression right now, I have high blood pressure, so it is not just the diabetes I'm dealing with. I know people don't like reading stories where things are not all rosy, but the truth is, diabetes isn't rosy.

We are in a fight for our lives, to keep our sight, our limbs and our hearts healthy and watch our carb intake, and keep our blood sugar down, it's a daily fight, but I am ready and willing to keep up the good fight--to do what it takes to make a good life.

Little Tom And His Short Temper

I was ordering my iced venti decaf soy latte the other morning when I heard the distinctive sounds of smooching and kanoodling behind me. I turned around to see the source of the PDA (public display of affection) and what I saw will be seared into my memory for all eternity: a tall redhead with a nose ring embraced in a lip-locked death match with a leathered-out biker dude who was – no joke – a good eight inches shorter than she. Picture Nicole Kidman making out with Gary Coleman and you're in the right ballpark.
I have lived in Southern California for my whole life and that means I have had to see a lot of really weird shit and a lot of really strange people. I once saw a kid pull his glass eye out of his head, put it in his mouth to clean it off and then pop it back into his eye socket. I was once browsing in a sex shop (for the articles, of course) when a 400-pound woman with a purple Mohawk and a tongue stud, an employee of the establishment, walked over and asked me if I had any questions about the merchandise. I played pool in a bar one time against a guy who had iron cross tattoos on his face. On his fucking face!

Yet in spite of the daily parade of freaks and weirdos and outcasts that has passed in front of me, I have never before seen a guy who was so completely dwarfed by his girlfriend. His head was looking straight up at her and hers was straight down at him. And they were kissing and holding hands and crushing on each other like minxes.

You know what came next, of course: suppressed laughter. It was as if someone had farted in church.

The barista who was taking my money saw the look on my face and we both looked away from one another immediately. Eye contact would have unleashed a torrent of laughter neither of us could have stopped. We didn’t want to make a scene.

So I got my receipt and stepped aside while they made my coffee and you know what came next, of course: that little bastard order chocolate milk. Chocolate fucking milk!

Well, at this point I just lost it. And the barista lost it. And the guy who was reading the Wall Street Journal in the big, cushy brown chair lost it. And the three teenagers immersed in their before-school bible study lost it. And the little chocolate milk guy looked around, wondering what everyone was laughing about.

Through the cacophony of laughter and tears and snot and people mouthing the words “chocolate milk” to each other in silence, the barista asked Little Chocolate Milk Guy what his name was so she could write it on his cup.

And he said his name was Tom. Tom! As in “Tom Thumb!”

And you know what came next: Little Tom The Chocolate Milk Guy got pissed. He discovered that we were laughing at his little ass and his little boy drink and the pathetic way he looked up at his girlfriend and he just went batshit. Straws and napkins and holiday knick-knacks started flying everywhere. I got drilled in the ear by a biscotti. A piece of jellied orange from the top of the holiday gingerbread went flying through the front page of the guy’s Wall Street Journal. Yep, Little Tom was having a little tantrum.

After a few minutes, Little Tom’s big girlfriend picked him up by a belt loop and got him to calm the fuck down and find his happy place. She leaned down and kissed him on the top of his little over-Moussed head and convinced him to just finish ordering and leave. He agreed, in part because she was way bigger than him and he didn’t have much choice.

And you know what came next, of course: the barista got down real low, looked Little Tom right in the face and said, “So did you want that chocolate milk in a sippy cup, little guy?"

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A Daughter Turns Dad Around

I was totally burned-out on the whole diabetes thing to the point I stopped taking the medication on a regular basis. When I went for a routine check-up, my sugar level was so high that my doctor gave me 4 years before I would need a kidney transplant. As any of us can attest to, getting more bad news on top of this disease was a devastating blow for me. The mere idea of having to wait for another person to die so I could enjoy not doing the right thing for a bit longer was too much. I started planning my eventual demise because I was tired of watching what I had to eat every second of the day and being a slave to the medications. I wanted my regular life back until my daughter had a heart-to-heart talk with me, stating that she was not ready to have her father leave this world until he had done everything within his power to stay. My daughter was the one that got me back on track. It's for her that I now go walking 3 times a week. It's for her that I take the stairs and not the elevator. And it's for her that I now exercise more control and discipline about coping with diabetes

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Lonely

You want to think and say that you have everytning you need, but then you realize that something is missing, someone is missing... and once you think you've found it, it goes and disappears on you and you don't understand what to do or even where to start looking for that missing piece of the puzzle. You sit at home in lonely frustration and you just wait...wait...and wait. No where to look, no one to look for.

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Switched On

With all due respect to the agency that created it, I’ve altered Home Depot’s slogan to better reflect my own history with it: The Home Depot—You can screw it up, we can help. I do not belong in a “home improvement warehouse” because to me home improvement is a concept to be feared, like midget porn and family vacations. I don’t like it, I don’t know how to do it, and I am rendered horrified by my own failure whenever I attempt to do it.

About two years ago I was here to purchase a ceiling fan for our living room because we thought it might help us reduce our electric bill by enabling us to use the air conditioner less frequently. I spent an entire weekend assembling the thing and hanging it from the ceiling, and by Sunday afternoon all that was left was to make the appropriate electrical connections. That was the first—and until now, the last—time I ever touched anything electrical in our house. See, our house was built in 1963 and in those days people must have been really short—like Oompa-Loompa short—because our “attic” is more like a death trap. There’s only about two feet of vertical space up there and the nails used to adhere the synthetic roof tiles to the house poke straight through, creating the very real possibility of being impaled whenever I go up there. Naturally, the entrance to the crawl space is on the east end of the house and the electrical junction box I needed to access was on the west end of the house. Despite spending almost an hour in the hundred-degree crawl space, I finally managed to twist the appropriate wires together and make the ceiling fan whirl. I excitedly began the long crawl back to the exit, and when I got about two little scootches from there, I put the size eight Nike on my right foot straight through the ceiling. My leg was junk-deep in the hallway outside Breana’s room. “Can I help you find something, sir?” asks the man in the orange apron. He’s older than the typical employee here, maybe in his early sixties, but he’s got big muscles.

“Hi, uh, yeah. I’m looking for a switch.”

“A switch? Well, we’ve got lots’a switches. What kind ya lookin’ fer?”

(Another accent to decipher. I’m going to guess Texas. West Texas. El Paso, maybe.)

“Just a light switch,” I say. “Think the one in my garage is fried.”

“Yeah, well, that’ll happen,” he says. “Let’s take a walk down to Electrical.”

“Oh, it’s OK. You don’t have to escort me all the way down there. I think I can find it.”

“Ya sure? It’s no trouble.”

“I’m sure,” I say. “Thanks for the help.”

“Not a problem.”

Not for him, maybe. But for me? Big problem. Big! If there’s more than one variety of light switch in that aisle, I’m completely hosed. I clearly would have loved to have an escort to show me what kind of switch I need, but the problem with these damned Home Depot employees is their expectation that you have at least a scintilla of an idea what you’re trying to accomplish. I have no such thing. I have only my ignorance and my credit card and my resolve to be a better man. A better homeowner, too.

Fortunately there is really only one kind of light switch. I get it home and show it to Breana, as if I’m about to impart some of my wisdom so that she might be able to replace a light switch in her own home someday (assuming I don’t electrocute her first).

“…and see this thing right here? That’s the on-off switch. The lights go on when you flip it up and off when you flip it down. Cool, huh?”

“I already know that, dad,” she says with a frustrated eye roll as she turns her attention back to her iPad.

“OK,” I say. “Well…good chat, Pumpkin.”



The disciplines of home improvement that terrify me most are plumbing and electrical, which, with the exception of patching drywall when people stick their legs through it, comprise the majority of repairs in our fifty-year-old house. The reasons to fear these two minefields are rather obvious to me—plumbing mistakes flood the house and electrical mistakes fry people. That’s why I’m having such a difficult time convincing myself to install this new light switch in the garage. I know the steps I must take in order to protect myself—starting with turning off the power to that part of the house—but I’m generally a nervous person and I cannot banish from my mind the image of myself as a house fly and the wires in this light switch as one of those fluorescent blue lights that make flies like me spontaneously combust on contact.

Despite my reservations, I have killed the power, unscrewed the plastic overlay, and carefully pulled the existing switch out of its metal housing. There are two wires connecting the switch to the electricity—one red, one white. To a seasoned household repair ninja like my brother Paul, changing out a dead switch like this is about as challenging as scratching your balls. That’s why I’ve always called him when I need something like this (and perhaps why he looks at me like I’m helpless idiot whenever he comes over to repair shit). But this is a new time. I am a new man. I’m taking responsibility for my own home. And to me, this looks like a scene out of The Hurt Locker. I’ve just opened a car trunk loaded with seven improvised explosive devices powerful enough to turn my whole existence into a fine red mist, and now my survival depends on carefully removing the red and white wires without so much as a twitch. I produce a small flathead screwdriver (despite the screws being threaded for a Phillips head screwdriver) and slowly begin to loosen the screw connecting the white wire. After a half-dozen turns, the white wire pops free. I close my eyes and wait for the explosion, but it never comes. Because I’m that good.

I then turn my attention to the red wire, and since red is the color of blood and the devil and a smacked bottom, my muscles tighten. I slowly begin turning the screw to the left (I remember learning this phrase in junior high: “Righty tighty, lefty loosie.”) (But at the time I thought it mean left-handed girls were looser.) and suddenly I feel a bead of sweat form on my brow and start sliding down the bridge of my nose. I want badly to wipe it away but I’m dealing with lethal electrical force here and I know even the slightest twitch could kill me. Or worse. I continue to unscrew while the sweat slowly slides over my nose. It tickles. It itches. But I persevere until the red wire shoots free, and with one jerk of my head the sweat plummets to its death on the garage floor.

“Hey, Breana!” I holler a few minutes later.

“Hey what?”

“Can you come out to the garage for a sec? I want to show you something!”

She appears. There’s a look of apprehension about her, but I’m smiling when she sees me and that seems to disarm her.

“Go ahead,” I say, pointing at the light switch proudly. “Give it a try.”

She smiles.

Her eyes open wide, as if turning that switch will make the sky open up and unleash a hailstorm of hundred-dollar bills. With her eyes open wide, she flips the switch.

And nothing happens.

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What is REAL?

What is REAL?' asked the Rabbit one day, 'Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out
handle?''Real isn't how you are made,' said the Skin Horse. 'It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.[...] 'Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,' he asked, 'or bit by bit?''It doesn't happen all at once,' said the Skin Horse. 'You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to the people who don't understand.

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I'm Not A Smart Man

This morning I did something stupid and careless and completely out of character for me.

Some community college kid cut me off in traffic, twice, nearly causing an accident the first time, both times wearing a big smile on his face like he was proud of his recklessness and malfeasance, so I followed him to his destination and confronted him.

“Proud of yourself, you stupid, emo, Flock of Seagulls asshat?” I yelled, although I was certain the reference would be lost on him. “You trying to kill someone or what?”

“Fuck you,” he said unimaginatively. Clearly not an English major.

“Fuck me? Fuck me? Am I the one who blew through a right turn only lane and cut me off by six inches? Am I the one endangering people who had kids in the car two minutes before you pulled that shit? No, Depeche Moron. That was you.”

You should have seen this kid. His long hair was colored no fewer than six different shades, he had big white plugs in his earlobes, and everything visible was pierced. He was wearing eye makeup. His fingernails were painted black. I don’t know what the kids are calling this particular style nowadays, but let’s call it Daddy Never Loved Me And Mommy Turned Tricks For Fruit Loops And Won’t Somebody PLEASE Give Me Some Attention.

“Did you really just follow me?” he asked incredulously, like I was some idiot for doing so, which may in fact be true. “Jesus, get a life, old man.”

“I have a life, you ten-dollars-a-unit Shithole Studies major. And I’m trying to keep it in spite of careless bastards like yourself. Now run along to class before your mascara runs into your box of clove cigarettes, Jesus and Mary Chain.”

(This is the part where I really would like to tell you that I peeled out of the parking lot like a pimp but what really happened is that I put my Honda in “drive”, checked my blind spots, and slowly, cautiously crawled away with my hands at exactly ten o’clock and two o’clock on the steering wheel.)

Anyway, I never got out of my car because I realized nothing good would have come of that. I didn’t want to fight the guy, and I clearly wouldn’t have pulled this stupid stunt if anyone else were in my car. But I just needed the kid to know he doesn’t get to endanger my life and just drive off.

It was, as stipulated above, a stupid move on my part. I feel lame for having done it because you never know who has a gun in the car in Southern California and I could very well be writing this blog entry from the morgue. 

Loving Relationship

A loving relationship is one in which the loved one is free to be himself -- to laugh with me, but never at me; to cry with me, but never because of me; to love life, to love himself, to love being loved. Such a relationship is based upon freedom and can never grow in a jealous heart.

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Things I Learned At Disneyland

1. It’s only “the happiest place on earth” if you don’t go with a six-year-old girl who wants to spend all day in Toontown. If you do, it’s “the place on earth where you really want to go home.”

2. Neck tattoos are no longer the exclusive property of jailbirds and miscreants. They’re also for the people in the next teacup over.

3. Paying $8.15 for a cheeseburger does not necessarily mean the cheeseburger will taste good or have a consistency resembling meat, be it ground or prepared otherwise. For all you know, you may have just ordered one of the old, soiled Chip or Dale costumes that was “repurposed” in the cafeteria.  

4. No matter how many times or in how many different languages your daughter is told to keep her hands and arms inside the ride, she will inevitably stick her hand into the water. And if she’s in my gene pool, she may also lick the water off of her hands.

5. If you watch closely during the parade, you can tell which “cast members” are carnally and/or romantically involved. “Daddy, why is Winnie The Pooh hugging Belle like that? Why is he putting his knee up by her hip?” “They’re dry-humping, sweetheart. Pooh wants to get at Belle’s honey pot.” “Oh.”

6. During that parade, the floats shoot out a shit-ton on confetti shaped like Mickey Mouse’s head. After the floats pass, Disneyphiles and fringe weirdos will actually bend down and collect handfuls of the confetti in a Ziplock bag like its dirt from the infield of Yankee Stadium or little beads that have fallen from the hem of the Pope’s garment. But its not. Its trampled, wet paper in the shape of a cartoon character’s melon. And its OK to accidentally kick those people as you pass them.

7. You can’t get cell service inside Its A Small World, so don’t bother trying to check the football scores. Just sit there, listen to the world’s children sing the same song over and over and over again and try to hush your homicidal ideation. 

8. Pirates of the Caribbean smells like feet.

Where do babies come from?

Where do babies come from? Don't bother asking adults. They lie like pigs. However, diligent independent research and hours of playground consultation have yielded fruitful, if tentative, results. There are several theories. Near as we can figure out, it has something to do with acting ridiculous in the dark. We believe it is similar to dogs when they act peculiar and ride each other. This is called 'making love'. Careful study of popular song lyrics, advertising catch-lines, TV sitcoms, movies, and T-Shirt inscriptions offers us significant clues as to its nature. Apparently it makes grown-ups insipid and insane. Some graffiti was once observed that said 'sex is good'. All available evidence, however, points to the contrary.

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Becoming Responsible

Becoming responsible adults is no longer a matter of whether children hang up there pajamas or put dirty towels in the hamper, but whether they care about themselves and others -- and whether they see everyday chores as related to how we treat this planet.

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Love Yourself

Love yourself first and everything else falls into line. You really have to love yourself to get anything done in this world.

People You Need

The only people you need in your life are the ones that need you in theirs, so stop making people a priority when they make you an option!!!

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A Letter To My Daughter

Hello Pumpkin,
I wanted to say hi and tell you how much I love you and that I hope your classes are going well and that you are having fun too.
But I also have to have a daddy moment- bear with me here. I won’t take long, and I won’t be saying anything I haven’t already said in one form or another, but it is important.
You may or may not have heard about the NJ college student who killed himself last week because his room-mate had posted videotape of him having sex with another guy. A terrible, senseless tragedy.
My daddy job requires that I remind you of two essential things:
One: Nothing ruins your life forever. NOTHING.
Two: Nothing ruins your life forever. NOTHING.
If that young man had only waited a couple of weeks nobody would have cared- he’d have gotten past it. People have short memories- life would have gotten better, much better. His parents and friends? They loved him prior to the tape- they would have loved him afterward too. A few awkward moments and then life goes on.
But when you are young you don’t know that even the awkward moments are fleeting. On this, you just have to trust the old people. Remember when you were really small and cried and cried over something? Well, it didn’t last. That’s kind of what it’s like- awful things happen, you feel like there’s a rock in the pit of your stomach, somehow time goes by and it gets better. I promise you, it ALWAYS gets better.
The students, a girl and boy, who were involved in the taping and posting– they are being charged with bias crime, invasion of privacy and possibly other things. Their college life is over. They will have to live with this death the rest of their lives– and their families are devastated. What they did was so wrong- but also so kid-stupid. Not to mention mean. And so their lives will be different forever- but even so- their families will love them and they will have time enough to hopefully live in such a way as to make meaning from their mistake.
So, my beautiful girl, never, ever think something is unfixable. NOTHING you do will ever keep me from loving you. NOTHING you do could be so awful you can’t get past it.
And if someone is mean to you, and it isn’t something you can ignore– seek out people to talk to about it. Surround yourself with people who are supportive. If you ever need help and don’t know how to ask- try writing a letter instead. And right now- before you might need such help- think about who you would talk to if needed. In the midst of turmoil sometimes we don’t always think as clearly- having a plan makes it easier to find help in crisis. And remember there are always alternatives. Always.
Finally, don’t be mean. Don’t let other people be mean.
Stand up for the underdog, protect those who aren’t as smart or confident or easygoing as yourself.
Treat people’s feelings like fragile little puppies- if you play with them- be gentle.
I love you so much and I know you really don’t need me to tell you this stuff…. but it’s my job.
Love and hugs,

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Some Scary Statictics

Kids And The Internet

I like to think of myself as a pretty savvy dad when it comes to technology. I like to think that my daughter doesn't pull too much wool over my eyes. I try to be as much of a friend as being a parent will allow and so far I think it has worked out. No suspensions from school. No calls to the principal’s office, or worse yet the police department. No tattoos or piercings. Not even a freaky blue Mohawk. But do I really know all about her online social networking? Yes I am a “friend” on her Facebook page, and I visit her MySpace page periodically at random.

But today I read this article and I began to wonder. Here are some sobering stats. You think they’re checking Facebook once a day. The reality? Many are checking it 10 or more times a day.

• You think they’d never hack into someone else’s online accounts. But a quarter of them have.
• You think they’d never pretend to be an adult and talk to strangers online. Nearly one in five has.

Kind of frightening to me. What about you? How do you police your kids to ensure they are safe online? Am I doing enough? Do I need to do more? Let’s talk about it!

Dancing with Daddy

Here is an awesome way to bond with your daughter. Dance with her. Don't wait until her wedding day and your future son in law cuts in after you dance with her to the song,"Daddy's Little Girl". Take the chance to dance with her every time you can. Now don't get me wrong, you will never see me compete on Dancing with the Stars. I'm no Fred Astaire, Breana is still young enough that she will not be embarrassed by dancing with a dad who obviously doesn't have a clue about what he's doing. I can't even sing and clap at the same time. I can either sing (not well), or I can clap, but not both. I don't have rhythm, but I've got a little girl! Who could ask for anything more?
We had an especially good time dancing to Salsa music. We jumped, we twirled, we stamped our feet, and we dipped. It didn't matter that I looked ridiculous, I was enjoying my time with my daughter, We had so much fun. so if you and your daughter are a little more reserved, then dance with her in the privacy of your own home. If you don't know how to dance, let her teach you. You two will have a great time.

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Crazy Man

I remembered once a very large man yelled at my daughter Breana when she was 10 in a Supermarket. I lost my mind and called the man every word I could think of.... at the top of my lungs. Then I almost fought the manager for telling me to stop yelling. If someone had hit her, one or both of us would have left in an ambulance.

I believe the nicest and sweetest days are not those on which anything very splendid or wonderful or exciting happens, but just those that bring simple little pleasures, following one another softly, like pearls off a string.

The Power

Each one of us has the power to make others feel better or worse. Making others feel better is much more fun than making others feel worse. Making others feel better generally makes us feel better."

Anger Issues

Some people say I have anger issues, I say if your going to say stupid comments and do stupid things to piss me off then I have every right to be angry.

Accept Me

There comes a time when you have to stand up and shout: This is me damn it! I look the way I look, think the way I think, feel the way I feel, love the way I love! I am a whole complex package. Take me... or leave me. Accept me - or walk away! Do not try to make me feel like less of a person, just because I don't fit your idea of who I should be and don't try to change me to fit your mold. If I need to change, I alone will make that decision. When you are strong enough to love yourself 100%, good and bad - you will be amazed at the opportunities that life presents you.

Judgemental

Why do people feel the need to judge something they know nothing about. Before you get in my business get your facts straight. TRY ASKING ME ABOUT IT!!!

Kitty Snot & Poison Control

I was talking with a friend the other day laughing about the foolish things we had done in terms of parenting. While I will not toss him under the bus, I will share one* of my favorites.
When my daughter was like 8 or 9 months, I was being a good boyfriend and cleaning the house. I was working on the glass screen/storm door and it was loaded up with kitty snot. You know kitty-snot, when the cats press their wet noses against the glass. Well, it was not going to well with the Windex and the rag, so I unscrewed the Windex to pour it on to the rag for some serious snot scrubbing. All was going well until I realized that as my back was turned, Breana had decided to take a swig of the Windex!
Panic set in and I called Poison Control (being the responsible parent that I was) and was relieved to know that it likely was not a big deal unless she drank the whole bottle.  They suggested giving her some drink to get the taste out of her mouth and just keep an eye on her.  She was fine and really there was no need to stress out my girlfriend (at the time) about this.
Later that night, after my shower, I come down the steps and from my girlfriend  I hear the seven words that you know will land you in trouble–”Do you have anything to tell me?”  I knew I was screwed and put on my best sheepish look and was informed that while I was in the shower, Poison Control was just doing a routine follow up on the reported “poisoning”.

Ugh.  So, anyone else out there feel like sharing your stupid dad  (or mom) move?

* Only sharing one. One that my ex knows about because she reads my blogs!

Love Stinks

Well, I may be a bit jaded and cynical myself, but when it hits my kid, I feel awful.
My daughter has her first “real” boyfriend and things are going well (apparently) and then out of the blue, two days after their second date–the dreaded text message (yes, you read that right) “I think we should see other people.”
I felt horrible for her. He was a great guy and they were good together. As a parent, I thought she hit the jackpot– he was polite, not into drinking or drugs, social, and more.
So, now we are going through the whole post breakup routine–do I call him… what should I say… how should I do this…
It is an inevitable part of growing up, but still very sad to see nonetheless!

Stupidity Invades My Home!

Apparently, the Swine Flu left California and left a good dose of stupidity in its place. But adults are safe; apparently it is only affecting teenagers.

Stupid Act #1 I asked my daughter to turn on the gas grill for dinner. She comes to me and says it will not start. I asked if she tried to use a match to light it. (This is something she had seen me do in the past and even did it himself a time or two.) She looks at me like I am from Mars and says, “how do you light it with a match?” Here’s your sign!

Stupid Act #2 I am sound asleep and my daughter's dog hops off my bed and heads to where my daughter is watching a movie late at night in the family room. Apparently Shadow (the dog, not my daughter) begins to get all excited near the front door, starts to whine and bark a little, and scratching on the front door. So, what does my daughter do? She brings the dog up to my room, wakes me up and says, “he’s going crazy like he wants to go out.” I asked what she did and she said, “nothing, he was irritating so I brought him up to you.”  Here’s your sign!

Are Kids Really All That Dumb?

Sometimes I wonder. My daughter is brilliant. She always studies and never falls off the honor roll. She has a great group of friends. She does not do drugs or drink. She is witty, funny and generally fun to be around.
But sometimes I just have to wonder where her brain goes. Take last night. She asked me to drive her to a friend’s house so they could work on a “lab” for Applied Nutrition. Applied Nutrition is somewhat like the old Home-Ec on steroids. The “lab” was to make a meal (they chose tacos) and analyze all the nutritional information about it and determine how it could be made healthier or more unhealthy.
I picked her up about 11pm and headed home. While I did not expect it, she came back with the ground beef and the cheese I had sent with her. When we got home, I told her to “make sure she put it all away in the kitchen”.
This morning, there it is rotting and stinking on the counter!  As she might say, WTF?
When I asked, she informed me that i only told her to make sure it was put “in the kitchen”. Perhaps I did. Call it semantics. But really, can she be that dumb?

Every day is a gift

Every day is a gift. It is not something owed to us. Use it wisely, and remember that today cannot be re-done.

You can tell when a kid is not ready for the weekend to be over!

You can tell when a kid is not ready for the weekend to be over! This afternoon, my daughter apparently fell asleep after coming home from the gym. I am in the kitchen making dinner (yes I do do that) and have several pots and pans going at one time. One of her friends calls and, without answering, I shout for her to pick up the phone. All of a sudden she appears in the kitchen and begins to pack her snacks for school, her clothes are changed and she has her sweeter on. I ask what she’s doing and she replies, “Why are you making that?”.

I explained it was for dinner and she was all sorts of confused.

Then it dawned on me. She was awakened from her nap at 5:22PM and thought it was morning and time for school!  She was all set to go in record time!

Still snickering–sometimes kids really do keep you young at heart!

All the mistakes I made in my past made me who I am today & I wouldn't do anything different because I am a stronger & wiser person today.

What is Success? Success is not defined by the type of job you have, the house you have, or the amount of money you have. Its about The Happiness you have.

To My Daughter

To my daughter,"Never forget that I love you. Life is filled with hard times and good times, Learn from everything you can. Be the person I know you can be."

Hey I'm Not That Old Yet!!!

OK, now I am ticked off. Today I received a solicitation in the mail to join AARP. Yes, that AARP! The American Association of Retired Persons. Sure, I have some gray hair, and my kid thinks I'm ancient, but believe me, the only way I’m going to enter their little club is kicking and screaming every step of the way.
But indignation did not stop me from perusing the AARP flier and checking out the benefits of being what I prefer to call “maturely young” (or, as my mom says: “an immature 46″). Actually, AARP membership is a pretty good deal, and that got me thinking about travel perks for seniors.  I’ve noticed that more and more suppliers are courting the senior market with everything from airline and hotel packages to discounts on rental cars and area attractions. And why not? Seniors are good guests. They have money, they behave well, and they will tell their friends when they have a good time. Which makes me wonder, then: Why would they want me? I rarely behave, never have any money, and tend to keep my mouth shut (I learned my lesson once).

There comes a time when you have to stand up and shout: This is me damn it! I look the way I look, think the way I think, feel the way I feel, love the way I love! I am a whole complex package. Take me... or leave me. Accept me - or walk away! Do not try to make me feel like less of a person, just because I don't fit your idea of who I should be and don't try to change me to fit your mold. If I need to change, I alone will make that decision. When you are strong enough to love yourself 100%, good and bad - you will be amazed at the opportunities that life presents you.