Young adolescents prefer not to delay gratification. For me as a young adolescent, the telephone was the preferred means of communication, particularly with gal-peers. If I wanted to ask a gal-peer to a dance, it was a whole lot easier for me telephone her at home than it was to catch her at school not surrounded by an audience of unsympathetic onlookers. Even if it was less serious than a school dance, I usually preferred the telephone. For three gal-peers I never even dated and my two closest guy-friends, I’m confident I logged over five hundred hours on the telephone with each of them before I graduated from high school.
The digital age has brought new mediums of communication to my kids’ generation. Chloe cannot wait for us to get her a mobile telephone. Philip has had his mobile phone for almost two years now. But the big difference for this new generation is the mediums of written correspondence: Email, text messaging, instant messaging and wall-posts. I can picture Jane Austen and Cyrano de Bergerac watching this generation from Beyond with great interest.
Philip has entered the world of digital written correspondence slowly and cautiously. When he first got his mobile phone in the seventh grade, Philip traded only a few text messages with a gal-peer with whom he had done some babysitting. For a while during eighth grade he was trading regular texts with one of his guy-friends. But that dropped off significantly when we explained to Philip that some parents reserve the right to view all their kids’ digital correspondences.
Two months ago, Philip put up a page on Facebook and began connecting with his peers, particularly his peers from Hermes Middle School who he expects to see again next year at Hermes High School. Philip’s correspondence on Facebook is slowly building. A gal-peer who once lived across the street “throws” a virtual pillow at him every other week or so. Various peers comment on his status and place posts on his “wall” where parents and peers alike can see.
Recently Jocelyn joined the list of those who are connected to Philip on Facebook and she began trading messages with him. Jocelyn began with a teen-sounding greeting and he responded in kind. Eventually, however, she put a post on his wall asking him to do her a small favor. It was a simple enough favor, but one that circumstances prevented him from granting. Suddenly, Philip was out of his element. He didn’t want to say “no” and he didn’t want to ignore her, but he was challenged to put into words the proper reply.
Having seen Jocelyn's request on Philip's wall and knowing it was something he couldn’t grant, I asked him if he had replied off-wall. He hadn’t. It was one of those potentially awkward father-son interactions that could misfire if I did not tread cautiously. But Philip proved quick to volunteer that he wanted to respond but didn’t know what to say. And that opened the door for me to offer help. In amazingly short order, he accepted the wisdom of email over the wall as the venue via which to respond. The email we (mostly me) composed (i) acknowledged the need and the legitimacy of Jocelyn's request, (ii) explained the conflict this time around, (iii) offered to grant the same favor when possible if needed in the future, (iv) thanked Jocelyn for something similar she had done for Philip in the past and (v) closed with some normal teen-sounding chat acknowledging the email was a little long.
My only disappointment with Philip was that he barely challenged my recommended wording and did not want to alter my proposed structure in the slightest. Instead he pasted the text into Facebook's email tool, read it over one last time, changed the smiley face from ": - )" to "= }" and pressed the send key. "If Jocelyn ever asks you if one of your parents helped you compose this email, I suggest you say 'yes'," was as scathing as I would get about it.
I wonder what Cyrano would think. I'm also curious to know what Jocelyn thinks. But if she responds by email, I may never know. I'm not one of those parents who demands access to my son's digital correspondance.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
Springtime for the Grateful Dead
We've established quite a few family traditions for our nuclear family. On Christmas Eve, we each open a wrapped gift of new pajamas. Twice each year we create a family CD that is a mix of new hit music and timeless hits from the previous generation. Lately, the kids have begun to develop their own taste in music and they have played an increasing role in selecting the music we squeeze onto each new 80 minute family CD. These family CDs are an intentional "soundtrack of life" for our family to stir up memories when they are bound to be played again long, long from now.
Then the unexpected happened. First Philip kept asking me to play an old Jefferson Airplane Marty Balin ballad on one of my car CDs. Curious, I played some Grateful Dead music for Philip. Before I knew it, both Philip and Chloe had decided they liked the Grateful Dead.
Isn't there supposed to be a sacred generation gap between parents and their kids, particularly when it comes to music? It was one thing for the kids to like mainstream classic rock and new wave from the 70s and 80s: Moody Blues, Rolling Stones, Blondie, Queen and the B-52s. And somehow it was cool that mom and dad liked Nickelback, Coldplay, Linkin Park and even the Jonas Brothers. After all, as a adolescent I could enjoy Elvis, Chuck Berry and Ray Charles.
But I needed to be an adult before I could enjoy Frank Sinatra and Glenn Miller. I feel this is uncharted territory. The Grateful Dead is so then, and so not now. Philip and Chloe were suposed to say, "Ugh! Put on something else!!" Instead, Chloe turns on Shakedown Street or Touch of Grey and starts dancing. Instead Philip sings Dire Wolf and Uncle John's Band under his breath while he cleans his room.
So this turn of unexpected events has led me to adapt the family tradition. As the calendar turned from winter to spring, I sat in front of the laptop with Philip and Chloe listening to 30 second samples of Grateful Dead recordings. A few downloads and a disc-burn later, we had a mid-season family CD of 19 Grateful Dead recordings. I titled our new CD Springtime for the Grateful Dead. It seemed an appropriate name for an unexpected success.
I'd just gotten comfortable with my kids liking the Grateful Dead when I had one of Philip's friends in the car. I turned on the engine and the CD began playing. "Ugh!" the friend said, "What is that? Country? Put on something else!!" I guess the generation gap is still reasonably intact.
Then the unexpected happened. First Philip kept asking me to play an old Jefferson Airplane Marty Balin ballad on one of my car CDs. Curious, I played some Grateful Dead music for Philip. Before I knew it, both Philip and Chloe had decided they liked the Grateful Dead.
Isn't there supposed to be a sacred generation gap between parents and their kids, particularly when it comes to music? It was one thing for the kids to like mainstream classic rock and new wave from the 70s and 80s: Moody Blues, Rolling Stones, Blondie, Queen and the B-52s. And somehow it was cool that mom and dad liked Nickelback, Coldplay, Linkin Park and even the Jonas Brothers. After all, as a adolescent I could enjoy Elvis, Chuck Berry and Ray Charles.
But I needed to be an adult before I could enjoy Frank Sinatra and Glenn Miller. I feel this is uncharted territory. The Grateful Dead is so then, and so not now. Philip and Chloe were suposed to say, "Ugh! Put on something else!!" Instead, Chloe turns on Shakedown Street or Touch of Grey and starts dancing. Instead Philip sings Dire Wolf and Uncle John's Band under his breath while he cleans his room.
So this turn of unexpected events has led me to adapt the family tradition. As the calendar turned from winter to spring, I sat in front of the laptop with Philip and Chloe listening to 30 second samples of Grateful Dead recordings. A few downloads and a disc-burn later, we had a mid-season family CD of 19 Grateful Dead recordings. I titled our new CD Springtime for the Grateful Dead. It seemed an appropriate name for an unexpected success.
I'd just gotten comfortable with my kids liking the Grateful Dead when I had one of Philip's friends in the car. I turned on the engine and the CD began playing. "Ugh!" the friend said, "What is that? Country? Put on something else!!" I guess the generation gap is still reasonably intact.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Will This Friendship Survive the Transition to High School?
Two of Philip's friends hold a special place in my heart: Raul and Craig. There is nothing in my power I would not do for either Raul or Craig. In 2002, Raul was the first kid in Hermes to befriend Philip when he was the new kid in town. In 2006, Craig walked Philip home from Hermes Middle School as a quasi "body guard" each day after a jaw injury left Philip highly vulnerable to being re-injured. These past two years while Philip has been at Oak Hills Charter School, Philip has kept up his friendship with Raul, Craig and a handful of other loyal friends. This past weekend they all celebrated Philip's fourteenth birthday playing laser tag.
While all of his friends were committed to making Philip's birthday celebration a happy memory for Philip and conducted themselves accordingly, it was my first chance to carefully observe the undercurrents in Craig's relationship with Philip's other friends. And the picture was not promising. Craig's peers from Hermes Middle School generally avoided Craig. Fortunately, Philip had one other friend from Oak Hills Charter School who had no reason not to be friendly with Craig.
It is easy to see it as an adult. Craig's upbringing, temperment and some normal young adolescent immaturity have come together to form the perfect storm. In sixth grade, Craig's size, stength and bravado ensured Philip was undeniably safe from eighth grade bullies who might have unwittingly re-injured Philip's jaw. But the following year those same qualities labelled Craig the aggressor when he knocked down a fellow seventh grader who was harrassing him. Craig was suspended and the Middle School rumor mill ground to powder what little was left of Craig's good reputation. During the past year, Craig's reputation has not improved. Craig's typical response to the caution his peers exhibit toward him has had the exact opposite of the desired effect. And so Craig is alone. Craig's one clear friend is Philip who attends another school.
Next year, Philip will be going to Hermes High School with Craig, Raul and all of Philip's other friends from Hermes Middle School. I often wonder what will become of Philip's friendship with Craig once they transition to High School. On one extreme, Philip might prove to be the lone voice of reason Craig will heed regarding his behavior. On the other extreme, Craig might sabotage his friendship with Philip the way Craig has sabotaged his friendship with Raul and all of Philip's other friends. I hope for the former outcome, but I am very aware of just how likely it is that the latter outcome will prevail.
As mentioned above, there is nothing in my power I would not do for Craig. But with this challenge in Craig's life, I have little to no power. I find it an interesting twist to know that my son Philip has much more power to help Craig than I do. I have spoken with Philip about this more than once. He understands. But he doesn't know whether or not he can be any real help to Craig. Philip sees the road ahead of him, knowing there will be a moment of confrontation between him and Craig during which either Craig will choose to heed Philip's words or Craig will drive away his last remaining friend. What is it going to be? The Lady or the Tiger? I wish I knew.
Will this friendship survive the transition to High School? Only time will tell.
While all of his friends were committed to making Philip's birthday celebration a happy memory for Philip and conducted themselves accordingly, it was my first chance to carefully observe the undercurrents in Craig's relationship with Philip's other friends. And the picture was not promising. Craig's peers from Hermes Middle School generally avoided Craig. Fortunately, Philip had one other friend from Oak Hills Charter School who had no reason not to be friendly with Craig.
It is easy to see it as an adult. Craig's upbringing, temperment and some normal young adolescent immaturity have come together to form the perfect storm. In sixth grade, Craig's size, stength and bravado ensured Philip was undeniably safe from eighth grade bullies who might have unwittingly re-injured Philip's jaw. But the following year those same qualities labelled Craig the aggressor when he knocked down a fellow seventh grader who was harrassing him. Craig was suspended and the Middle School rumor mill ground to powder what little was left of Craig's good reputation. During the past year, Craig's reputation has not improved. Craig's typical response to the caution his peers exhibit toward him has had the exact opposite of the desired effect. And so Craig is alone. Craig's one clear friend is Philip who attends another school.
Next year, Philip will be going to Hermes High School with Craig, Raul and all of Philip's other friends from Hermes Middle School. I often wonder what will become of Philip's friendship with Craig once they transition to High School. On one extreme, Philip might prove to be the lone voice of reason Craig will heed regarding his behavior. On the other extreme, Craig might sabotage his friendship with Philip the way Craig has sabotaged his friendship with Raul and all of Philip's other friends. I hope for the former outcome, but I am very aware of just how likely it is that the latter outcome will prevail.
As mentioned above, there is nothing in my power I would not do for Craig. But with this challenge in Craig's life, I have little to no power. I find it an interesting twist to know that my son Philip has much more power to help Craig than I do. I have spoken with Philip about this more than once. He understands. But he doesn't know whether or not he can be any real help to Craig. Philip sees the road ahead of him, knowing there will be a moment of confrontation between him and Craig during which either Craig will choose to heed Philip's words or Craig will drive away his last remaining friend. What is it going to be? The Lady or the Tiger? I wish I knew.
Will this friendship survive the transition to High School? Only time will tell.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Killing Multiple Birds with One Lemonade Stand
Chloe had already asked many times. “I want to set up a lemonade stand so I can earn enough money to buy my own camera.” And I had told her she could set up a lemonade stand on a day when she and her brother both had morning soccer games which was about half of the Saturdays this past soccer season.
The day Chloe got my nod, it was over one hundred degrees Fahrenheit by 11:00 AM when we went to buy ice, cups, lemonade and bottled water for Chloe’s lemonade stand. Chloe had a small table and small chairs that would fit in the back of the car. A table cloth and a print-out of prices completed her business kiosk. She had plenty of money for inventory from her allowance. We promised to buy back from her any full half-gallons of lemonade and any un-purchased water bottles. That made her only fixed cost the ice and cups.
We returned home with Chloe’s inventory by 11:30 AM. We put the ice into the freezer and then I looked up the day’s soccer schedules online. The perfect soccer game was just six miles away at 1:00 PM. Why was it perfect? Philip had just begun eighth grade. His gal-peers Jocelyn and Charlotte had moved on to Hermes High School, so he hadn’t seen them since the end of the previous school year. But both gal-peers were playing on the town’s U15 Girls Division III soccer team. And their game started today at 1:00 PM, just six miles away.
I had no trouble convincing Philip to join us to help Chloe run her lemonade stand. We arrived comfortably before the game, but not early enough to secure any meaningful business from the players and observers of the previous game. Chloe carried the cups, ice and table cloth and then guarded her stash. Philip and I brought everything else—table, chair and inventory—in two trips to her place of business right next to the bleachers.
Philip stood leaning forward against a fence about ten feet from Chloe watching the game observing how the girls’ teams played differently from the boys’ teams. I walked over to the bleachers and sat next to Jocelyn’s mother.
At half time, Chloe’s business began to show a profit. And the observers took quiet note of the fact that there were discounted refill prices and that soccer players could get lemonade for refill prices if they autographed her soccer jersey. After half-time, Philip and I returned to our locations of preference and enjoyed watching the game. Fortunately, though close, the Hermes team was winning.
As the game came to an end, we realized there were no other teams waiting and so Chloe’s business would need to shut down. Philip and I were able to take the remaining inventory in one trip. On the way back, Charlotte and her family were exiting the field area just as we were returning. Philip slowed down, made eye contact, waved and said “Hi Charlotte.”
Charlotte never slowed her pace. She let out a barely audible “hi,” barely met his gaze and then put her head down as she passed us with her caravan of family and one friend.
Jocelyn proved to be the polar opposite. As we approached Chloe’s kiosk, Jocelyn was standing in front purchasing the largest sized cup and waving friends over to do likewise. She had the marker in her hand and was proudly signing Chloe’s jersey with her name, team name, her jersey number, and the words “You Rock,” complete with a smiley face. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d timed it so she would be looking up and stepping away from the kiosk just as Philip walked up. Philip approached cautiously expecting an equally awkward reception, but his expectations were wrong.
“Hi Philip! What are you doing here? Is this your sister?”
“Hi Jocelyn. Yes. This is my sister Chloe. You were awesome out there.”
“Thank you! And what an awesome idea this lemonade stand is. You’re so nice to be helping your sister earn money for her camera.”
Jocelyn’s teammate chimed in after completing her jersey signature. “This is such a great idea! I wish I had done this when I was younger.”
Philip and Jocelyn continued chatting moving away from Chloe’s kiosk toward the bleachers as a line of people wanting lemonade blocked me from hearing clearly whatever else Jocelyn and Philip were saying to one another. So I stayed near the kiosk, keeping watch to ensure Chloe had no difficulty providing correct change to families buying more than one cup of lemonade.
But what occupied my mind were Jocelyn’s emotional maturity and her social confidence in particular. Admittedly, Jocelyn had not turned down an invitation from Philip to join him for a formal dance as Charlotte had.* But Jocelyn had already demonstrated her depth on the ball-field. While athletically equal or perhaps even below what was average on her team, Jocelyn proved to be a top player because of her boldness. It was a boldness Philip as a soccer player and I as a soccer coach could immediately recognize. Jocelyn carried that boldness off the field as confidently as she did on the field. I couldn’t imagine her lowering her head in response to a greeting from a guy-peer, especially one who was still in Middle School. I was pleased to see how comfortable Philip was speaking with her. And I was pleased Chloe got to interact with her as well, because that is just how I would like Chloe to be when she reaches Jocelyn’s age.
And so the lemonade stand was a success. Chloe earned $9.75. Philip got to see Charlotte and Jocelyn. And I managed to get both my kids to interact with and observe a socially confident teenager. I guess I could say we killed multiple birds with one lemonade stand.
* That story appears in The Most Awkward Teen Interaction.
The day Chloe got my nod, it was over one hundred degrees Fahrenheit by 11:00 AM when we went to buy ice, cups, lemonade and bottled water for Chloe’s lemonade stand. Chloe had a small table and small chairs that would fit in the back of the car. A table cloth and a print-out of prices completed her business kiosk. She had plenty of money for inventory from her allowance. We promised to buy back from her any full half-gallons of lemonade and any un-purchased water bottles. That made her only fixed cost the ice and cups.
We returned home with Chloe’s inventory by 11:30 AM. We put the ice into the freezer and then I looked up the day’s soccer schedules online. The perfect soccer game was just six miles away at 1:00 PM. Why was it perfect? Philip had just begun eighth grade. His gal-peers Jocelyn and Charlotte had moved on to Hermes High School, so he hadn’t seen them since the end of the previous school year. But both gal-peers were playing on the town’s U15 Girls Division III soccer team. And their game started today at 1:00 PM, just six miles away.
I had no trouble convincing Philip to join us to help Chloe run her lemonade stand. We arrived comfortably before the game, but not early enough to secure any meaningful business from the players and observers of the previous game. Chloe carried the cups, ice and table cloth and then guarded her stash. Philip and I brought everything else—table, chair and inventory—in two trips to her place of business right next to the bleachers.
Philip stood leaning forward against a fence about ten feet from Chloe watching the game observing how the girls’ teams played differently from the boys’ teams. I walked over to the bleachers and sat next to Jocelyn’s mother.
At half time, Chloe’s business began to show a profit. And the observers took quiet note of the fact that there were discounted refill prices and that soccer players could get lemonade for refill prices if they autographed her soccer jersey. After half-time, Philip and I returned to our locations of preference and enjoyed watching the game. Fortunately, though close, the Hermes team was winning.
As the game came to an end, we realized there were no other teams waiting and so Chloe’s business would need to shut down. Philip and I were able to take the remaining inventory in one trip. On the way back, Charlotte and her family were exiting the field area just as we were returning. Philip slowed down, made eye contact, waved and said “Hi Charlotte.”
Charlotte never slowed her pace. She let out a barely audible “hi,” barely met his gaze and then put her head down as she passed us with her caravan of family and one friend.
Jocelyn proved to be the polar opposite. As we approached Chloe’s kiosk, Jocelyn was standing in front purchasing the largest sized cup and waving friends over to do likewise. She had the marker in her hand and was proudly signing Chloe’s jersey with her name, team name, her jersey number, and the words “You Rock,” complete with a smiley face. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d timed it so she would be looking up and stepping away from the kiosk just as Philip walked up. Philip approached cautiously expecting an equally awkward reception, but his expectations were wrong.
“Hi Philip! What are you doing here? Is this your sister?”
“Hi Jocelyn. Yes. This is my sister Chloe. You were awesome out there.”
“Thank you! And what an awesome idea this lemonade stand is. You’re so nice to be helping your sister earn money for her camera.”
Jocelyn’s teammate chimed in after completing her jersey signature. “This is such a great idea! I wish I had done this when I was younger.”
Philip and Jocelyn continued chatting moving away from Chloe’s kiosk toward the bleachers as a line of people wanting lemonade blocked me from hearing clearly whatever else Jocelyn and Philip were saying to one another. So I stayed near the kiosk, keeping watch to ensure Chloe had no difficulty providing correct change to families buying more than one cup of lemonade.
But what occupied my mind were Jocelyn’s emotional maturity and her social confidence in particular. Admittedly, Jocelyn had not turned down an invitation from Philip to join him for a formal dance as Charlotte had.* But Jocelyn had already demonstrated her depth on the ball-field. While athletically equal or perhaps even below what was average on her team, Jocelyn proved to be a top player because of her boldness. It was a boldness Philip as a soccer player and I as a soccer coach could immediately recognize. Jocelyn carried that boldness off the field as confidently as she did on the field. I couldn’t imagine her lowering her head in response to a greeting from a guy-peer, especially one who was still in Middle School. I was pleased to see how comfortable Philip was speaking with her. And I was pleased Chloe got to interact with her as well, because that is just how I would like Chloe to be when she reaches Jocelyn’s age.
And so the lemonade stand was a success. Chloe earned $9.75. Philip got to see Charlotte and Jocelyn. And I managed to get both my kids to interact with and observe a socially confident teenager. I guess I could say we killed multiple birds with one lemonade stand.
* That story appears in The Most Awkward Teen Interaction.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Hello My Family!
It started when Philip was just a baby. I'd come home from my office at the end of the day and announce, "Hello my family!"
Baby Philip loved the immediate attention I was ready to give him each time I returned home at the end of the day. When he learned to crawl, he would head off to meet me at the door. When he learned to walk and to run, all activity would stop in favor of rushing to meet me at the door. When he learned to speak, the announcement would be returned with "Daddy!" Even his mom would join him in the excitement of the moment.
Chloe was born when Philip was four years old. With her brother's encouragement, she was just as eager to participate in the early evening tradition. We had to make some rules once Chloe was old enough to realize her brother could outrun her to catch the first Daddy-hug. Philip would hold her hand, and together they would speed-walk into my arms. I'd kneel. Chloe would hug from the left and Philip would hug from the right. After a big squeeze and lots of "Daddy" chants, I’d give Amelia a quick kiss and then head over with the children to a big couch in either the living room or the family room of our home in San Geraldo. With Chloe on one side, Philip on the other and me sitting in the middle, I'd hear about their day. Amelia would referee the order in which the kids would speak so they wouldn’t talk over one another. She’d also translate some of the child-talk descriptions of the day’s activities.
The tradition helped our kids accept that their dad would be gone for most of the day five out of seven days and would sometimes even need to work on weekends. We had the privilege of having Amelia as a stay-at-home mom until Chloe turned nine years old. When we moved to Hermes in 2002 and my commuting time increased, the tradition remained just as important. During 2007 and 2008, I had a particularly long commute, and the tradition continued. More recently, Philip’s enjoyment of computer games now often tones down his response to a simple “Hi Dad,” shout from upstairs. At other times, he wants to engage me right away. In contrast, Chloe still always runs to me yelling, “Daddy!”
When I was let go from my long-commute job in January 2009, I indulged myself in seeing the kids off to school and picking them up at the end of the school day. Chloe particularly enjoyed the situation of having me home so much more. We had to explain that looking for a job was a job itself and so if I was working at the computer or speaking on the phone during the hours I would normally be at the office, she had to act as if I was actually at the office.
A little over a week ago I secured a contract-to-hire sales job working from home. We were not quite set up with a sequestered office in the house. The kids’ playroom was a possibility, but I rejected that idea in favor of opening a large fold-up table in the master bedroom suite. And so my first day began at 6:30 AM and I was behind a closed door for the entire day. The only exception was when I made myself some lunch, but nobody even saw that happen. By 6:30 PM, I’d worked a twelve hour day. It felt good to have a job again. It felt good to have no commute. I powered down my laptop and folded up the table to call it a day.
I walked out the door from the master suite, realizing my work day was over, as if I’d just left the office. Then I realized I was now officially home. As I began walking down the stairs, it seemed perfectly natural to belt out, “Hello my family!” In like manner, the response from Philip and Chloe was no different than if I had made the same pronouncement walking in through the front door.
Baby Philip loved the immediate attention I was ready to give him each time I returned home at the end of the day. When he learned to crawl, he would head off to meet me at the door. When he learned to walk and to run, all activity would stop in favor of rushing to meet me at the door. When he learned to speak, the announcement would be returned with "Daddy!" Even his mom would join him in the excitement of the moment.
Chloe was born when Philip was four years old. With her brother's encouragement, she was just as eager to participate in the early evening tradition. We had to make some rules once Chloe was old enough to realize her brother could outrun her to catch the first Daddy-hug. Philip would hold her hand, and together they would speed-walk into my arms. I'd kneel. Chloe would hug from the left and Philip would hug from the right. After a big squeeze and lots of "Daddy" chants, I’d give Amelia a quick kiss and then head over with the children to a big couch in either the living room or the family room of our home in San Geraldo. With Chloe on one side, Philip on the other and me sitting in the middle, I'd hear about their day. Amelia would referee the order in which the kids would speak so they wouldn’t talk over one another. She’d also translate some of the child-talk descriptions of the day’s activities.
The tradition helped our kids accept that their dad would be gone for most of the day five out of seven days and would sometimes even need to work on weekends. We had the privilege of having Amelia as a stay-at-home mom until Chloe turned nine years old. When we moved to Hermes in 2002 and my commuting time increased, the tradition remained just as important. During 2007 and 2008, I had a particularly long commute, and the tradition continued. More recently, Philip’s enjoyment of computer games now often tones down his response to a simple “Hi Dad,” shout from upstairs. At other times, he wants to engage me right away. In contrast, Chloe still always runs to me yelling, “Daddy!”
When I was let go from my long-commute job in January 2009, I indulged myself in seeing the kids off to school and picking them up at the end of the school day. Chloe particularly enjoyed the situation of having me home so much more. We had to explain that looking for a job was a job itself and so if I was working at the computer or speaking on the phone during the hours I would normally be at the office, she had to act as if I was actually at the office.
A little over a week ago I secured a contract-to-hire sales job working from home. We were not quite set up with a sequestered office in the house. The kids’ playroom was a possibility, but I rejected that idea in favor of opening a large fold-up table in the master bedroom suite. And so my first day began at 6:30 AM and I was behind a closed door for the entire day. The only exception was when I made myself some lunch, but nobody even saw that happen. By 6:30 PM, I’d worked a twelve hour day. It felt good to have a job again. It felt good to have no commute. I powered down my laptop and folded up the table to call it a day.
I walked out the door from the master suite, realizing my work day was over, as if I’d just left the office. Then I realized I was now officially home. As I began walking down the stairs, it seemed perfectly natural to belt out, “Hello my family!” In like manner, the response from Philip and Chloe was no different than if I had made the same pronouncement walking in through the front door.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Negotiating the Laptop with My Teen
I sat staring at my 2003 laptop for much longer than I would have liked. The image of the hourglass on the screen should have been a grandfather clock as far as I was concerned.
As a family we had talked about getting a new laptop for quite a while. We were particularly interested in getting Philip his own laptop, given high school was rapidly approaching. Philip was likewise eager to have a laptop he could call his own. He had his heart set on getting a high-end gaming laptop and was demonstrating his eagerness by saving as much money as possible. Philip had already managed to save over five hundred dollars toward his cause. And we had begun speaking with him about us splitting the cost with him so he could get the laptop he wanted sooner rather than later. Our target had been Philip’s birthday in late February, but my recent loss of employment initially appeared to have put off that investment.
Then the frozen screen in front of me inspired another idea. I needed a faster laptop, but only until I found new employment. Philip wanted a fast laptop and had saved aggressively for almost a year. And lastly, Amelia and I wanted to help him get his laptop, even despite the financial setback of me losing my job. I discussed the idea with Amelia before presenting it to Philip. He loved every aspect of the idea, including taking part in helping his dad find new employment. He could get the laptop he wanted and he could get it earlier than would otherwise be possible. In exchange, he would let me, his dad, use it until I completed my job search.
Philip was sold instantly. But Amelia and I wanted to be cautious. Philip’s dream laptop priced in at almost a mortgage payment. So there was a two week window between the time we first presented the idea to Philip and the evening we negotiated the terms to share the cost and made the actual purchase.
It was during that window that Philip’s behavior reminded me of myself at that time in life. I would see him pacing outside his room and downstairs in the family room. And then he would ask me if he could show me the computer he wanted or talk to me about certain features he really wanted, even though such features cost extra. My favorite pet feature of Philip’s was the illuminated keyboard. He would frequently ask when we would be making our final decision. And he would make various proposals regarding how he would share a greater cost burden so he could get the exact laptop he wanted as soon as possible. I could tell in his mind he was soaring, smiling at a future he envisioned with the illuminated keyboard laptop of his choice. It was difficult for him to empathize with his parents’ caution. And I remember well my mother cautiously weighing any major purchase on my behalf.
This past Thursday I had a seemingly achievable list of objectives for my job search that day. As I attempted to execute each action item without wasting time, I was continually frustrated by the amount of time I spent staring at the hourglass on the screen waiting. And so sometime after lunch, I had made my decision. I was going to get the laptop for Philip. When I got home, I sequestered Amelia to make my case to secure her final agreement. Then we told Philip. He was quite happy as one could imagine. But there was one effect that vanished. The soaring stopped. No more pacing and no more wanting to tell me about an idea he had.
Watching my son soaring will need to wait until the next exciting prospect emerges. Meanwhile, I’m looking forward to a laptop with response times one would measure with a stopwatch, rather than a grandfather clock.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Parenting's Gamble, Part II
The town of Hermes has a population of roughly twelve thousand, but over one thousand people converged on the local indoor skating rink this past Saturday evening to support and raise funds for a local family, the Bergins, whose three-year-old Robert developed a cancerous brain tumor that was caught by doctors in November. I’m so proud to be part of this community. But yet again, I am reminded of parenting’s gamble.
The Bergins have three kids: a son, Ryan, who has been on Philip’s soccer team for the past three seasons, a daughter, Rachel, who is in Chloe’s third grade class and of course Robert.
While Philip hit the video games and Chloe joined her friends skating, I secured a seat on the visiting roller hockey team bench and merely soaked in all of it. I’d brought a book, but I never cracked it. Classic rock was mixed with newer pop alternative music at a volume that allowed for talking at only a slightly raised voice. Announcements regarding the raffle and other festivities for the evening would sometimes preempt the music.
I hadn’t seen Robert since he’d gotten sick just after soccer season ended. Not long after I’d settled down, Sean Bergin, Robert’s father, paused at the edge of the skating rink to thank me for coming. Robert was in Sean’s arms dosing. Robert had a feeding tube and a hat to cover his chemo-balded head. Sean was wearing a backpack that managed the feeding process. “I’m so sorry all of you are going through this Sean,” I said, “but clearly you’re living in the right community.”
“That’s for sure,” he replied. “Thank you for coming.” And he moved along to thank other supporters.
Not long after, the announcer asked the guest skaters to move to the side of the rink to watch a semi-pro figure skater who grew up in Hermes perform. It was the peak of the evening. The speakers began piping in Spanish Guitar and I realized it was an unplugged version of Hotel California. The noise in the indoor rink quickly died down as everyone settled to watch the performance.
It was a beautiful and flawless performance. It gave me time to reflect. I had so many mixed feelings. I was so proud of my town and everyone who had taken part in the fund-raiser. I ached for the Bergin family and wished I could do more for them. I was thankful for my family’s health. And among those thoughts and feelings, I had concerns about our own family’s finances as my initial prospects for quickly returning to the workforce had either decided not to hire anyone, or had selected someone else.
I pushed those final thoughts and feelings to the back of my mind. They could return on Monday. This weekend belonged to the Bergins.
The Bergins have three kids: a son, Ryan, who has been on Philip’s soccer team for the past three seasons, a daughter, Rachel, who is in Chloe’s third grade class and of course Robert.
While Philip hit the video games and Chloe joined her friends skating, I secured a seat on the visiting roller hockey team bench and merely soaked in all of it. I’d brought a book, but I never cracked it. Classic rock was mixed with newer pop alternative music at a volume that allowed for talking at only a slightly raised voice. Announcements regarding the raffle and other festivities for the evening would sometimes preempt the music.
I hadn’t seen Robert since he’d gotten sick just after soccer season ended. Not long after I’d settled down, Sean Bergin, Robert’s father, paused at the edge of the skating rink to thank me for coming. Robert was in Sean’s arms dosing. Robert had a feeding tube and a hat to cover his chemo-balded head. Sean was wearing a backpack that managed the feeding process. “I’m so sorry all of you are going through this Sean,” I said, “but clearly you’re living in the right community.”
“That’s for sure,” he replied. “Thank you for coming.” And he moved along to thank other supporters.
Not long after, the announcer asked the guest skaters to move to the side of the rink to watch a semi-pro figure skater who grew up in Hermes perform. It was the peak of the evening. The speakers began piping in Spanish Guitar and I realized it was an unplugged version of Hotel California. The noise in the indoor rink quickly died down as everyone settled to watch the performance.
It was a beautiful and flawless performance. It gave me time to reflect. I had so many mixed feelings. I was so proud of my town and everyone who had taken part in the fund-raiser. I ached for the Bergin family and wished I could do more for them. I was thankful for my family’s health. And among those thoughts and feelings, I had concerns about our own family’s finances as my initial prospects for quickly returning to the workforce had either decided not to hire anyone, or had selected someone else.
I pushed those final thoughts and feelings to the back of my mind. They could return on Monday. This weekend belonged to the Bergins.
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