DS i XL Grenade

Sometimes you just have to jump on the grenade. If you’ve been reading along with this blog you know my opinion of the DS and it’s not very high. I like people games instead of computer games. It’s not that I dislike computer games – I love them – but not to the extent that kids play them today. There is a disconnect occurring between children today and other children. They’re playing games too much by themselves and with a computer and not interacting with others. We’re social animals and this can’t be good for the upcoming generation. So that’s the set-up.

The camera zooms in on my face. It’s Sunday morning and it’s my birthday. No wait. Rewind. Go back to Saturday afternoon. The day before. I’m home after yoga class (a good day with 19 people and good pranic energy in the room). Mom-ita and M-ito are out shopping for various things including my birthday gift. The phone rings. It’s Mom-ita.

“M-ito has a gift all picked out for you,” she says cagily.

“Okay… ” I say, waiting for what sounds like is coming after. I’m picturing some Warhammer figures (a new game we’re playing together at a shop in Manhattan), or something yoga-like, maybe a cool stuffed animal that he will get soon after he gives it to me.

“It’s a DS,” she says quietly and waits.

“A what?” I ask.

“A DS i XL. He says you’ve always wanted one and that if you get one – you and he can play the game together at the same time.” She waits again. “He said you need the DS i XL version because it’s a bigger screen and you can’t see the small screen very well.” I think she’s trying to hold back laughter now but I can’t tell.”

I rack my brain. Have I ever told him I wanted a DS? Have I ever told him how much that would mean to me? If I did, and it’s possible, it was only to make him feel better because I would never in my life think that I would get one without someone forcing me to play with a gun to my head. Perhaps I have overstated that a little.  I took a deep breath and exhaled. We have only M-ito. “Of course,” I said. ”That’s very sweet. I’ll take the XL and I’ll jump on the grenade. It’s my turn. You’ve been playing Harry Potter on the Wii all summer (and loving it I should say because Mom-ita loves to play the Lego games) so it’s my turn.”

Now she laughs. “This is your iPad, you know,” she says when she gets her breath back.

“Thanks,” I say. An iPad. Oh that hurts. She did that on purpose.

M-ito couldn’t wait so I opened my gift that night.

Fast forward to the next morning, October 3, birthday morning.

I sleep until almost 7:30am and it’s wonderful. The bed is so warm beneath the comforter. The wind is blowing outside and making the shades move back and forth. M-ito is staring at me from a few inches away. “Happy birthday,” he says, eyes full of mischief. “Let’s play your DS.”

And with a hug, a heartfelt sigh, and a smile, I say, “Yes. Let’s play with my DS. I’ll need your help setting it up.”

Forty-nine  years on this planet and still counting.

Overheard at Disney

We’re walking to the bus stop from the Wilderness Lodge, passing families going in the opposite direction, their morning park adventure already done. It’s 94 degrees in the shade and we’re already sweating. A family is coming up behind us, three kids, a mom and a dad, trying to make a bus that just pulled up. The father’s wearing a black t-shirt. Beads of perspiration are accumulating across his forehead and he wipes them away with his hand.

The mom looks at him over her shoulder without missing a step and says, “Why are you wearing your black shirt?”

The father answers, “Because I’m not that smart.”

Spoken like a true Dad-dito.

Little Green Nubs

“Why do women shave their underarms down to little green nubs?” M-ito asks while we’re walking Spike-ito. When he asks the question he puts his thumb and index finger together and scrunches up his face.

“The simple answer is fashion. In other countries women don’t shave their armpits but here in the US most women do. But let’s see what Mom-ita says,” I reply.

“But why do they have little nubs green under there?”

“That’s probably from deodorant.”

“But why do they do that?”

“People use deodorant so they don’t have body odor.”

“but what if you smell anyway, even with deodorant?”

“Let’s see what Mom-ita says,” I counter.

Twenty minutes later we’re back in the apartment and M-ito asks Mom-ita the same question.

“Peer pressure,” she says.

“Like when all of your friends tell you to do something and you don’t really want to do it but you do it anyway?” I add in.

“Oh,” M-ito says.

There’s so much more to cover, like misogyny, male privilege, a discussion of who determines what is feminine, what is more woman-like, and what is beautiful (mostly men). But for now… fashion and peer pressure covers it all.

Fireflies

Hank called me over to the courtyard at the Marriott in the middle of the French Quarter in New Orleans. This was last September. He was smoking a cigar. We were both presenting to a group of drug court practitioners – me for one day, him for the whole week. In the courtyard he told me a story about his son that he savored between puffs on his stogie, the burning end reminding me of a giant firefly. It’s been haunting me a bit since last year. He lives up in Buffalo and one year his at that time teenage son asked him to get tickets to the Syracuse football team’s home games. It was a two and a half hour drive each way. Hank told him yes and bought the tickets. He said it was the best two and a half hours of his life because all the way there and all the way back he and his son talked. “We’re best friends,” he told me in his deep, raspy, one of a kind voice. Two months later Hank had a major stroke and now almost a year later he still hasn’t recovered, though he lives and breathes.

Today my son asked me to go with him to Carvel after dinner. It’s a fifteen minute walk. “I love to go to Carvel after dinner, ” he said. We talk all the way there and all the way back. The whole trip takes almost an hour. We talk about alien creatures, summer fireflies, favorite things we’ve done so far this summer, determine how many days are left in the summer, play improv games that he makes up as we walk like making up a story one word at a time alternating between the two of us, eat our ice-cream cones before they melt, and hold hands a good part of the way with him sometimes even reaching for mine. It’s one of the best hours of my life.

Visibility from the 102nd Floor of the Empire State Building

9am – Visibility from the 102nd floor of the Empire State Building is 50 miles.

M-ito came with me to work today. He did yesterday also. Yesterday he worked for three hours on two journal entries (he has to do ten this summer) on two books he’s read . He’s a voracious reader so this shouldn’t be a problem -but it is. He spent almost two hours this morning on one entry, then did some math problems and called it a day. I had to leave the office for a meeting at NYU for two hours so Momita looked in on him while I was gone. The rain storm hit about noon.

12 noon – Visibility from the 102nd floor of the Empire State Building is 0 miles; thunderstorm closes the observatories.

I got soaked on the way back to my office. I was wearing sandals so it could have been worse. I didn’t have an umbrella. It’s a good thing I brought a change of clothes. I took a half day off so at 1:30pm M-ito and I went to lunch. The rain was still coming down, almost sideways with the wind. By the time we came out of Rickshaw Dumplings on 23rd the rain had almost stopped and there was a little bit of sun.

2pm – visibility from the 102nd floor of the Empire State Building is 10 miles; the observatory is open again.

We walked up to the 34th and 5th avenue entrance. There was no line. We walked past empty red velvet ropes and brass stanchions in room after room. Men and women in red suits and caps directed us onward. There were only three elevators going up. We got off at the 80th floor, went up another elevator to the 86th and out onto the observatory there.

2:22pm – Visibility from the 102nd floor of the Empire State Building is 2 miles.

Clouds came in quickly. We could see down and a little ways out, maybe twenty blocks or so in all directions but the clouds were moving in quickly. We circled the observatory once then headed up to the 102nd floor. We had to pay $15 each extra for the trip.

2:35pm – Visibility from the 102nd floor of the Empire State Building is 0 miles.

Getting off the elevator the man in the red suit shook his head with a smile. The world was white around us, It was dizzying and disorienting. “Another storm,” he said. M-ito pressed his nose against the glass and said, “This is so cool!” It was like Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief and we were in Olympus in the middle of the clouds. We took pictures of each other and the man in the red suit took a picture of the two of us together with the white clouds as background. We walked around about fifteen feet to the other side and watched the clouds. They looked like thick cotton.

2:41pm – Visibility from the 102nd floor of the Empire State Building is 0 -10 miles

After about three minutes of watching the white shift and spin, then press up against the glass in front of us, a dark shadow appeared and the cloud thinned and M-ito and my mouth’s dropped open. We looked at each other as a hole in the clouds opened up and showed us the city below. The Flat Iron building and my office at the Mason’s Building stood out eleven blocks away. It was like hands had parted the white and made a special view just for us. The man in red called out to us, “Do you see it!” “Yes,” we called back looking at each other, then out at the city again. The clouds closed up as quickly as they had opened. We waited a few more minutes and it happened again. When the clouds closed up we headed for the elevator and down back to earth our feet floating off the ground.

2:58 – Visibility from inside M-ito and Dad-dito’s heads is unlimited.

Batter Up!

Second week of sports camp – baseball is in and lacrosse is out. I watched the lacrosse players, much fewer this week, maybe two-thirds of the number they had the week before, maybe half. They’re in one group and not two anymore but they still have three coaches.

On the other side of the field, where M-ito, Momita and I went was filled with kids from 6 years old to 14. There were four age groups and M-ito was with two friends and about 18 other 8-year olds. He had three coaches. They warmed up. The coaches coached and kept discipline. One kid pushed another and the head coach for the group pulled him aside and, within my hearing (I had to listen carefully) told the kid the two rules of play. 1) Don’t push anyone ever again. 2) If a kids calls you a name you come to him (the coach) and he’ll take care of it. Then the head coach pulled the other kid aside and told him the same thing. There were no more problems the whole day. They broke up into three groups, one with each coach and they did 8 minute drills moving from one station to the next every 8 minutes. They learned how to throw a ball, how to pick off a runner, how to do a “4″ slide, and then went to the batting cage for practice hitting. It looked like so much fun I wanted to join in. After another cycle of drills and the snack station where nutritious snacks like seventeen kinds of candy and popcorn in addition to Gatorade and ices were served – they played a game for the last hour putting all that they learned into practice. The coaches said, “good try” to every kid who made a mistake and there was a ton of individual attention.

Every morning I packed a cooler for M-ito with ice, water, cut oranges, and a snack. By the end of the week both of his friends were sending their water bottles home with the cooler and I had to put extra money in the side pocket for them too. Cold water and ice was at a premium.

It was like night and day compared to the lacrosse.

Don’t get me wrong there were some low points.

• The hardest part was watching M-ito strike out each time he was up at bat. I know he hit the ball the day before but it was hard to watch him walk off with his head down. The coaches all gave him “good trys” and I have to say he did a good job of shaking it off.
• On the last day a kid on the other team threw his helmet onto the ground after striking out every time also and the coaches only told him to stop it one time (I thinnk they didn’t see the other times – perhaps because of the heat haze). I would have benched him (even if that would have left them with only 6 players).
• A really good player on M-ito’s team kept playing M-it’s position for him. M-ito was playing third and the boy was at second. He kept wandering the field because he was good and he knew where to go – but this didn’t help M-ito to learn what to do or get him the ball. The coaches missed that.
• I’m ashamed to say this but it’s true. The same good player is a great hitter who had a home run and a double and single. The last time he got up he struck out and the other team cheered. The boy laughed it off – his ego strong enough to survive with ease. He took it as a compliment. Me, I gave him a silent cheer. I was glad he struck out. I told M-ito later, “You see, even the kid who was really good – he struck out too at the end!” It was all I could come up with.

M-ito gave it a 10 – both the coaches and the playing.

I watched him play most of the first morning and all of the fourth and last.

His team won the last game on the last day – billed as the world series of the games and like the kid he is, he jumped up and down with the rest of his teammates, happy to have been a part of the game and winning regardless of how big or small a part he’d played.

Final outcome – I didn’t have to coach. I just watched.

I didn’t know what to do with myself. I took out my camera and took some pictures. What else is a Dad-dito to do?

M-ito said he wants to play on both a lacrosse and baseball team. But… he’s had enough of sport camp for a while and is glad to be done for the summer. We think he lost five pounds sweating in the polyester baseball pants. He also has a wicked tan from all that time in the sun, even with sunscreen. When he got home he picked up the first of the Harry Potter books and started to read.

Lacrosse – Sideline Observer

I swear I was only watching my son play lacrosse. It was just past the midpoint of the second day of lacrosse camp and over 90 degrees again. I was baking so I knew the boys must have been feeling the heat. The boys were just finishing up a water break and four kids from the older group were sitting and fiddling with their pads. M-ito was out with the less experienced and younger group. Two boys asked me to help snap their helmets on.

One boy, frustrated, asked me, “Why can’t I snap these on? All the other kids can do it. Why can’t I?”

“Keep at it,” I said, snapping first one side then another. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

“And why do you need a chin-strap anyway? It doesn’t do anything,” he added.

“First it protects your chin. Second it keeps your helmet on,” I said.

“Protect it from what? Nothing can reach in there.”

“You never know,” I said, tapped his helmet and sent him on his way. “go get ‘em.”

After a few minutes there were only two boys left. I turned around and asked the closest one if he needed help getting his pads on. “No,” he said shrugging and letting his shoulders sag forward.

“Did you drink enough water?” I asked noting the red face.

He nodded, took a big breath in and played with the grass for a few moments.

I went back to watching M-ito. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the boy put his helmet on, snap the straps, and stand up. He hesitated a moment as if deciding whether or not he was going to play or leave, then, head lowered, moved slowly towards the pack of boys in the older group.

The last boy I went over to, to see if he needed help also. I couldn’t help myself.

“My elbow pads don’t fit,” he said as soon as I came over to him. I started to adjust his straps for him and fit the velcro. I tried to help him a few times and each time he said they hurt too much and pulled them off. The velcro wasn’t working. Then he threw them onto the ground.

“You all right?” I asked.

“I’m not good at this and none of my equipment fits. My shoulder pads don’t cover my shoulders, they’re too big and these elbow pads hurt. And I keep trying but I’m no good at this game.”

“That’s what camp’s for – to help you get better –”

“I’m better at baseball. I don’t play this well and I’m not getting better.” His voice lowered to almost a whisper. “I don’t want to hurt anyone either.”

“You don’t have to hurt anyone to play.” I hesitated a moment. “In a good game there’s not so much checking,” I said. “Some of the kids get carried away here. A good team passes the ball a lot and moves the ball up the field that way so there’s not as much contact. You don’t have to hurt anyone when you play.”

He nodded and stood up. “Nothing fits,” he said and walked off to join the pack. I went back to watching M-ito play.

Lacrosse Camp – Day One

9:15am

Momita and I are driving out to Long Island for lacrosse camp – day one. M-ito is in the back seat all geared up. We’ve got shoulder pads, shin guards, cleats, helmet, stick, and mouthpiece. We hear a knocking sound, like a knuckle on wood. It’s the sound of M-ito knocking on his cup. It’s his first one and he’s been fascinated by it ever since he put it on.

“This is so cool. Can you imagine if you got hit super hard with a ball right here?”

“It would hurt,” I say from the front seat.

M-ito ignores me and keeps knocking on his plastic cup.

I can’t remember the first time I wore one, but it was probably when I was seven and played my first year of football. I don’t remember it being anything fun to explore. But for my son – it is.

Knock, knock, knock.

9:55am

All the parents have pulled out, the moms, the dads, the aunts and uncles. There’s thirty kids and three coaches, and me. M-ito goes with the older kids, sixteen in all and one of the coaches. the younger group goes with the two other coaches. I talk to one coach about my son and how new he is but the coach assures me they’ll figure out his skill level and put him in the right group soon enough. M-ito’s friend from school is four months younger and goes with the younger group.

I last sitting on the sidelines for half an hour, watching the young man with a lot of energy but not a lot of skills when it comes to keeping sixteen rambunctious kids of all different skill levels occupied, try to coach them through some drills. He’s young enough to still try and show off, doing back flips to impress the boys. He yells a lot and is constantly trying to get the kids in line. But he’s alone and doing drills with one boy going at a time leaves too many idle. That means fifteen are waiting around looking for something to do while they wait on line. That’s trouble waiting to happen. The temperature is high, already over ninety degrees. When he ends a drill I yell, “Water break,” and the coach says, “Good idea. Go get some water!” As he passes me I offer to help. “I’m going to be here all day so if you need any help, I’ll be glad to. Just tell me what to do.” The young man hesitates a second, then says, “Sure.”

I walk on to the field and I hear my son say, “Why does it have to be you?”

I know he’s talking about me and it stings but a Dad-dito’s gotta do what a Dad-dito’s gotta do. I get placed on a line and tell the kids to shoot on goal when they get to me while they’re doing drills. I tell kids to chase the ball they threw past the goal. I ask kids to get in line. I help them put on helmets , snap chin straps, put on elbow guards, put on mesh jerseys, hand out oranges to the kids who want them because I brought extras. I tap each one on the helmet when I’m done helping them with their equipment and tell them to “go.” One boy makes two comments about girls that are as old and sexist as they come. Some of the kids laugh. The coach asks him to watch his mouth the first time. The second time I go over to him on water break, tap him on the shoulder, point his face up to me a few inches away, and quietly say, “I don’t ever want to hear that language again. You understand?” The boy looks at me then nods and looks away. I tap him on the helmet and he keeps his mouth shut the rest of the day.

Mostly I keep my mouth shut and watch, do what the coach tells me to do and try to make sure no one gets hurt.

M-ito does well in the drills, is tentative in the skirmishes as he should be as a first timer, needs help on where to position himself on the field  on both offense and defense but the coach is hot and tired and hasn’t explained the rules or any team tactics so he along with the other inexperienced kids are left to guess. I shout some suggestions during the scrimmage. “Spread out. Pass to the open man. Some concepts are the same no matter what sport.” Maybe the tactics talk will come tomorrow. There is one kid who knocks another kid down, cleans his clock actually. It was uncalled for and done not while he was going for the ball. He’s made to take a lap. He head checks another kid a few minutes later and I see it but the coach doesn’t. I let it go even though there are words between the players. It’s the same kid I talked to about his mouth earlier. That one’s trouble.

The first day of camp ends in a deep sweat with the kids getting hosed off with a power washer and the coach glad his first day is over. I wonder what he’s got in store for tomorrow. I talk to Mom-ita and we both agree M-ito ‘s going in the younger group with the newer players tomorrow. He argues at first, but his friend convinces him. He signed up to play with his friend in the first place and it’s a good reason to play with the other two coaches, who seemed to be a little more adept at what they were doing.

1:31pm

Gino’s Pizza and M-ito and his friend are laughing and fooling around, tickling each other and chomping their pizza alternately. The air conditioner is on. It’s 96 degrees outside. They both said they had a good time and want to go back tomorrow for more.

I hear it’s supposed to rain.

At least it’ll be cooler.

The End of the School Year is here!

M-ito graduated from 2nd grade today. When the headmaster told the lower school that the 2009-10 school year was officially over and added, “you can yell as loud as you want to, now – ” the room exploded with K-4th graders going crazy – including M-ito. I watched him from a few rows back with Mom-ita. He yelled as loud as he could with his friends. It was a whole body yell. An exhalation of all the work he put into his education this year. So many evenings of push and pull over homework assignments. My son has his first real understanding of what summer vacation is about.

In Kindergarten he was too young to understand the rhythms of school and summer. Last year he was starting to understand the process but with the changing over from one school to another it was all still new to him. But this year… well, he yelled and screamed with the rest of his friends, his sneakers ready to run on grass, his ears listening to waves washing up on a beach, electrical impulses in his brain ready to encounter summer camp of three different types, and his psyche ready – almost longing for long endless days in the heat.

I can still feel those feelings in my bones, like it was just yesterday. The dry wind outside my window whispering… Summer.

Two Hand Touch

M-ito and his friend K-ito wanted to learn how to play football. M-ito knew nothing about the game and K-ito had a smattering of phrases and terms but no real knowledge of the game. I played eleven years of ball through high school. I figured, how hard could it be? We were at K-ito’s home with a bar-b-q in the backyard heating up, Mom-ita with K-ito’s mom and friends socializingj. M-ito, K-ito and me were in the large front yard (large enough for a game of nerf football) and the boys told me their desire.

“How do you play? The rules,” K-ito asked.

“Yeah,” M-ito added lowering his head. “I don’t know how to play. It’s confusing.”

I took the nerf in hand and tried to explain. “That big tree over there in line with that bush over there, that’s where you want to run the ball into. That’s your end zone where you score a touchdown.”

“Then do you kick the ball?” K-ito asked.

“For extra points, but we won’t do that here. We’ll keep it simple. You run the ball in there you get a point and we’ll play to five.”

“Don’t you get points if you hit the tree with a kick? You know the things that stand up in the air…”

“The goal posts?”

“Yeah. The goal posts.”

“We’ll forget about them for the moment. Just run the ball into the end zone.”

“Then,” Kenny added, “you have to throw the ball onto the ground like this.” He spiked the ball and raised his hands up into the air.

“Okay. We’ll use that. And you’ll have 4 downs -”

“Downs?” M-ito asked.

“Tries, to get the ball into the end zone for a touchdown or a score. Four tires and then I get the ball and try to get into the other end zone, between the pitchback and the bush over there.”

They both nodded but didn’t seem to understand.

“We’ll play touch with two hands,” K-ito said, then demonstrated the technique.

“Right. No tackle. Just two-hand-touch.”

“What’s that mean?” M-ito asked.

“When you’re touched with two hands you’re down and have to stop and try again. You can pass the ball forward but you have to catch it or it’s an incomplete pass.”

“Why?” M-ito asked.

“I don’t know. It’s just the rules.”

“Can we play it’s okay to miss and still score?”

“You mean drop the ball?”

M-ito nodded.

“Sure.”

I tried to explain a lateral pass but that didn’t go anywhere so we just kicked off and started.

Sometimes it’s best to just play. It was them against me. Every time we scored we spiked the ball. They allowed me to pass to myself. I taught them the faint and the juke – fake left run right, fake right run left. We got bit up by mosquitos and collected a few grass burns on our knees. Another dad helped me out later and each of the two games the Dad-ditos lost exactly 5 points to 4.