The First Time

"Is Wyatt's song my song?" Ethan asked on Sunday night as he brushed his teeth.

"No." I said. "His song is you're nobody 'till somebody loves you by Dean Martin. Your song is I Rise, I Fall by Ricky Nelson."

"Oh." He said, spitting toothpaste into the bathroom sink.

"Did you hear me sing his song last night?" I asked. "When Mommy read to you."

"Yeah." He said, looking in the mirror and trying to smooth his hair from sticking up in back. He has a wicked cowlick. I have the same one.

"I can sing your song tonight." I said. "If you want?"

"Yeah." He answered, smiling, "But let's read Little Critter first."

The Elder Boy has always been Daddy's Boy. Even back in the day when he was only the Boy.

After the Little Warrior arrived on our scene, Ethan became even more of a Daddy's Boy. Not that it was, or ever has been a popularity contest between me and My Lovely Bride. Necessity was more like it.

Having two (Boy(s)) when one is two and the other is an infant is not easy. The baby naturally needs Mommy more than Daddy, especially if Mommy is breast feeding. That is why, early on, we drew our lines in the night night sand, with me almost always reading to Ethan, and My Lovely Bride almost always reading to Wyatt.

That routine changed recently, when Wy complained, "You never read to me, Dad. You always read to Ethan."

"I can read to you," I replied. "If you want. Daddy would love to read to you Wy Wy."

Which is true. Reading to Wyatt is a completely different animal than reading to E. Not better (or worse.) Just different. The same way they are different as people.

Now we do an alternating night night scene. I read to Wy one night, while My Lovely Bride reads to Ethan. Then we switch the next night. Wy's night night time doesn't last as long as Ethan's, which is why Ethan heard me singing to Wyatt on Saturday night.

I haven't sang to Ethan in a long time. Not that we made a conscious decision to stop. As he's gotten older he prefers for me to read longer instead of sing to him. I can't say I blame him. My singing voice sucks.

When we finished the Little Critter book, Ethan rolled over and made his standard night night request, "Will you sleep with me for a little bit?" Sleeping with him for a little bit means that I stay in bed with him for a few extra minutes as he drifts off to sleep.

"I thought you wanted me to sing to you tonight?" I asked.

"Oh yeah." he said. "I do."

"Ok," I said, and started to sing his song, "I rise, I fall with each little thing you do. You hurt, I hurt --- I'm that much a part of you. And when you're happy, baby, I'm happy, too, since I'm that much...a part of you."

Ruby the dog popped her head up from the end of the bed giving me a strange look. It has been so long since I've sang to Ethan that Ruby has never seen me do it before.

Ethan, who normally turns from me when going to sleep, turned into me, burying his face deep into my chest as I sang, "I rise, I fall with each little breath you take. You cry, I cry ---- 'cause I feel the same heartache. And when you're smiling, baby, I'm smiling too, Since I'm that much...a part of you. Your lips are my lips, My heart is your heart. Never let us be...further than a breath apart...I rise, I fall with each little thing you do. You hurt, I hurt --- I'm that much a part of you. Everything you feel, Ethan, I feel it too, Since I'm that much a part of you. A part of you."

When I finished, I heard what I thought was soft crying so I asked, "Are you crying?"

"Yes."

"Why," I said.

"I don't know." he sobbed.

I held him for a long time, staring at Ruby the dog, who stared back, letting Ethan cry. Every few minutes I said, "It's ok to cry Bub," and stroked his hair, "sometimes it's the best thing you can do, to let it all out. It's ok."

When he was done I asked, "Are you sad because of the song?"

"I don't know." he said.

"Did it make you remember something sad?" I asked.

"I don't know."

I do know though, Dear Reader, and what you don't know is this: We had seen Pops and his special lady friend that day. It was the first time she met My Lovely Bride and in-laws (the Boy(s) and I had met her on our recent trip to Oklahoma.) That Sunday, after everyone had met, we went to Joe's Crab Shack for lunch.

After we were done eating, Pops came out to the playground where I was watching the Boy(s). Earlier Wy had sucker punched a kid over a bull dozer toy which led to a tense moment with the kid's Dad. Pops sat next to me on the fence as we watched the Boy(s) play.

"Is tonight going to be the first time you and your special lady friend shack?" I asked.

"What?" he said.

"Shack. Stay in the same room and bed at the hotel. All night. Wake up next to each other in the morning." I said.

"Yes." he answered.

When we left Joe's Crab Shack I told the the Boy(s), "Say bye to Pops he's not going back to our house to stay. He's going to go to the hotel with his special lady friend. Give him a high five, it will be their first time to shack."

My comment made everyone uncomfortable, I guess because they thought I meant sex when I said shack. I didn't though, although I'm sure sex would be had.

"Boy(s) give Pops a high five." I repeated.

Wy Wy did. Ethan did not.

That had happened three hours ago.

"Ethan, are you sad because you saw Pops today?" I asked.

"I don't know." he said.

"It's ok if you are son. It was weird today. For everyone. It's ok to be sad about it being different. It's ok for you to see Pops and miss Granny, seeing him reminds you of Granny and how much you miss her. How different it is now. Pops isn't really all that different than he was when Granny was alive, the situation has changed though, and that makes it hard."

"Ok." he said.

"You can even like Pops' special lady friend and be happy for Pops and her ---- and still love your Granny and be sad and even mad that she died." I said.

I slept with Ethan for a long little bit that night. Eventually he grew tired, and started to turn from me in his usual way to fall asleep when he said, "I miss Granny."

"I know you do son, Daddy does too." I said.

Lying in Ethan's bed as he drifted off to sleep I had a vivid memory of the eight year old version of me looking at a photo album. I remembered how upset I felt looking at the photos. Feeling a strong sense of loss, but not understanding why I felt like I wanted to cry as I looked at those pictures.

I think Ethan felt the same sense of loss tonight, when I sang to him.

Eventually, I must have drifted off to sleep, because I found myself in an unfamiliar kitchen making a grilled cheese sandwich. Ethan was behind me, but he was also me, or that younger version of me, in that dream way someone can be two things at once.

As Dream Me pressed the spatula down on the sandwich, Ethan/Young Me asked, "Is Ruby going to die?"

"Yes," Dream Me said, flipping the grilled cheese sandwich. "Ruby will die. Hopefully not for a long time. But she will one day. Everything does."

"I don't want her to die." Ethan/Young me said.

"I know." Dream Me said. "But she will. You can't stop that from happening."

"I don't want her to die." Ethan/Young Me said again.

"I know," Dream Me said again, "But she will die. Everything does."

"I don't want her to die." Ethan/Young Me said.

"I know," Dream Me said, "but she will die, and what you do or don't want, will not stop it from happening. You need to stop worrying about what will happen, it makes you miss what is happening."

"I DON'T WANT HER TO DIE." I said, because Ethan/Young Me was me.

Then I woke up.

Until I BLOG again...And I threw away the key .

Barracuda

Back in the day, when the Elder Boy was only the Boy, we watched Finding Nemo a lot. On VHS. Which sucked. He liked Crush the Turtle. I liked Crush the Turtle. The Boy and I would often watch Crush's part, over and over.

Be kind and rewind, my ass, when talking VHS. Rewinding is a beating. As is fast forwarding (which is also an oxymoron.) But fast forward I did, ever time we watched the beginning of Finding Nemo. I didn't want the Boy watching the barracuda part. Where Coral and all the babies but Nemo died. Looking back, I find this funny, considering the younger Boy knows how you kill a zombie at the tender age of 4. But, back in the day, I was afraid the barracuda part would scar Ethan.

Fast forward to now, or what passed for now a few days ago. Ethan and I were driving home from Wy's soccer practice. After a few minutes E asked if I'd play his current favorite song on my iPod. That song is Barracuda.

Which is why, when Ann Wilson sang, "you'd have me down down down on my knees" I was brought to mine, figuratively, by the obvious connection as well as a startling truth.

I'm Marlin.

I wish I was Crush.

But make no mistake, I'm not Crush.

I'm the antithesis of Crush.

I suck.

Looking in the rearview mirror at Ethan, thinking to hard, I considered if I had done a disservice to the Boy. He thinks as hard (if not harder) than me. Is that hard wired in him? Or is he that way because I was (am) Marlin? Nature versus nurture. That age old question explored so brilliantly in one of my favorite movies.

But this here BLOG entry isn't about me. It is about Ethan. And his extreme dislike of school.

Maybe it's the rules. Or trying to stay on green. Perhaps the social system. Or the hours. Whatever it is, he doesn't like it. Which is pretty ironic considering everyone at that school loves him. Seriously. That's not me being some goofy parent who thinks their kid is a genius. If you asked his teacher. Or the principal. You could ask the lunch lady. They'd all say the same thing. The Boy is a model student and they wished they had more kids like him at their school. Yet, the Boy, their model student doesn't like their school.

This bothers his Mom, bad. She takes it personally, since she's a teacher. Me on the other hand, I don't like that he dislikes school, but I'm a bit more open minded since I didn't like school myself. How many kids do?

This isn't about other kids though, this is about Ethan, who has taken all of his animosity about school and transfered it onto one kid in his class. I'll call him Ralph, although that is not his real name, because he reminds me of Ralph Wiggum.

Ethan hates Ralph.

Ralph is that goofy, sweet faced kid everyone has known at some point in their school career. He has horrible social skills. He doesn't know boundaries. He can't control himself. He often gets the entire class in trouble with his continuos outbursts and erratic behavior.

This is why Ralph loves Ethan. Ethan is everything Ralph is not.

This is why Ethan hates Ralph. Ralph is everything that Ethan is not, and represents everything he dislikes about school.

Which is why the morning after my barracuda epiphany the Elder Boy launched into a lengthy diatribe about Ralph. "I hate Ralph!." He said. "I wish something bad would happen to him."

"Son," I said, "That's not nice to wish something bad on someone. I understand that Ralph is annoying, but you need to ignore him."

"I want to knock his teeth out!" He answered. "Choke him!!!"

"Son, if you do that you'll get in trouble." I said.

"I want to hurt him...hit him with nunchaku!" Ethan yelled.

"Bub," I said calmly, "Try not to let him bother you so bad. Ignore him."

Ethan ignored me, so Wy who had been listening asked, "Toy numb chucks (how Wy says nunchaku,) or real ones?"

My Lovely Bride laughed at Wy's question which pissed Ethan off, bad.

"I WANT TO KILL RALPH! I HATE MY SCHOOL! I HATE HIM!!!" Ethan raged.

"Jinjin (how Wy says Ninja) Turtle numb chucks?" Wy asked again.

"I hope a storm comes and blows him away. Or a flood!" Ethan raged. "I'm not going to school. I hate school!"

"Son, you need to let it go." I said calmly, which is ironic, considering how good I am at letting things go, "Put on your shoes so you won't be late for school."

"I"m going to be late?!?!" He asked in a panic. "I'm going to be tardy?!?"

Fast forward ten minutes and I was dropping Ethan off at school. Most of his anger had dissipated by this point, as he mentally prepared himself for his school day. A day in which he'd be a model student.

A model student who wants to whip out numb chucks and maim Ralph.

Not that he'd do that though.

That would get the Boy off green.

Until I BLOG again...You gonna burn burn burn burn it to the wick.

Trash Trampoline and the Party Girl

I think to hard.

So hard, that after I typed that, my first thought was that you might think I'm implying that I'm smart. Or a deep thinker. Wrong. I think I'm a dipshit. A dipshit who thinks to hard. Which is why I was thinking of an early morning exchange between Wy Wy and his Mom on my way to work a week or so in the rearview.

"Mom, why don't you ever play your game?" Wy asked.

The game in question was another stellar gift that I had recently given her.

"How do you know I don't play it." She replied, "Maybe I play it when you are at school."

Sweet mother of all that is good, the incredulous look on Wy's face was priceless. It captured the egocentric nature of a four year old boy who can't begin to comprehend that things happen when he's not around.

Thinking to hard about that exchange got me thinking to hard about the Boy(s) and my upcoming trip to Oklahoma. Not only would we be seeing Old Granny, we would also see Pops. It would be the first time we'd see his new pad since he moved back to the Tulsa area.

That sounds innocent enough, but dig this. It would be the first time we saw Pops and Old Granny together since before Mom died. She's been dead since October 2006.

I don't meant to imply that Pops and Old Granny hadn't seen each other. They had. They just hadn't been together with me. I guess my egocentric thinking isn't that far removed from Wy Wy's.

My Grandma's house is small enough without the elephant in the room. Crammed behind her dining table, well, I felt absolutely claustrophobic. It was odd enough that I hadn't been with them both since September 2006, but when you factor in that there was no acknowledgement of Mom, not one mention of her in fact, and well it was just weird. Instead the discussion centered on the post office. Seriously. The fucking post office.

My Dad argued that the United States Postal Service pretty much sucks everywhere, but most recently had failed to get him his utility bills at his new apartment. This had led to friction with the complex. Old Granny countered that she had never had trouble with her mail. The implication being she was in her 80s and had been in the same house for more than 40 years. Dad countered her point by stating the obvious. Sand Springs was small, thus the post office was small. The entire city is but one zip code. Old Granny countered that by telling Dad that someone had told her that my zip code in Texas, was one of the best in the nation.

This went on and on and on. I'm surprised my head didn't explode.

Mom brought these two people together in the first place. Since she was dead and gone, I guess it was her memory, albeit tenuously keeping them together. Perhaps me too. A pawn in their twisted game of mutual dislike. I am a tangible manifestation of Mom. Or is that more of me, thinking to hard? Or, am I simply being like Wy, and being egocentric?

I don't know.

What I do know is this: Being an only child sucks. It sucks now, and it sucked when I was young. I've always felt some stigma about it. I'm sure some of that is because I truly do think to hard. But not all. When I was young, and people learned that I was an only child I'd always hear the same thing, spoiled brat. Granted, this was Oklahoma in the 1970s and being an only child was damn near freakish. But still, why was that the immediate response? It was so bad that I shrewdly made up stories where I had a sibling who had died, or was lost. Seriously.

That way if a tactless adult made a comment, I could play that fake story in my head. If a kid said something to me, I'd tell them the story. Even then I realized words have power. That they can change a person's perspective. You tell someone that you're an only child in the Oklahoma of my youth and they called you a spoiled brat. You tell them you're an only child because your sister died, and well, they don't mess with you in quite the same way.

That is certainly messed up, but on the flip flop and fly, I never got why they messed with me in the first place. What did they think was so great about being an only child? Hell, anyone who has ever seen the Jan, the Only Child episode of The Brady Bunch knows that being an only child isn't all that it is cracked up to be (as well as how much fun square dancing is.) You got to love The Brady Bunch --- life lessons in less than 30 minutes, plus a hoedown. If only real life could be that easy.

Until I BLOG again...I think I know what you want.

Fight Test

Super Bowl Sunday was anything but for the Elder Boy. It wasn't my finest moment either. I told two grade school kids they were being dicks.

Father of the year. Not.

But fuck me, I hate bullies. Seriously. I get angry if I see someone I don't know being bullied, let alone my first born son who was being jerked around by these two kids who were being dicks. Still, at first, I knew that I shouldn't call them out on it, that the Elder Boy has to figure some of this out on his own. That I shouldn't get involved. Which I why I tried to keep my mouth shut, feeling sick in my gut, as I watched the drama unfold.

What sent me over the edge, was the older boys getting the younger kids, riled up, Lord of the Flies style, against E, including The Little Warrior.

Afterwards, E and I sat in silence, side by side, in lawn chairs in the backyard of the home that was having this not so super Super Bowl event. Ethan was clearly upset. Me. I was trying to figure out the correct thing to say to him on the subject of bullies, without advocating physical violence.

As I always say, I suck in real time, so I simply said, "Son, I'm sorry (name) and (name) were being dicks."

"I want to punch them in the mouth..." He raged. "Break their teeth!"

"I know." I said.

"I want to choke them!" He continued.

"I know Boy. I'm sorry." I said.

"I hate them!" He said, and then, that anger merged into sadness or shame, and he cried.

After a few moments, I moved over to the Boy's chair and let him climb into my lap, like he did when was smaller.

"Why did they do that?" He asked, through his tears.

"I don't know Ethan. Sometimes people are just mean or cruel. They like to use their strength or size to intimidate someone who is smaller or not as strong. Sometimes they do it if they think they are smarter, or have more money too. They are bullies, and bullies just suck." I said.

"Daddy..."

"Yes."

"Did you have bullies when you were little?" He asked.

"Yes. There have always been bullies. Probably always will be. That's why it is important, if you are bigger or stronger or whatever, to always be nice, and not be a bully. Actually, if you are bigger or stronger --- and you are E, big for your age I mean, you should look out for those smaller than you if you can. You know E, I don't want you to ever start anything, but if people are being mean to you like before, and you need to defend yourself, protect yourself, I want you to do that. I wouldn't be mad if you did that. Daddy would understand. Mommy too. You should always try and talk first though, to work it out without having to fight. But, if kids are being like those kids were being and they won't stop, no matter what you do, or try. Then sometimes you have to defend yoursef."

Ethan sat in my lap, thinking, so I continued, "The only thing that would make me mad, or upset is if I learned that you started a fight, or you were being a bully." I finished.

"Would I hit them like this?" He asked, as he flailed his arms in the air.

"You know Boy, the best thing to do to stop most anyone is to simply hit them square in their nose. It doesn't even take that hard of a punch. You get hit in the nose and it hurts." I said.

"Like this?" He asked, throwing a quick little jab in the air.

"Like that." I said. "You ready to go back inside."

"Yeah." He said, then hesitated and asked. "Why did Wyatt do that?"

"Because he's young, and he got swept up in that pack mentality. It happens. Often, the right thing thing to do is the opposite of what everyone else is doing." I said.

"Life is funny like that."

Until I BLOG again...I don't know where the sun beams end and the star light begins, it's all a mystery.