Tag: raising kids

The Dad Job

May 11th, 2022

I don’t know where it all goes.

They were here yesterday, soft and playful. Running around the house all day. Needing me. Not for the important stuff. Mom is always there for that. But for games and feats of strength. To reach things up high. Carry them upstairs to bed. Tell them stories. Just be there. Good old, trusty Dad.

Years have passed while I worked, ate, slept, and paid bills. Now, my son drives. Drops off his younger sister at middle school and then shuttles himself down the road to the high school. My kids live lives outside the home. Academics. Athletics. They’re getting smarter and stronger. Engaging in experiences that sharpen senses, develop skills, grow awareness, and deepen hearts. Establishing independence. So, these days, I am a tree or statue. Maybe a rock, I’m not sure. Sometimes they acknowledge me.

My daughter, “Dad, can you open this jar for me?”

My son, “Dad, the car won’t start.”

In these moments, I suddenly feel heroic. I catapult off the couch or spring up from my basement office to assist.

You need olives? I got that! Twist and pop!

Looks like the lights were left on, buddy. Let me show you how to jumpstart it.

My role is changing and my experiences as Dad, as a person, are evolving. Of course, my kids are always going to need me, but the whole point is to nurture, educate, and love them as best I can so they don’t. They are supposed to get out there into the wild, get better at living, and put more good into the world than bad.

My Dad job’s not done. It’s not one I’ll ever retire from. But now, some of my energy can be focused elsewhere. I get to continue my learning and my growth and have as much fun as I can until I can’t reach the top shelf. Open jars. Remember how to start the car. Or until I need to be picked up and carried upstairs to bed.

~ KJ
waking slow

May 4th, 2022

The sun brings on the day. Not headlines or pocketbooks. Definitely not desire. Fear plays no part in the cosmos. Those stars do what they do no matter what. Wish upon them all you want. The universe doesn’t care much about your Facebook posts. Your Twitter feed. What you’re wearing. Who you’re dreaming about. What you want to be whenever you stop being what everyone else expects you to be.

I’m up early and empty. I hear my kids waking for school.

My daughter’s footsteps sound little again. Not twelve-year-old heavy. More like four. I imagine her in a long nightshirt, coming downstairs, clutching lamby. Calling for Daddy. But those days have passed. Too soon already. She’s tall, wears eyeshadow. Is stiff as a board when I steal a hug.

Today, at a track meet, my boy will run and high jump and do things with his sixteen-year-old body that I never did. I’ll be there, watching. Wondering at the fact that now, I’ll never catch up to him. This same boy that ran and ran and ran with me across yards and fields.

My wife strolls through the house, light as a feather, talking to the cats, petting the dogs. She is what daybreak should be. She eases into morning better than anyone I’ve ever known. I love her for that.

Makes me think of Roethke and his The Waking.

I wake to sleep and take my waking slow.

When did I get away from books? That big feeling that secrets were kept in letters strung together. Who knows? Desperation too early in life, I suppose. All that creativity and potential drowned in drinking. Trying too hard to be what I thought I’d be instead of learning by going where I had to go.

But all that bad decision-making, as well as some good, has brought me here. A new day in early May writing from the basement of our big old house with my family making sounds above. Silverware, plates, and bowls. Cupboards closed. Chair legs across the wooden floor. Backpacks zipping. The click of the trash can lid. And their footsteps, from room to room, place to place, getting them ready to go.

“This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.

What falls away is always. And is near.

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

I learn by going where I have to go.”

~ KJ
a glimpse of morning

April 6th, 2022

Early morning. I turn on the porch light to feed stray cats. There’s a puddle of blood. A big one.

I remember the red well. From hunting. From accidents. From intent. Just blood. It’s an alarming sight first thing in the morning. And seeing it there, near the warming house we put out for feral cats in the cold, makes me think of the Momma cat that’s been on and off our porch for weeks. Did birthing not go as planned?

There was a body. I see that. How it laid on the old wooden boards that have felt footsteps of creatures come and go over many years. But there’s no hair as if cats made a kill. No skin or flesh or bits of anything. No trails of blood from newborn kittens seeking warmth. No paw prints.

Back inside, I’m at the sink, filling the coffee pot with hot water. We’ve had opossum on the porch, but they seem to get along with the cats just fine. I’ve seen skunks, too, but rarely and if one was involved, it’s likely they would have run away, spraying their stink. Then, I think of owls. Wide-eyed, majestic predators. It’s possible one could be in town, near us. I’ve heard about more owl sightings in the past year than ever before. But maybe, I’m just listening more. Suddenly, I think of our house as a kitty bait pile. A hungry owl could feast every night by simply sitting on a nearby rooftop and waiting patiently for the right moment. Kittens playing. Cats on the prowl.

On the porch, I pour hot water over the blood. Some seeps through the cracks. Some—bright red globules—float away over the edge. The rest, the kind found by crime scene investigators, bonds to whatever invisible blood bonds to, and waits.

But this isn’t a crime. It’s nature. The evolution of life. There’s a lot happening I don’t see. Outside at night while we sleep. Inside at morning while we wake.

Every day, I stretch and rise slower than I used to. Splash cold water over the lines of my face. Put toothpaste on a brush to run over my teeth. Sometimes twice because I never want to lose them. Once I’m revived and recognize the person in the mirror, I return to bed, but only for a few seconds to hug and kiss my warm wife.

Then it’s down the hallway to stir kids that never want to leave their dreams. I get it. I understand. Most days, I don’t want to leave mine, either. I think of that as I run my aching hand atop the railing and descend the creaky staircase so I can look out the window to get that first glimpse of everything before it changes again.

I take a deep breath in, push a deep breath out, then turn on the light.

~ KJ
rambling on a snow day – bus moments

March 24th, 2022

A few days ago, I set up the basketball hoop in the driveway. My kids and I played. Around the world. Horse and pig. It’s been all shitty weather since. Not an issue, but tiresome. This is living in Michigan. Cold, warm, sun, snow, rain, hail, a breeze, a blustery wind storm—all of it can happen in a day’s time.

This morning, we wake to a thin layer of wet snow on slush and ice. And no school. This is where I am reminded of being a kid, helping get our bus unstuck one winter day. Just a group of kids pushing on a big yellow bus on a backroad. We loved it. It was fun. Part of the everyday adventure of a kid living in the country. Not that the bus got stuck often, but growing up in the 70s and 80s in a rural area seemed to put people in situations they simply aren’t in today. Not better. Not worse. Just different.

We got the bus out. The driver was ecstatic. We were only a little late for school. Some of us dirty, some of us wet. All of us excited and proud of what we had done. That would never fly today. Our bus driver would have been crucified. She was one of the best, strongest, most independent people I’ve ever encountered in my life. Fierce. Funny. Took no bullshit. She hugged us. Asked about what was going on at school, at home. She brought treats to us. Presents. Even let us play our cassette tapes on the bus. But she also broke up fights, kicked kids off buses, and stopped drunk parents from stepping onto the bus to snatch their kids up and take them to God knows where. She was a good human. She made me feel safe, secure, and made going to and from school tolerable. Today, some fame junkie would have Instagrammed her into jail.

That’s what I think about while sipping coffee. Waking slowly. Moving from here—our life of comfort and stability—to my childhood. Growing up.

A snow day now would not be a snow day then. We wouldn’t sleep in, either. Already, my brothers and I would be dressing to get out in it. The snow. The cold. The new day of possibility. If we had a fancy portable basketball hoop like the one in our driveway, we’d shovel so we could play. But we didn’t have as many distractions. Information so ready at our fingertips.

These keys. Doing their trick. Pulling me back there. Into whatever it was. As if it was a life separate from the one I live now. And it’s not. I’m still there, playing in the snow with my brothers. Riding that school bus on good days and bad. And I’m here now. And I’ll be here tomorrow. And so will my kids.

This experience. It changes and rolls out and over us in ways we don’t always understand. We can’t know the value of what we’re in, it seems, until we’re out of it. So, I hope, my kids will write about their lives one day. That they will remember their snow days and relive their bus moments, whatever they may be.

~ KJ
simple depth

March 21st, 2022

For me. For you. The blue overlays the white, but we fight for clarity as we march toward destiny—an everchanging, growing evolution of experience. We won’t settle, except for slow times when recharging is necessary. An hour on the couch to zone out or laugh, be amazed, or afraid. Two chapters in a chair to feed the soul. Music—always music—in the kitchen, the office, the cars. There’s not much time left, but all the time in the world. Our fortune grows every day. Through kindness and good deeds and doing the best we can for us—all the living and undead—encapsulated within this space. So, we monitor the surface but go deep as necessary to retrieve treasures. One of us will stay watch while the other finds what others are afraid to discover. We will wrestle it free, hold it tight, and rise to show the world. Because that’s what we’re here for. That’s what we’re meant to do. There’s magic everywhere and the finest finds are not always hidden. They are within the depths of simplicity. The underside of the leaf. The tips of earthworms. The sound of swans as they sail through the air. We can’t give up or sleep too long because there is always this work that needs to be done. For me. For you. For the sake of clarity.

~ KJ
they’re growing up

March 7th, 2022

artwork – old blue – © 2022 by Rita Stevens

All we need

we’ll take with us

when we go.

When we leave this place.

Move on to the next.

So, it’s okay

to enjoy

the plastic and metal,

the concrete and virtual.

Go ahead,

experience the highs

and lows.

Run,

walk.

Freefall.

Taste the salt of sweat and tears—our ocean.

Remember the puppies,

the ferret,

the porch full of stray cats,

a mouse in a box,

and birds.

Us, taking them all in,

no matter what.

Don’t forget the plastic turtle sandbox,

swing set,

and trampoline.

Trips to Bronner’s,

soccer fields,

our fishing spot.

Animal ice cream cones,

silks,

and

Camp Peace.

The walks

and hikes

and drives,

and how we always came back

to the big, old blue house.

That invisible connection

that will never break

and will always bring us

back

together again.

~ KJ
come down

November 25th, 2021

Feed your brain and body better ingredients and better experiences.

Don’t lose sight of stars. The horizon. The patience and magic that rolls a cloud into a whale, a penguin, a buffalo.

Pick up a book. Dedicate yourself to one page a day. Remove yourself from the narrative you’ve created and discover another.

Remember, there are invisible curative properties in autumn’s early morning air. So, get out. Walk your neighborhood, your property, a trail. Look at the ground—always there, holding you. Waiting. Even when you have risen thousands of feet thinking you’ve conquered gravity.

~ KJ
guarding the nest

April 20th, 2021

Bird eggs. Some still looking intact. On sidewalks and lawns. Some broken in half, the middle oozing out. Others, just shell. We see them when we walk these days. It’s a wild time for nature. The foraging. Nesting. Sunlight, darkness, extreme changes of weather. Survival.

Last night, we purchased a fifty-pound bag of black, oiled, sunflower seeds and a ten-pound bag of cracked yellow corn with purple corn from Tractor Supply. I can’t help wondering if seeing all those birds never to be prompted the purchase. I opened the bags. My wife filled the feeders. The black squirrel found the seed immediately.

Not sure if there are always so many birds that don’t make it, or if we are just noticing it this Spring. I’ve seen eggs out of nests my whole life. Even baby birds. But I’ve never noticed them like this. So many. It’s as if birds are revolting. They know what’s coming. That all that work to bring babies into this world isn’t worth it. It’s too cruel. Too much pain, disappointment, worry. Or it’s that there’s nothing they can do. No matter how much they guard the nest, warm the eggs, they can’t fend off the predators. Blackbirds, crows, blue jays.

They keep trying. Have hope. But sometimes, no matter what you do, there are other plans out there, waiting to unfold.

It’s strange.

Yesterday, my daughter came downstairs. We’re all remote again. I’ve been here, working every day from the basement, since COVID started. But now, at least for a week or two, we’re all here—school, work, doing what we do. Anyway, she came downstairs during a break between class. She had doodled/sketched a bird in black ink. It’s either hanging upside down or rocketing through the sky. And next to it is the simple, beautiful word—Bird. In her eleven-year-old handwriting.

I love my kids. I’ll do whatever I can to help them succeed. To give them a leg up in this world. They are good, smart people, making good choices, doing what they can to enjoy life, please us, play by the rules. It’s sobering to think what waits. I know they will be okay, no matter what. But it’s hard because as they grow, there’s nothing I can do but hope. Guard the nest. Fend off the predators.

~ KJ
“Do it because…”

January 17th, 2021

10:41 am

Experience vs innocence. Hindsight vs being in the moment. Being a kid vs being an adult. And then, there are the varying degrees of personality, intellect, environment. The idea of nature vs nurture, or the blending of the two. There’s just a lot. And most of it isn’t something we consider when we pass through the living room several times a day only to see that our teenage son hasn’t left his spot on the couch for hours. It’s also hard to remember all the angles, degrees, and depths that make up each of us as an individual when our preteen daughter—smart as a whip—decides to say fuck it to school. She only likes doing what she likes to do.

Raising kids is work. It doesn’t get any easier even as they grow and I grow. If anything, it gets more complex because I move farther away from the hard lines of “Do it because I told you” or “Do it because that’s what you’re supposed to do” to moments of consideration.

What’s wrong with sitting on the couch all day? Who is he hurting? Aside from reminding him to put his empty bowls, cups and silverware in the sink, and put his wrappers in the garbage, what’s he doing that’s so bad? How is it affecting me? He earns good grades. He exercises two to three hours each day. I sat around plenty when I was younger, but most of that seemed to come after I moved out, got a job, and was able to support myself. I could sit for hours on a Saturday watching VH1 and movies. I ate junk food and drank booze. I didn’t exercise. I told myself I had earned that right to be lazy on the weekend. When I was a kid living at home, I did chores. Most of those related to firewood. Carrying wood, splitting wood, stacking wood. I also helped my parents. I vacuumed, did dishes, hung around my Dad when he was fixing a car, mowing the lawn, tinkering in the garage. Kids don’t do that now. Not mine. Not at this age. Not when they have the world at their fingertips on TV, the phone, a tablet, laptop, or desktop. Parents and the world they try to drag their kids into each day with the brushing of teeth, cleaning of rooms, and showering just isn’t all that fun. And really, when they see all that’s out there, why does any of what their parents think or say mean anything anyway?

I get it.

What’s the point in learning how light enters the eye and how we see the world important when what we want to do is draw pictures, write stories, and read? So what if my daughter fails a class? Big whoop if she is getting Ds. It’s middle school. Doesn’t matter, does it? Just because I did my best to get As and Bs so that I could show my parents doesn’t mean she has to. Grades are meaningless in the whole scheme of things, right? I mean, if you met my daughter and talked to her for a few minutes, you would be sure she was an A student. She’s smart. Witty. Creative. I really wasn’t all that when I was a kid. Our measure of success was our grades and the color of our lunch ticket. Blue for the regular kids. Pink for poor kids. Reduced lunch. Blue and pink. Interesting color choices, now that I think of it. Somehow, I was able to work my way up out of the pink tickets.

I base my success today on hard work and working smart. I made more good decisions than bad decisions. My parents instilled good qualities whether they meant to or not. I hope that’s what I’m doing with my kids. I’m not sure. My boy got off the couch this morning. He is up in his room. Playing a game on his phone, I’m sure. It’s Sunday. Enjoy yourself, I say. There’s plenty of time left for this world to make you work. My daughter is sitting behind me. When I asked what she was working on, she said that it was her personal narrative. An assignment not due for a week in a class she’s doing well in. I told her she should focus on the two classes she’s tanking in. She explained to me why it’s more important that she does her writing. She’s a good bullshitter. Maybe it will come in handy one day.

~ KJ
raising kids–it’s a crapshoot

August 11th, 2020

oh…so long ago…

This kid thing isn’t easy. That’s why it’s rewarding. They push and stretch and shape you in ways you could never imagine. It’s all good though. As long as you can keep your guts out of it as necessary, and make logical decisions based on reason, they turn out okay.

None of them are perfect. But this is a mistake many parents make. They pump their kids up and up and up so that they end up being self-centered, self-important, and delusional. Lots of potential presidential candidates, I know. But I want my kids to aim higher.

We eat meals together and they eat what’s served to them. We take family walks, hikes, and bike rides. Their online time is limited. They read books. Paint. Draw. And exercise. They are taught to do their best to listen to others, to seek to understand, and fight only when absolutely necessary. I have to admit, though. There’s only so much I can do. Once they leave the house, it’s a crapshoot.

I can only hope they make good decisions.

I’m not a great parent. I would consider myself so-so. But I’m trying and I am doing what I can to learn as I go. I have always had little faith in those that profess to know the answers. I’m stubborn. I learn the hard way. And I expect my kids will be the same. But that’s okay because it’s important to me that people find their own answers. Don’t follow blindly. Don’t believe everything you read, hear, or see, especially if it aligns with your beliefs.

Question, question, question. Everything.

It’s okay to have different answers. To do things differently. Individuals and families have to find what works for them. Be mindful of others. Be kind. Be aware that you aren’t the only being spinning around through space on a big ball of dirt.

I’m not saying that what I do with my kids is better than what you do with your kids. If feeding them fast food, buying them everything they want, fighting their battles for them, and letting them get fat from drinking soda, snacking on Ho Hos and reveling in inactivity is your happiness and their happiness, have it at.

It is ‘Merica after all.

~ K.J.