Hobbit Tales

I’m reading The Hobbit, by JRR Tolkien, to M-ito. I’ve been waiting to read it to him forever. Well, since I read it when I was ten or so. My friend Joe showed it to me and I read it and fell in love with it’s total sense of adventure immediately. I’m a sucker for a fantasy story. Dwarves, dragons, elves, hobbits, hero’s wizards – you can’t beat it. Since then I’ve read it twice but it’s been over ten years since the last time. I’ve told myself it would be great to read it to my son or daughter one day. Now that I have a son, I’ve been eyeing it each year, and looking at M-ito to wonder if it was time yet. This year since starting school he read How to Train Your Dragon by Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III (traslated from the Norse by Cressida Cowel) and a number of other books on his own that speak of adventure and new worlds, swordplay and dragons. With Hiccup under his belt I thought it was time for The Hobbit. It’s dark and there’s lots of danger and the tone is menacing, but so far he’s loved it.

Reading it has been hard, though, bitter-sweet to be exact. My friend Joe, who told me about the book after he’d read it, had been my best friend since we were both in 4th grade together. We met the first day of school – a new school for me – I left my lunch box behind and Joe took it home with him. He lived down the block from me. I went to his house to retrieve it and so a friendship was born on a sunny September day. We saw each other every day until, when we were both in seventh grade, maybe a month away from the end of school, he was killed. It was a freakish accident. He walked home from school early without letting anyone know. There were torrential rains. Crossing the rail road tracks he was hit. I can still picture the black sky, still hear the downpour against the school roof while I sat in math class. They announced his death over the loud speaker just before school ended.

So many things I do as a father remind me of my own childhood. I watch my son and watch myself as a child, or I watch my son and think of what was and what could have been. I have to remind myself, like so many other parents, that he is not me. Now that’s a challenge they never told me about in the school for parents.

The Hobbit is a wonderful book and I love the way my son pulls the covers up closer around him while I read to him about the three Trolls arguing about how to kill and eat good old Bilbo and his dwarven companions. He peers over my shoulder, snuggling in close. At the scary parts he covers his ears with his hands and closes his eyes. “Don’t read anymore!” He says, then takes his hands off his ears and asks me to read on. “Which do you want?” I ask. “Read on!” he says. I love being able to comfort him, being able to be his warmth when the story makes him shiver.

Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche says, “Hold the sadness and pain of smasara in your heart and at the same time the power and vision of the Great Eastern Sun. Then the warrior can make a proper cup of tea.” I try to remind myself of this, when my heart aches. I try to see the beauty of my son’s smile.

Today M-ito told me he wanted to write a new book of his own. In school they’re writing stories now – fiction. They’ve moved on from non-ficiton memoir and he’s thrilled because he loves to tell stories. “I’m going to write a story,” he says, “about a character I’ve had an idea about for a long time. His name is the Sizzler.”

All I can think of is the restaurant chain called The Sizzler, but I tell him to go on – to tell me about him.

“It’s about a Sizzler that has never had any adventures but he gets dragged into a bunch of them and all kinds of things happen.”

Now I can see the Great Eastern Sun.

Meeting Your Edge

A Buddhist story related by Pema Chodron goes like this.

A group of travellors gets ready to climb a mountain. After a few hundred feet a few can’t go up any higher so they stop. As the group goes up higher others stop, unable to go further. Finally a few reach the top. Those that stopped along the way, met their edge. They reached a place where the word “no” rang so loudly in their ears that they simply had to stop. The key is that the ones who made it to the top are not the winners. They had no fear of hieghts or had it but it was bearable. The ones who had to stop along the way are not losers either. They simply met their edge and could go no further. Meeting your edge means you have something to learn about yourself, that you need to open your heart to the experience, be kind to yourself and recognize that you have something to learn. Those who made it to the top will meet their edge on some other expedition. Everyone meets their edge, sooner or later in life. Engaging in life means you go up the mountain, you show up for the expedition, not knowing how far you will be able to go.

Sunday I watched my son meet his edge. He’s seven so he meets it often. But I’ve never seen it so viscerally before. A classmate whom he has only just met, had invited him to his birthday party and M-ito went. It was at a rock climbing gym out on Long Island. We’d been there once before on a reconnaissance of the place. The first time we went M-ito climbed half way up. The second time a quarter of the way up, then two thirds of the way up and finally a quarter of the way up, four different lines. I still can’t believe he kept at it even though it was clear that he was not enjoying himself.

At the party I saw all kinds of edge-meeting going on. Some kids did not come so they met their edge in their minds. One boy didn’t put on a harness, though he came for cake and pizza. One boy put on a harness and tried to climb only once, making it up half way then coming down, his arms and legs shaking. Several boys made it up half way and came down. Some made it to the top. One boy left in tears.

M-ito watched and when a few had stopped at the halfway point he gave it at try. He made it a few feet up then stopped. I watched as he tried with all his abilities to make his hand reach up for the next rock. It shook and trembled reached up then down, up then down. It was so painful to watch. Finally he looked down at us and asked to come down. He tried to climb twice, the second time with the same results. He sat down next to me afterwards, angry with himself, his arms crossed across his chest. He wouldn’t let me speak to him.

“You did great,” I said.

“I’m so proud of you.”

“You really did your best. It’s only what you could do today. Tomorrow will be different.”

“Be kind to yourself, you did great.” I’m afraid of heights but I can climb in spite of it. Still I know how hard it can be to keep going up. But it didn’t matter what I said.

He walked away from me with a scowl on his face. Mom-ita got him to speak to her by talking about something else. Then he settled in. He recovered about fifteen minutes later and seemed to move on. I had to watch while he processed and dealt with his damaged ego. It broke my heart to see and not be able to do anything about it. But my son is resilient and he seemed to be able to move past it. I wish I could have helped but I’m also glad Mom-ita was there to be of help.

Sometimes it just works that way.

As Pema Chodron says, meeting your edge means you’re showing up for life, you’re engaged on the journey. Practice loving-kindness to yourself and you open to life’s possibilities. Well, it’s something to shoot for.

Shower Power

It’s evening and M-ito has to take a shower. I still shepherd him into the bathroom and wash his hair – though many of M-ito’s friends already wash themselves he’s only partially reached that goal. He mostly laughs while he washes himself, tickling himself and playing all the while oblivious to the T-word, time. His technique for washing his feet is to put the washcloth on the floor, step on the washcloth and move around on it, sometimes dancing the Mexican Hat Dance. It’s ingenious in its own way.

But I digress.

Getting him to take a shower is still a fight. From the moment we tell him he has to take one – at this point only once every three days or twice a week – to the attempt to get him in the bathtub. Once he’s in these days it goes pretty smoothly. I sit back and watch while he showers until it’s hair time, trying not to fall asleep.

But getting him to take his clothes off and actually step into the shower, very similar to the longest ten steps to the front door, is almost impossible. And at 6pm after a long day at work and the commute home, it’s even harder for me. I have little patience left in me and if I’m not in touch with it I’m in big trouble because a yelling match will ensue followed by guaranteed tears. I can tell I’m on empty too. I can feel the gas tank meter knocking on the E and the light on. I can feel the feelings of frustration rise up into my chest and throat from my belly. But sometimes I just can’t do anything about it. It works that way with me.

Two feet from the bathtub… yet so far.

Five minutes of telling me stories about Pokemon and he has finally taken his shirt off.

Another five minutes of telling me about Humphrey the Hamster and his pants go wizzing by over my head while I duck.

Wondering about the nature of Phineas and Ferb and his favorite episode where Doofenshmirtz and Perry the Platipus fence with bratwurst and hotdog ends with his underwear off.

I’m not kidding you. It really goes on this long. The socks, one at a time.

Then he plays with his penis, wondering why it looks sometimes like a tree and sometimes like a rocket, and sometimes just sits there staring back at him, pondering the possibilities. “Dad-dito, what does it think about?”

If I last this long I’m usually steaming by now. If I can’t hold it in anymore I usually yell, “GET IN THE TUB!”

Friday last week this comment made M-ito say, “Why are you so angry at me? You just got home and you’re already yelling. Why?”

My son knows how to get to me. I lowered my head, shook it from side to side and said, “I don’t know.” Other days I add, “I’m  sorry. I’m tired.” Or, “Work with me here, will you?”

What to remember?

1. My son likes his time with me and when he talks he’s enjoying telling me about what’s important to him. So, even if it seems unimportant to me, I need to remember it’s important to him. His world is Pokemon and Phineas and Ferb. Mine is yoga, HIV/AIDS, and Drug Treatment. One is not more important than the other.
2. I need to warn him – which sometimes I do – that I’m losing my patience and that I’m tired so he needs to move it a little. This helps me to remain calmer a little longer – staves off the yelling for another minute or two. Letting him know it’s me, not him is a good thing.
3. Sometimes you just have to let things take a long time. I find I’m always trying to make my son go faster. Why? Whose deadline is it? How important is that we’re on time? What does it mean to be on time? Can we instead be in time? What are we late for? Can it take twenty minutes longer? I have to remind myself to take my time – allow him to take his.
4. And last but not least, it reminds me that it’s the simple, mundane things that make up being a Dad-dito, not the big things, which come up rarely. Why? Because the small things come up every day. Or in the case of the shower, at least two times a week.

Good Morning Good Morning

Mom-ita is working four days this week. As any good Dad-dito would do, I’m doing double duty, getting M-ito off to school in the morning and leaving early from work to pick him up when school/afterschool is over. I’m pretty tired.

Usually Mom-ita and I take M-ito to school (drive) together and I walk from his school to the subway. The morning tasks with M-ito are divided up between us – Mom-ita makes our son his lunch (heat the thermos with hot water, heat the hot meal, fill the lunchbox, put it by the front door) while I make our son and myself breakfast (Hot cereal for me and Cornflakes for him – Mom-ita has breakfast later with her friends). She has done both jobs many times by herself when I’m away traveling and is a pro. It is rare I have to do it by myself for more than a day or two in a row so I am an amateur. I’m on day four tomorrow. It makes me grateful for the school lunch (today) and for Mom-ita’s ability to multi-task.

I’m getting better, quicker. But my to do list on Monday was sketchier than my list today. 

• Do yoga practice
• Wake Mom-ita up to get to her work
• Get M-ito up (not an easy task)
• Get his clothes together and put them near him on the bed (in case he gets up)
• Make lunch for M-ito (heat the water for the thermos and put the food in the oven)
• Check on M-ito to see if he’s up yet
• Put M-ito’s food in the thermos and thermos in the lunch box
• Make breakfast for M-ito
• Check on M-ito to see if he’s up yet
• Make my own breakfast
• Check again on M-ito to see if he’s opened his eyes
• Plead with M-ito to wake up
• Bribe M-ito to wake up
• Remind M-ito to pee when he does wake up
• Eat breakfast together
• Attempt conversation
• Listen to Pokemon story
• Take shower while M-ito gets dressed nearby
• Get dressed with M-ito finishing getting dressed nearby
• Make sure lunch box is packed and by the front door
• Make sure backpack is packed and by the front door
• Turn inside out M-ito’s socks (the seams bother him)
• Get M-ito’s sneakers laces loose so he can put on his shoes quickly and easily
• Help M-ito get on his sneakers anyway (hold laces with finger while he ties bunny ears)
• Get on my own shoes and jacket
• Help M-ito get on his sweater and jacket
• Tell M-ito he has to wear a hat (it’s cold out)
• Tell M-ito he has to pick a hat (too many choices)
• Adjust the hat he’s chosen (he chooses my favorite hat which I was going to wear so I have to choose another one for myself)
• Hand him his backpack and then help with the arm through the strap (otherwise I’ll watch him going around and around trying to get his arm through the second strap)
• Watch as M-ito goes back to the table for a Pokemon action figure to bring with him
• Watch as M-ito goes back to the table for a Pokemon card from one of his new decks to bring with him
• Remember wistfully that it used to be a Lego Star Wars figure that he took with him
• Go back to the living room for my keys, my wallet, my money, my watch
• Look each other in the eyes and leave together
• Walk to school, holding hands most of the way

Om Nama Shivaya. I’m going to do it again in the morning.

In case it sounds too idylic, we had a huge fight this morning – day three – because he wouldn’t get up and we were half an hour late for school. My tactic was to let him be late and I simmered. Maybe it was better than blowing up. Mom-ita and I fought a little instead on her way out. I said to her, “let me handle it.” I was probably wrong in my approach. As we were on our way out the door M-ito apologized to me. I told him he had to get up in the morning to get to school. Then I added when he was late, I was late to work. Then I added Mom-ita and I fought because he was late this morning (ie: it was his fault). Guilt is my speciality. Then I called him from work a couple of hours later (a phone that goes right into his classroom) and checked to see if he was all right – feeling very very guilty for guilting him on the way to school with words that will probably scar him for life. He sounded fine on the phone as if it had all passed him by a long time ago. I’m glad he’s resilient.

When I picked him up from afterschool ballet, he sat on my lap on the couch outside the classroom for fifteen minutes. We watched all the other kids (all three of them) leave the class with the teacher. I gave him a big hug and kiss. We talked a little while, then, he looked at me and said, “I’m ready to go.” I helped him get changed. I carried his bag (too heavy – it was) and his extra jacket (too hot outside – and it was) and watched as he ran back and forth playing with two friends that we walked a few blocks home with. 

Mom-ita and both joked with M-ito this evening that we would wake him up this morning singing, “Good morning, good morning” from Singing in the Rain. He laughed and laughed. The giggle that launched a thousand ships.

I have to poop

Momita and I were both working this morning in Manhattan at my office. I left earlier because I had the earlier start time. I got M-ito dressed and left him at the breakfast table eating corn flakes while Momita ran in to take a shower. I got to work and saw a text message.

“He had to poop at 8am.”

I could picture it. One foot out the door when M-ito said the four words every time-conscious, trying to get your child to school so you can get to work – parent dreads to hear. “I have to poop.”

So Momita gets to work and tells me at a break that, after yelling at each other and crying – after pooping of course because you just can’t rush the poop – M-ito said to her, “Mommi, You cannot always be early in life.”

You cannot always be early in life. Words of wisdom, son, words of wisdom.

Lost and Found

We were at the Medieval Fair, Poppi in his archers outfit, having successfully assaulted the castle wall at Sands Point, was resting next to us, leaning on his bow, the back of his next sunburned from his day at the archery booth. A woman across the green started to scream. She ran ten yards or so then turned around and ran back. She screamed again and I realized what she was screaming – the name of her child. She ran back again two more times, screaming in a way that sent shivers through me and Mom-ita.

She lost her son, rippled through the crowd and we all started looking at knee level for a child who seemed not to fit – who seemed to be lost. I could feel her panic. I’ve been there a few times myself and I never get used to it. M-ito is right next to me and then, when I go to get my change from the cashier I look down and he’s gone. I can feel the panic in my gut. Where is he? Where did he go? Then I start shouting his name with that same gutteral sound that the woman was using again and again.

She brought her hands to her head and screamed. A knight in a golf cart came by to help her look and cover more ground. They rolled down to the castle wall and back up – her screams punctuating the air with panic and fear and terror, her hands pounding the dashboard when they weren’t at her head.

A few moments later they found her boy. I saw them hugging and crying together. I pulled M-ito a little closer to me, his presence reassuring – perhaps to us both.

Do Unto Otters

Do unto Otters: A book About Manners, by Laurie Keller has been our guide this month in behavior change. It’s a variation on the golden rule “Do unto Otters as you would have Otters do unto you.” So says owl when Rabbit asks him about his new neighbors, the Otters, and his concerns about how they will get along.

The first week of school is always stressful but this year has been even more so. And M-ito’s behavior at home has not been up to par. M-ito has told us that he always follows rules of good manners in school, but not when we’re home. This made us pause and think. Why would this be? We’ve always said he has to have good manners with everybody. Bad manners in this case seemed to go along with starting school – the same thing happened last year. We think it’s because he tries so hard to “be good” in school that when he comes home he lets loose. This means grumpy, sullen, dismissive, quiet, yelling. Perhaps this is all school age kids when they are finished with school.

Now we know all kids are tired after school – it’s a long day – but yelling, tantrums, attitude, and non-responsiveness in tidal wave proportions is a bit much. So we had another sit-down with M-ito after a huge fight about not wanting to take a shower – ever. We’re down to two days a week at this point but that’s as low as we’ll go. Stinky-boy can not rule all the time. So these are the rules and regulations we came up with, together, after a morning of fighting, a day of Mom-ita and me feeling terrible because of the fight we had, and en evening of calm:

• listen to each other (no hands covering ears, no turning away when someones talking to him)
• no flicking fingers or dismissive waves of the hand
• say please, excuse me, and thank you (loud enough so the other person hears it, and it only counts if it sounds like it’s meant!)
• take a shower without complaints or delays when asked to (consequence of not doing so is taking a bath!)
• put dishes away after each meal
• help set the table for meals
• put toys away after playing with them
• no hitting (already in place but good to have on the list as a reminder!)

We’ve had three days of peace since posting the list. M-ito seems to have found his bearings and our stomachs are all feeling more settled, school-wise and home-wise.

September 11

I was in Tower 2 and still I didn’t remember what day it was today.

I didn’t remember until I got off the subway on 23rd street and saw a friend who started talking about the 9/11 – today, this day. I asked her if she’d been down there on the 11th and she said she’d been down on Fulton. I told her I’d been in Tower 2. Her eyes opened wide and she said, “Wow.”

I started off the day well, with my yoga and meditation, then Mom-ita and M-ito came into the living room – both early, about ten minutes before I was finished. That was all the peace we’d have this morning. Mom-ita walked M-ito into the bathroom to pee – he’s been having moments of being afraid lately, perhaps coinciding with going back to school – entering first grade? Perhaps just afraid of the biting beetles of childhood.

The fighting started with the shower. M-ito resisted and I gave up waiting after ten minutes of standing in the shower and asking him to get in the tub.  There were tears and  harsh words, but I kept my cool, didn’t raise my voice at all. M-it’s voice rang loud and clear. I let it come and go in a wave. M-ito said I’d made fun of him and yelled at him. I had not yelled, but I’d joked about keeping all the hot water to myself to try and nudge him into getting into the tub. It didn’t work and I reminded myself never to try that again. My son doesn’t need excuses to stay out of the shower.

Then he wouldn’t put the nail clipper down when he was supposed to be eating at the breakfast table. By the third time I’d asked him and he’d nodded but not put it down, I’d had it. Then he put the nail clipper down and shot it past me with a flick of his finger. That put me over the edge. I slammed my hand onto the table and said, “That’s enough!” And so we had a second set of tears to cover the morning.

The third set occurred only minutes later. M-ito and I had been eating breakfast silently, him with his back to me, me with my heart breaking. Mom-ita came in to help him put on his socks. She smiled at him and he pushed the socks away onto the floor. We both yelled and tears flowed.

When we got to school, I had to stay in the car while Mom-ita walked M-ito in – we’d parked by a hydrant. I told M-ito I loved him and he barely turned to look at me. I can still feel the hollowness inside my chest from his expression. I know he’ll be over it by this afternoon, the whole morning having passed over like a rain shower, leaving the grass fresh and filled with dew and the sun shining. Then his smile will turn my world bright. But now I hold on to it, too adult and filled with wonderings over what I should have done different to let it all go.

I walked to the subway and down underground. Up at 23rd street, my friend saw me and asked me about 9/11. “Nope,” I said. “I hadn’t thought about it at all.”

“I was on Fulton Street,” she said.

“I was in Tower 2,” I said and watched her face change in reply.

“Wow,” she said.

Nope, I wasn’t thinking of 9/11 at all.

Prioritizing

We were in the car, late for going to Pop-pops house (and Pop-pop is on top of the time element so we’re feeling the pressure). I was driving. Mom-ita was angry with us because we took so long to clean up after ourselves in the morning. First I did my yoga, then there was the game with M-ito we had to play, we got dressed, had breakfast, and finally, while Mom-ita was running around trying to get ready to leave, we picked up toys and put some of them away.

“The two of you,” Mom-ita began. “What were you doing all morning? We needed to get out of the house and the both of you were dilly-dallying and not doing anything.”

I looked back at M-ito and shrugged. Then I nodded at Mom-ita and went back to watching the road.

“You weren’t prioritizing what had to be done first.”

“Mom-ita, I was too!” M-ito shouted from the back seat. “I was too … even though I don’t even know what that means.”

Mom-ita stopped in mid-thought and looked at me. Then all three of us laughed.

A while later M-ito asked, “So what does prioritizing mean?”

Socks Redux

After a month of complaining about socks that were too tight I bought M-ito socks that were big on him – at least two sizes. He wore them on and off for two weeks. A few days ago he finally admitted they were too big.

“These socks are a little big,” were his exact words.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

He nodded.

I got closure on the sock episode. I never would have believed it. He still refuses to put his socks one unless he’s by the front door, but I got closure.