I think it’s human nature to every now and again try to ‘one-up’ someone or show off in front of others.  I am not exactly sure why we do this.  Maybe it’s a naturally occurring reaction to outside pressures, like some innate need to rise above the rest.  The egotistical equivalent of survival of the fittest.  And every so often I find myself doing that with my kids.

 

Unfortunately, it’s not in the manner in which you might be thinking.  I tend to be very humble when it comes to publicly spouting about the talents and achievements of my kids.  Don’t get me wrong.  In private and one-on-one, I tell them repeatedly how great they are and how proud they make me.  My kids have no bigger fan than me.

 

But when it comes to keeping them in line, I like to show them – and everyone else for that matter – who’s boss.  I have no qualms about raising my voice to them.  In their lifetime, they have come to learn the volume battle is one they will never win.  If push comes to shove, I also have no problems with a swift hand to their bottoms.  It’s immediate, it grabs their attention, and it instantaneously brings them down from their mischievous high.

 

Truth be told, I almost never have to resort to anything physical with Natalie.  Just the mere stating of her name, in Spanish and in that ‘fatherly’ tone, is enough to set her straight for a week.  The other one, however, is a completely different story.  For as sweet and loving and affectionate as Daniel can be, there are times I am convinced he was developed in a secret lab by DCS just to test my limits.  I can see the government scientists now.  “Let’s program him to cry uncontrollably in large, public settings once the ‘no sleep’ parameter has reached 7.15 hours.  Excellent!”

 

So as tolerant and patient as I try to be, there are times when my thresholds are exceeded.  “They’re just kids.  They’re just having fun.  They didn’t mean to spill that bright, red, hard to clean kool-aid on my new, beige, perfectly spot-free carpet.  It’s okay……..”  I think one of the unspoken truths is that the hardest part of parenting is in keeping one’s cool.  It’s taking the 10 seconds …… okay, 30 seconds ….. to absorb the situation and not fly off the handle.  It is really more challenging than most people would imagine, especially after a long day at work dealing with people who might as well be 5 years-old themselves.

 

“But you have such great kids” people tell me.  “Natalie and Daniel are precious.  They are little angels!”  Well, first of all, thank you.    And I agree my kids are precious and little angels.  They really are great kids.  But I like to think the reason they are such good kids is because I can be and have been so hard on them.  It’s because they understand boundaries, limits and the consequence that comes with overstepping them.  As much as I let them be kids, they both know what is and what is not acceptable behavior.

 

People used to give my parents grief for being so hard on my brother and me.  I can guarantee you that I would not be the person I am now if they had not.  And I am the first to admit that times have changed.  I can’t imagine being – and the law won’t allow me to be – the type of physical disciplinarian my dad was to me.  And that was nothing compared to what my mom and dad went through with their respective parents.

 

At the end of the day, however, I firmly believe my kids will look back at the limits I impose on them and thank me.  I know I thank my parents for being tough on me because I have a better appreciation for the gifts I have been given and the many things I have achieved.   So whenever someone tells me, “You have such well behaved children”, I smile and thank them.  And inside I tell myself, “damn straight!”  Guess it’s just my way of showing off.

I think you can tell a lot about a kid by playing simple kids games with them.  ‘Tag, You’re It’, ‘Hide N Seek’, ‘Toss the Midget’.  Oh…sorry. That last one is a drinking game at Irish pubs.  Anyways, you can quickly pick up on a child’s character traits by observing their behavior during playtime, and it’s quite apparent both my kids possess a little sense of entitlement.  For the life of me I can’t figure out from where they get it!

 

Let’s start with Natalie.  She’s very structured and rules oriented.  As I’ve mentioned before, that is GREAT for me while she is a kid.  I know that I can tell her something and she’s going to obey.  She won’t deviate from the rules because as creative and artistic as she is, she doesn’t quite think outside the box just yet.  She’ll probably make a heck of an accountant one day.  That or contract lawyer. Unfortunately, she tends to let the rules bog her down, and the minute another kid violates the rules (i.e. Daniel), it’s the end of the world as we know it.

 

Speaking of “the rules don’t apply to me”, Daniel is creatively mischievous.   He is always finding ways to get around the limitations that are the rules.  He challenges everything.  He’s worse than Jon Gruden with the instant replay flag.  Two minutes into a game of tag, he starts with his sense of creative compliance.  He’ll make up a base just so he doesn’t get tagged.  He’ll claim he tagged me before I got a chance to touch base, even though base is the bedroom door and I’ve been leaning on it for five minutes.  My favorite is, “Daddy, I got you a little bit on your shirt.”  “Dude…….I’m not wearing a shirt!”

 

I feel very blessed that I have the opportunities that I do with my kids.  And as much as playing games with them affords me the chance to be a kid again, it does come with the occasional cost.  Not to mention the constant reminder of me being out of shape, I have to deal with stuff like running into corners as I am being chased, slipping on the tile because I forget that I am wearing socks, and the occasional tumble on the carpet with the resulting rug burn.

 

But the physical aches and pains are so worth it given the emotional rewards I receive.  I never really thought about it until recently, but playing with my kids is more than just them and me bonding.  It’s more than just me spending quality time with my children.  Playing with my kids provides me the opportunity to learn more about them.  What makes them tick and what sets them off.  It enables me to get a better feel for who they are and how they think.  And hopefully, playtime experiences will allow me to be a better parent to them as I attempt to apply my ‘insider information’ to future decisions that involve my children.

 

For my kids it’s all just fun and games.  For me, however, it will always be so much more than that.

 

I grew up admiring Don Shula.  He is, after all, an institution in South Florida.  I look back to my childhood and think of a time when the Miami Dolphins were the only game in town, and Don Shula was one of a only a handful of famous faces the represented the greater Miami area.

 

Now Miami sees itself transformed to the Riviera of the Atlantic.  The gateway to the Americas.  A city of glitz, glamour and Gucci shoes.  An A-List city with A-List celebrities.  And even though coach Shula has been removed from the limelight – a limelight for which he never much cared to begin with – he is still beloved in the hearts of the hometown faithful.  The reason is that Don Shula has always stood for the values which are all too quickly disappearing from our cultural landscape.  In a city that personifies New School attitude, Don Shula is stoically Old School.

 

Coach Shula’s philosophy starts with the basics.  It builds on the fundamentals.  It subscribes to the logic that you can’t build a skyscraper without a foundation.  Then it challenges you to ask why you need a skyscraper when a regular building will do.  It’s not simple, but it calls for simplification.  It argues that in order to avoid fractions in your organization – or household, for that matter – you need to begin with the lowest, common denominator.

 

I like to think I apply that to my approach as a parent.  I like to think that I am as much a coach to my kids as I am a dad.  In fact, I prefer to think of the words coach and dad to mean basically the same thing.  It’s not ironic that I look back at the coaches I had and see them as parental figures in many ways.  And it’s not strange that I look back on my dad and see the greatest coach I’ve ever had.  He was always critical yet supportive, demanding yet instructional.  But no matter how hard at times he pushed me to excel, at the end of the day I always knew how much he loved me.

 

I was thinking about this yesterday evening as I was playing outside the house with my kids.  Natalie was on her scooter and wanted to roll down the driveway and onto the sidewalk without stopping.  She’d allow herself to get scared and inevitably put a foot down because she feared she would fall as she made her turn.  I took a couple of minutes to instruct her on how best to achieve her goal.  “Lean into your turn, baby girl.  Bend your knees a bit and look where you want to go, not down towards the ground.”  Natalie nodded and proceeded to try and try again.  The frustration was evident and mounted with each failed attempt.  But she kept trying and I kept encouraging her.

 

Finally, she swooped down the driveway, bent her knees as she leaned left.  She slipped around the corner edge like a downhill skier clearing a gate.  She continued to cruise down the sidewalk, and I could just about hear her smiling.  I don’t know who was smiling more, and my heart, full of pride and emotion, expanded to twice its size.  I guess that’s the satisfaction you see on a coach’s face when you they hoist up a championship trophy.  It’s that sense of team accomplishment that is greater than any individual feat. It’s the feeling of “I didn’t do this, but I contributed to making it happen.” 

 

That’s what it’s like to be a dad.  The best part is I get to experience that feeling everyday!

 

When I started keeping this blog, my intention was to write at least every other day.  Life being what it is has kept me from doing so this past week, and for what it’s worth I apologize for my absence.  I wish I was sitting here writing about something spectacular regarding my kids.  I wish I could whip up some humorous story about my experiences as a dad.  Instead, I need to take a somber note due to some recent events both in my life and in general.

 

First, I want to begin with a story I read online today.  It was about a US soldier who got a chance to meet his 5 month-old daughter before he passed away in an Army hospital.  Even though the story gives us a couple ounces of heartwarming emotion, it is tragically painful and sad to think of that little girl having to grow up without her daddy.  I think about her having to grow up with a sense of vacancy in her heart for a man she will never remember meeting.  I ask myself however will she justify missing out on such an important aspect of her life because of politics and religion?

 

I think about my relationship with Natalie and the responsibility I carry in helping form her identity, sense of self worth and overall self esteem.  I think about the times that I have acted irresponsibly and endangered myself and others, and what Natalie would think if her mommy ever had to tell her that daddy had to go to heaven.  The thought of suspended licenses and legal fees do not sober me up as quickly as the idea of devastating my baby girl.

 

This leads me to segue into the news that my friend’s father succumb to cancer this past weekend.  She is only 31, and unfortunately I can relate all too well to what she is feeling.  I think about the absence my friend will have in her life going forward, and I can only imagine her delicate face overrun by tears and emotion.  I also think about how her baby son will grow up missing his grandfather, a man he too will not remember meeting.

 

I think that as much as we may complain at times about our parents, we are never ready to lose them in our lives.  We are never ready to accept their passing.  We are never prepared to face the emptiness that comes with no longer having them around.  I know I experienced that when my father passed.  It was as if all of the sudden I HAD to grow up because the one who came before me was no longer there. I think about how this applies to my children and what their thoughts, visions and impressions of me are.

 

As a result, I hugged my kids a little tighter today.  I held them a little longer today.  Even though I did not get to see them but for an hour and a half this afternoon, I cherished it as much as I possibly could.  I think that in the context of this blog entry, it’s ironic that Hall of Fame baseball player Kirby Puckett died today.  Yet it is only appropriate that I close with one of his most famous quotes.

 

“Don’t take anything for granted, because tomorrow is not promised to any of us.”

Originally posted February 27, 2006

I took my kids to see Curious George this weekend.  It wasn’t my first choice of movies, but the logistics worked out and off we went.  I have to admit, I was pleasantly surprised by how funny and witty the movie is.  I never read any of the Curious George books to my kids – we were more of a Caillou household – but I understand the attraction to this little, furry character.

What I enjoyed the most is the association I made between Curious George and my four year old son, Daniel.  I can almost feel my mother backhanding me as I type this, for I know she would be offended at the notion that I am comparing her grandson with a fictitious monkey.   But if you know my son, you know exactly what I am talking about.

First of all, I have called Daniel my little monkey for some time now.  He is always climbing up, over and on top of me.  In case you didn’t know, Daddy is Latin for human jungle gym.  I have a friend who affectionately refers to Daniel as ‘the goofy one’, for if it is possible for people to be light-hearted, little Danny is at times light-brained.  I love and adore my son, and that boy makes me laugh like I never have before.

The real kicker in making the comparison to CG, however, is not the boys’ actions but rather his facial expressions.  In addition to his big, piercing eyes, Daniel has looks that simply reverberate feeling and emotion.  My dad used to always say that Daniel spoke with his eyes, and there was a teacher in my kids’ school who kidded about wanting to give him an ‘A’ because of his smiles.  Atta’ boy son!

Daniel is one in a million.  I know all parents feel that way about their kids, and quite frankly, they should!!  But let me spell out, if I can, that special something about my son that sets him apart from the rest of the pack.  Whereas my daughter is more cerebrial, Daniel is very free-wheeling.  Where Natalie is mature for her age, Daniel is right there as a four year-old boy.  Whereas all it takes with Natalie is a stern voice, I frequently have to yell with Daniel, my little captain oblivious.  And where I am more patient with my daughter, I am very tough on my son.  Almost too tough at times, and I recognize this.

So, you ask, why am I so tough on him?  It’s because Daniel has this presence about him.  He stands out in a non-visible way.  He radiates, and you don’t even realize it until you can’t help but see it in him.  He’s special in so many ways.  So much so that I fear he will go through life with people just giving him stuff.  He’s got that ‘aw shucks, God bless him’ sense of endearing that you feel compelled to do something for him just to see him smile.

Perhaps this is why I am hard on him.  Perhaps I want him to appreciate everything he is given as well as everything he earns.  If left unchecked, I fear he would develop a sense of entitlement, and society is not kind to people who feel they are deserving.  Besides, humility is always the best cure for someone who is a born winner.  Perhaps I am just being one of those parents who can’t help but gush over their kids, but I don’t think I am exaggerating.  And if I am, I can sit here knowing g that he is, and always will be, my little monkey.  And that’s alright with me.

 

Life is full of ironic situations.  Like that time as a high school freshman where I was too cool for school with this one girl who had a crush on me.  I had no time for her and her goofy smile.  Turns out that by Senior year she became captain of the cheerleaders, had fully ‘developed’ and was riding around in her BMW 325i ……convertible!  I’ll let you guess who had no time for me that year.

 

So we learn from our lessons and move on. Or so we hope.  The truth is life is all about learning lessons.  You grow by learning, and if you’re not learning you’re dying.  The problem I face as a dad is accepting this truth as it applies to my kids.  More specifically, the idea of my daughter growing up and learning about life and 'the birds and the bees'. 

 

As with most things in life, little failures prepare you and position you to avoid the one, big failure down the road.  I feel this model holds true with regards to sex and sexuality.  No one is a Casanova out the gate.  We all experience our awkward and embarrassing moments, and it is these lessons learned that allow us to avoid bigger pains in the future.  The dilemma I face is, “Will I ever be ready to guide my daughter through this stage?”

 

“!!!!!LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA!!!!!!! I’m not listening to myself!  I’m can’t hear me!”   If I ignore the concept long enough, it will all go away, right?  Please tell me I don’t ever have to talk to my daughter about sex.  Please tell me she will, in all her life, have relations with only one man!  Please tell me that by the time she grows up, science will have advanced to allow for routine virginal pregnancies!  Please tell me……..

 

As much as I hate to admit it, the more I try to shelter my daughter down the road, the more harm I will be causing her as she grows up.  That’s the irony about sexual development.  The more we try to ‘protect’ our kids from the ugly realities of our bodies and physical feelings, the more damage we are causing to them and society.  I mean, it’s a common rule of thumb that the loosest girls are the ones whose mommies and daddies don’t allow them to do anything.  The ones who can’t and don’t have frank and candid conversations with their parents.  The ones who are warned about the evils of sex and the sinfulness of lust.

 

Don’t get me wrong.  I am not saying I need to go all Berkley-granola on my kids.  Even I have my limits.  But I do realize and accept that as my daughter grows up, she will take an interest in sex and her sexuality.  She will have questions and feelings and desires.  She will be curious about herself and …… ahem …. others.  And I believe that in order for her to find long term happiness with that special someone, she will have to have experienced short term heartache with several others.

 

It pains me to admit it - and I don’t think I will ever be truly ready to accept it – but life is just ironic that way.

 

There is something wrong with the scale in my bathroom.  Apparently, every time I step on it, the number gets a little bigger and bigger.  I know it can’t possibly be me, so it must be the scale.  Funny thing is, the last four scales I have purchased have all had the same problem.  I guess I am just cursed with consumer bad luck when it comes to these products.

 

If I try to identify when this string of faulty devices began, I think it’s right around the time my daughter began eating solid foods.  The one thing that changed is that I began sampling, and later finishing, any foods she didn’t eat.  This was compounded when Daniel came along, but I am not sure if there is a correlation between these events and my faulty scales.

 

In all seriousness, I think one of the biggest challenges I face as a dad is watching my figure.  I know I can eat better and make time to exercise, but doing so requires a whole lot of energy.  And with two kids, a full time job, going out with “The Fellas”, and … oh yeah, writing … there’s not a whole lot of energy left in the tank.  Instead of watching my figure, I find it much more rewarding to watch the figures of the nice women at the mall or grocery store or the check out lane at The Home Depot.  Ok, maybe not the Home Depot part, but you get my point.

 

I know I should work out and live a healthier lifestyle.  Not just for myself, although I am the first to admit I need to lose these ever impressive love handles, but also for my kids.  Firstly, I want to be able to keep up with them as they, and I, grow older.  On my chart, energy is on a decline as age increases.  On their chart, both those lines are still running in parallel.  Secondly, I need to be a good example to them in terms of eating right and being healthy.  How can I expect them to eat their vegetables when I have pop-tart dust all over my shirt?  Kids do what they see.

 

It’s all part of that sometimes burdensome cloud called parental responsibility.  It’s no different than when I bite my tongue when a woman applying make-up cuts me off in traffic.  It’s no different than when I am tempted to take a swig right out of the milk carton, only to realize I am being hawked by the human surveillance system I call my children.  It’s no different than when I lose my temper when the quarterback for the Dolphins throws an interception.  But I guess that explains how it is my kids know how to say the word ‘bastard’.

 

And as tough as it may be, it’s yet another one of those things I will gladly do for my kids.  Notice how I said ‘will do’.  That’s because I still find myself finishing their Mac N Cheese or chicken fingers or PB&J’s, and for some reason I still end up buying those pesky, defective scales!

 

Even though my kids do not live with me, I do get to see them every day.  I am very blessed that way.  If I don’t see them on a particular day, I make sure to call them and speak to them, usually right before they go to bed.  It is primarily my duty to call them, wish them well, tell them I love them, and phone-kiss them goodnight.

 

On occasion, they will have plans with their mother, and I rely on her to have my kids call me.  My ex-wife and I have always partnered well as parents, and even after we split up, we maintained that good sense of teaming when it comes to the kids.  We do not have a set schedule with regards to who has the kids when, and this daily flexibility is very welcome given how spontaneous and last minute life tends to be.

 

Tonight was the exception to the varying routine.  My ex picked up the kids at school and took them to a small birthday get-together at a neighbor’s house.  The kids love playing with their friends, and our neighbors are more like extended family to my children.  I expected she would have the kids up past their bed time, so I was not concerned when they did not call at their ‘normal’ time.  However, when 11:00 PM came and went, I became a bit worried.

 

Turns out my ex lost track of time and the kids fell asleep on the way home.  No big deal, really, but it was a bit disappointing.  A whole day came and went without me so much as getting to say hi to my kids.  It’s a very hollowing feeling for me.  As much as I love my independence and space and ‘freedom’ now that I live on my own, I need the sound of their voices every day.  I need the soul enrichment that comes from hearing the love in my daughter’s voice, and the sense of pride that comes from hearing the curiosity in my son’s.  Want to know what the four greatest words in the English language are? “I love you, daddy.”

 

So I sit at home feeling a little blue and a little down that I missed a piece of my life today.  Even though I have a big weekend planned with my kids (they’re sleeping over Friday AND Saturday night), I am bummed that I did not get to talk to them today.  It really is amazing how much I depend on them as much as they depend on me.

 

I think that in everything that is said about parenting and parental responsibility, there is one thing that is often overlooked.  If you do it right, the parent-child relationship is not a hierarchal one.  Rather, it’s circular.  Better yet, is symbiotic.  I know that I can’t live without my kids.  I don’t even want to find out what that would be like.  I always thought I could pursue a career that forced me to relocate, but in my heart I know I just could not be far away from my kids.

 

I need the daily interaction with them.  I need the ability to pick up Daniel and toss him on my shoulder.  I need to be able to hold Natalie tight and kiss her cheek ever so softly.  I need to be able to be Superman in their eyes everyday.  I need to be there to see them smile and hold them when they cry.  I need to fill the void that exists every time I am not with them.  And there is no job, woman or circumstance that even comes close to giving me what I get when I am with my kids.  Like I said earlier, I am very blessed.

Originally posted February 14, 2006

Today is Valentine's Day.  Normally I would be consumed with the idea of being somewhere special with someone special.  I would allow myself to worry about gifts, chocolate, and ensuring proper hygiene.  I would think about what I need to wear and whether or not this cologne I found in my old gym bag is any good.  It's only fitting the symbol of Valentine's Day is a heart given all the anxiety it produces.

Instead, I am sitting at home with my kids.  My Valentine's date is my daughter and her trusty sidekick.  Our special dinner is Mac N Cheese followed by Capri Sun and bite-sized Kit Kats they received at school.  Our source of entertainment is me pinning Daniel down while my chocolate lab licks his face.  Good thing I did it before I gave him his bath for the night.

I feel truly blessed when it comes to my children.  First and foremost, they are strong and healthy, very loving and affectionate, and just fun to be around.  Since they live with their mother, my time with them is relatively limited.  Even though I do see them every day, I don't see them quite as much as when I still lived at home.  As a result, I greatly value my time with them.  Where some people may allow their children to seep into the category of things that cause them stress, Natalie and Daniel are my stress relief.

From playing around the open areas of my apartment complex, to taking them to the pool (in the summer, of course), to the occasional – albeit incredibly expensive – trips to Disney, being with my kids allows me to escape the pressures of my current world.  Being with them forces me to focus on what's important, primarily their safety, their well being, and their happiness.

It's not, however, candy and roses all the time.  Natalie is six going on sixteen, and she is a constant reminder of a marriage that once was.  That is to say, she is just like her mother and can be at times a bit ….. demanding.  As for Daniel, it is apparent that logic does not exist in the world of a four-year-old boy.  Unless it flashes brightly, has four wheels, or roars and explodes, he wants nothing to do with it.

As with all children, my kids present their own set of challenges.  I like to think, however, that unlike most dads, I see myself as the solver of those challenges.  I see myself as the enabler of their future.  I see myself as the architect of something greater down the road.  If I allow myself to worry about my kids, it's usually about where they will be five years from now, ten years from now, and the role I play in making that outcome possible.

Please don't get me wrong.  There are so many great dads out there.  So many dads against which I don't even compare or come close.  I am by no means perfect and I don't have all the answers.  But I do know that rather than consume myself with the little things in life, I choose to consume myself with the biggest and greatest thing I know …. being a dad to my kids

Some time ago, in a blog spot not so far away, I was invited by this guy named J.P. to write a recurring blog on his site.  The site’s name was called CandyHam.com and my blog specifically could be found at superdad.candyham.com.  The site title read “The Perils and Triumphs of Being a Dad”, and I used this site to blog about things specific to my kids and/or about being a dad.  It was something I wanted to do for my kids, and it was also a nice change of pace from the very personal blog you find on this site.

 

For some reason unbeknownst to me this site no longer exists.  In looking back at my blog entries, I determined there were 22 distinct posting that I made to the CandyHam site that I did not make anywhere else.  That being said and in the spirit of not losing those entries – not to mention shameless self promotion – I plan on reposting those 22 entries here.  So when you see lots of new posts from me and the subject matter appears a bit dated, at least you’ll know why.  The first one is posted below. I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed writing them.  Thanks.

 

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Originally posted to superdad.candyham.com on February 12, 2006

 

Greetings, everyone, and thank you for visiting my new blog on Candyham.com.

 

Given this is my first entry, I thought it might be prudent to provide some background information on me.  Think of this as an icebreaker, if you will, so we can get to know each other a little better.  Although since you are the one doing the reading, I guess there really is no way for me to get to know you, but you get my drift.

 

First of all, please don’t be fooled or put off by the URL to this page.  I in no way do I make any claims of being a super dad.  Spectacular maybe, but no super.  In all seriousness, though, the URL name came from a discussion I once had with my girlfriend about how my kids sometimes see me as a superhero, expecting me to know and be able to do everything.  That comes with a lot of pressure, and what’s terrible is that half the time I feel like I am just winging it.  As an adult, it’s easy to look back and see the flaws my parents had and the mistakes they made when I was growing up.  However, when I recollect through the eyes of my childhood, I remember being in awe of their ability to just get things done.  As a result, the image of the Superman ‘S’ is a constant reminder of my responsibility to my kids.

 

You probably picked up on the fact I said girlfriend and not wife.  That’s because I am no longer married.  I thought about making the theme of my blog entries the trials and tribulations of being a single dad, but truth be told that would be very misleading.  Even though my wife and I split up, neither one of us are really single parents.  Well, perhaps from the POV of match.com profiles we are, but the both of us maintain a good, cordial and cooperative relationship.  Whatever differences we have or frustrations we hold, those get put aside for the benefit and well being of our children.  My kids live with her but I see them every day.  I think it’s a fairly unique situation, and I am blessed to have the opportunities that I do with my kids.

 

So instead, my goal is to write about being a dad. Not a single dad.  Not a Hispanic dad.  Not a working dad.  Just a dad.  I hope that in capturing my thoughts, observations, frustrations, fears, challenges, mistakes, lessons learned, disasters avoided, etc. I get to help myself in this vocation that is being a father.  If I am very lucky, maybe I can help someone else along the way.  Someone who finds if not strength then familiarity with what I write.  If not, at least this blog gives me something to do every evening .

 

I hope you enjoy the postings, and I invite you to let me know what you think.  Of course, if you feel my entries are worthy enough, I would appreciate you telling your friends about this site, too.

 

Thank you!

We've all heard about 12-step programs.  We've all seen, either directly or on TV, individuals dealing with some form of addiction.  As such, we've all heard the first step to dealing with a struggle is to admit you have a problem.  Well, I come to you here today to say, "Hi.  My name is Gil and I'm a Webkinz-aholic."

 

It all started when a friend gave each of my kids one of those adorable, plush toys called Webkinz.  It's not only a stuffed

animal, it's also the key to an online world that has not only captivated my 7 year-old daughter and her 6 year-old brother,

but also me.  This is taken from an article about Webkinz on MSNBC.com:

 

 

Not only does Webkinz World satisfy a young child's innate desire to have a pet (Netizens of the Webkinz World must feed their virtual pet, pay it attention and take it to the vet if they become sick), it also introduces them to the concept of social networking with chat capabilities and online interaction.  Don't freak out, however, if you're a parent.  The creators of Webkinz World have thought ahead and allow for parents to not only restrict their child's access to chat rooms, but also limit the total amount of time their kid can stay logged in.

 

Apparently, my ex-wife has not taken the time to visit the parent's area of this virtual playground because I have spent …..

or should I say, wasted …… countless hours over the last several days taking care of my kids' pets and playing tons of video games in order to earn them each more Kinzcash, the virtual currency they can use in the Webkinz World to buy goodies for their pet.  It started out innocently enough; me checking in on their pets while they're on vacation.  Then I thought I'd play a game or two, some quite challenging and all very entertaining, to help them earn a couple more 'bucks'.  It was fun. It was cute.  But then, it got serious.  I found that I just could not stop playing!

 

Any self-respecting, thirty-something, product of the Eighties guy will admit to spending countless hours and buckets of quarters as a kid in the arcade.  I can't even begin to tell you how many dollars I wasted on Dragon's Lair alone! These are the same guys who now spend countless hours playing their PlayStations and Xboxes both online and in the privacy of their own homes.  I can't explain what draws me to play and play and play, many times hours on end, other than to say it's a nice escape from actual reality.

 

As for the Webkinz World, it's not so much an escape for kids as it is an opportunity for them to be in complete and total control of this virtual world they created.  They are expanding their minds and developing new skills like hand-eye coordination, strategizing and quick thinking.  They have to make decisions for themselves, take on new responsibilities, and use their creativity and dexterity to get what they want.  In many ways, they are sampling some of the aspects of being a grown up.  As a parent, that's perfectly fine with me, unless, of course, I eventually end up having to check either one of my kids into the Betty Boop clinic.

Two years ago, I wrote about watching the Hall of Fame induction ceremony of my childhood idol, Dan Marino. It was a touching and emotional moment for me because Dan’s son, Daniel, delivered one of the most touching and memorable presentation speeches for his father, and it was delivered with poise, dignity and class.

Fast forward to this past weekend and the Hall of Fame induction ceremonies for the class of 2007. Inducted into the legendary football museum in Canton, Ohio were Gene Hickerson, Bruce Matthews, Charlie Sanders, Roger Wehrli, Thurman Thomas and Michael Irvin. I did not catch the acceptance speeches of the first five players I listed, but I was fortunate enough to hear what Michael Irvin had to say. I have to explain that I have mixed emotions when it comes to ‘The Playmaker” that is Michael Irvin. Actually, after listening to his speech, I need to correct myself and say I HAD mixed emotions.

Irvin played his high school ball at St. Thomas Aquinas High School, a school against which my high school alma mater competed. Michael then went on to star at the University of Miami, playing for Jimmy Johnson and being an integral part of the 1987 National Championship team. Of course all Hurricane fans loved him and that fanaticism followed him to the NFL where he once again played for Jimmy Johnson, but this time as a member of the Dallas Cowboys.

Following a neck injury in 1999 that ended Irvin’s career, Michael went on to be a football analyst for ESPN. The cockiness and bravado that made him a superstar on the football field followed him into the studio, and in my opinion it simply did not translate well. As much as I enjoyed watching him play football, I could stand to watch him talk about the game. If the camera adds ten pounds, Michael Irvin’s ego added another twenty. I am not saying he was a bad analyst; rather he simply was not my cup of tea. Add to that the legal problems he encountered both as a player and then as an employee of ESPN and my desire to remain a fan of #88 dissipated away.

All I can say is that following his induction ceremony speech, I am once again a fan. However, this time I am a fan of the man that is Michael Irvin. Michael’s speech included stories of his playing days, tributes to Troy Aikman and Emmitt Smith, the two other members of the famous Cowboys Triplets that led the organization to three Super Bowls in four years, as well as words of appreciation for his coaches and other former teammates. Then Michael did something I never thought I’d see an arrogant, confident and playmaker of a man do. He reached down into the depth of his soul and humbled himself in front of his wife, his children, and the thousands of spectators in Canton.

Michael alluded to how he was not selected to the Hall of Fame last year, his first year of eligibility, in part because of his obvious character flaws. He made amends to his wife for mistakes he made in the past. He cried as he spoke about the love he has for his children. He shared with the crowd how he prays to God for the strength to raise his sons so they can be better men than he ever was. It was touching, inspiring and everything a heartfelt speech should be.

For me, it was a reminder that no matter how deep the valleys are we travel or how dark the nights may feel, there is always hope to turn things around in our lives. There is always the opportunity to make amends and make things right. Michael Irvin did not wipe the slate clean – the past will always exist and be a part of our lives. What he did accomplish, however, was to pull himself up to a level of deserved respectability by sincerely humbling himself and verbally atoning for his previous flaws. And to that, I stand and applaud not a former football player but rather a man who currently serves as a role model for anyone who may feel they’ve lost all hope.

Here is the final bit of Michael's acceptance speech. I implore you all to try an find the complete speech. It's well worth the time.