And I thought my mother was interested in all that I had to tell her.

But now, decades later, as my son sits on the couch shouting to me things like, “Daddy! This girl in Minecraft has her own cat!” or “Daddy, listen to this Demi Lovato song!” that I have come to the shocking realization that my mother had absolutely zero interest in what I was telling her.

In retrospect, I can’t imagine why she’d want to know the current batting average of Jack Clark or hearing me read the entire article of the Curious Case of Sidd Finch, but she somehow would add enough “mmmm-hmmm’s” to make me feel like she cared.

And as I sit here decades later, I find myself saying “mmmmm-hmmmm” a lot and I think back to my mother and say, “Well played, Mom. Well played.”

You are 22 months old and I want you to know that in spite of all that has happened in my life during that time, I thank God that you are here to bless my life.

In the past several months, you have transformed from a baby to a full-fledged toddler. You are communicating at an amazing rate and while your diction leaves a little to be desired, I have learned to speak fluent Girly – which makes hanging out with you a lot of fun.

One thing that I have come to love about you is your sense of humor. You know how to ham it up with a silly face and laugh at whatever the world has presented. You have even learned to use good old gas-passing as humor, which I discovered the other night when I lay you in your crib and you suddenly shouted, “Toot-Toot, Daddy!” and you let out a rather loud noise from your nether-regions, giggling mischievously as you looked into my eyes with pure joy lighting up the darkness of the room. Of course, I laughed too. Because fart jokes are always funny.

And that mischievousness also is evident in other ways. You know when you shouldn’t be doing something and when you are caught, let’s say, sneaking a granola bar from the pantry, you don’t wallow in pity or look at me with puppy-dog eyes begging for forgiveness. No, you take off running with your little hand clutching the contraband like a vice.

As you can see, you can be quite a handful. You are opinionated, loud, full of energy, hard-headed and filled with a spark that lights up the room. And I love every damn minute of it.

Someday, you won’t be little girls with ribbons in your hair and stains from Crayola markers adorning your hands. Someday, you will be all grown up and finding your place in this big, yet small, world. This is what I hope for you…

Despite much change, it’s still a man’s world when it comes to getting ahead in life. They shape how much you get paid, what you should wear and how you should look. Don’t buy into that. The most successful women aren’t the ones who accept the status quo – they are the ones that look the patriarchy in the eye without blinking and blaze their own path. I hope that you find the strength to be true to yourself – not to what any man (or woman, for that matter) thinks you should be.

I hope that you grow up not needing the embrace of a man to make you feel whole. I want you to know you are whole now. No man can give you what you already have inside.

But when it comes to settling down (if that’s where your heart leads) I hope you find a man (or woman, for that matter) that each and every day feels damn lucky to be with you. And I hope you feel the same way. I hope you find that person that understands that two can be stronger than one.

I hope you never look at yourself in the mirror and think anything other than, “I’m beautiful.” You are imperfectly perfect and being comfortable with who you are and not what anyone else – men or media alike – says you should be will lift you up when the world tries to drag you down. Be yourself. Love yourself. Nothing else matters.

And while we’re on the subject, I hope you don’t live your life based on what you think others will think of you. Don’t waste energy on what other people think. Chances are, they are too worried about what others think of them to spend too much time thinking about you. Live your life! Be free from the chains of expectations that will yoke you to the ground like turkeys and prohibit you from flying with the eagles where you belong.

And finally, I hope you lift other women up rather than tear them down. There’s room at the top for everyone and for every woman who is where they want to be, there are many more who could use a helping hand. Refrain from tearing others down to make yourself look better. Instead, give a helping hand and realize that your successes don’t come at the expense of others, they come when you are true to yourself and to women everywhere.

Oh, and call your father. He loves you.

We had your parent-teacher conference yesterday. In it, your teacher told us of your fantastic reading skills (4th grade level) and your burgeoning math skills and how well you are doing in your classes. She showed us your reading scores and your math scores and we went over areas that we could help you (apparently you’re only just average when it comes to interpreting graphs and charts). It was great to hear how well you are doing.

And as I asked how you were in class, the teacher said, “She’s quiet. Not that it’s a bad thing! She’s just quiet. Every now and then she’ll answer a question but most of the time she’s quiet.”

And that is what I found most interesting difference between you and your brother’s conferences. Your brother participates fully and is clearly a class favorite. You are quiet. But when I look at the test scores, it becomes clear that you could give your brother a run for his money any day of the week and twice on Sunday. Your verbal scores are on par with his. Your math scores are right on par with his. But you’re quiet.

When asked about how you are socially, your teacher told me that you are “really sweet and really smart…” and she held out her hands as if to say that you are perfectly balanced. And then she added five words that I found better than any talk about how smart you are…. “And she works really hard.”

I love that you work hard. Indeed, a strong work ethic will take you farther than intelligence. The world is filled with smart, lazy people my dear and I am glad to see that you are a triple threat in the intelligence/work ethic/personality realm.

But it does make me a tad bitter that just because you are quiet, you don’t get the cheering that your brother does. His personality and, perhaps, him being a boy, makes it more acceptable to be really good at school. For as long as you two have been in school, your brother is good at math and you are good at reading. That’s just the label that’s been placed. But I think it’s time to recognize that you are a bright, shining star in everything that you do.

You shine too bright to be in anyone’s shadow my darling daughter. May the light you exude never be extinguished.

We met with your teacher today. I have come to enjoy these conferences as it allows me to bask in the glory of TheMonk. We’ve been doing this for three years now and every conference comes down to this… You are an incredibly smart little boy. As your teachers go over test scores and writing samples and we see perfect score after almost-perfect score, it is nice to hear that you are doing so well. It’s a testament to your hard work and your mother’s attention during homework and your natural curiosity that has propelled you to such heights. You are a very good student. Today, in fact, your teacher gushed that she thinks you have a shot to get a perfect score on the upcoming standardized testing. “Only 18 students in the district scored a perfect score last year.” She said.

But I don’t care about tests. You are good at taking tests and that skill will take you far in a world that doesn’t know how to judge anyone than by comparing them to a mean. I think it’s safe to say that you are above the mean. And for that I am proud. But what I am more proud of is the stories we inevitably hear about your character.

At some point during the conference I always ask, “How is he doing socially?” I ask this because I want to know how you relate to your peers. I want to know how you treat others. I want to know that not only are you a good student but that you are living the values your mother and I have worked hard to instill.

Last year, your teacher told us the following story. “I sat TheMonk next to a boy who is on the spectrum. This boy had a habit of doing his work and checking TheMonk’s work to compare his to your son’s work. After a while I could tell that TheMonk was bothered by this. He is such a good rule follower that it was visibly bothering him that the boy was looking at his work. After a while, I decided to move TheMonk so that he wouldn’t be stressed about this anymore. Now, even though he sits at another table, whenever he finishes his work, he walks over to the boy that used to stress him out and checks in with him to see if he needs help.”

That story, Monkey, brings tears of pride to my eye just thinking about it. You have a heart of gold and you are filled with a kindness that I pray never diminishes. And then, today, your teacher and I spoke about a boy in your class who you have mentioned at home. This boy is a selective mute and does not speak at school. No one at your school has heard him speak. I asked your teacher about this boy and I could tell that she was very moved by this boy who has gone through “terrible things.” As she told us of this boy who does not talk I thought back to your stories about this boy and how you play with him at recess. “We played superheroes today and Joseph* played too. His superpower was superhuman strength.” I asked you how you knew what his superpower was. “I just went up to him and asked him what he wanted his superpower to be and then I started listing possible powers until he nodded yes.”

You shared this so matter of fact. And as I learned that this boy has had “terrible things” happen to him it made me tear up again at how much your friendship must mean to him. You give him a voice, son. You tell him that he matters. And while you probably don’t realize the true impact your friendship means to a boy who chooses not to speak, I gave you an extra kiss tonight at bed and I told you how proud I am of you.

Your teacher is right. You are a great test taker. You’re kicking ass in the test of life.

(* not his real name)

Once upon a time, there was a boy named Gustav. Gustav was just like any other kid. He played with cars and did well at at school. He loved sweets too. But what he loved most was Raspberry Sorbet.

One hot day he was dying for some raspberry sorbet. But he didn’t have any money. “How can I buy some raspberry sorbet if I don’t have money?” he thought. He thought about his conundrum as he walked along the busy road to the sorbet shop. Then, it hit him. “I KNOW!!” he exclaimed. “I’ll dance and sing along this busy road and ask for donations! Maybe I’ll earn enough for some raspberry sorbet.”

But then he began to worry. “What if people laugh at me?” he thought. “What if people think my dancing and singing is terrible and they make fun of me?” Thinking of how others would think of him was making him nervous and scared. But then he thought of how much he loved raspberry sorbet. And how much he loved to sing and dance. And suddenly HE DIDN’T CARE WHAT OTHER PEOPLE THOUGHT! He began to dance and wiggle and shimmy and shake and he DANCED! He started to sing too! His voice overcoming the sounds of the cars at the busy intersection and, before he knew it, people started showering him with money. Coins and bills were dumped at his feet as he boogied up and down the sidewalk and before long he had made a tremendous amount of money.

It was so much money that he struggled to collect it all up. But when he did, he staggered along to the Sorbet Shop and asked the owner if he had enough to buy some Raspberry Sorbet. After counting it all up, the owner exclaimed, “Son, not only do you have enough to buy some raspberry sorbet, you have enough money to buy the whole shop!”

And with that, Gustav bought his very own Sorbet Shop and he ate Raspberry Sorbet whenever he felt like it. All because he didn’t care what others would think of him and he did what he loved.

The end.

Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind. – Dr. Seuss

And then I added something I haven’t had to add before… “You are getting a timeout!”

I picked you up and placed you in the nearest corner. I wondered how you would react. Would you stay there? Would you understand what was happening? I needn’t have wondered, however, because even at 20 months, you seem to understand everything. You sat there for the duration of the timeout – which was only about a minute but seemed so much longer.

When I told you that timeout was done, I picked you up onto your feet and it was clear that you wanted to make amends. Your mother was sitting nearby and you sought comfort in her arms and then you turned to me and toddled into my arms and gave me a hug and then a kiss. You were sorry.

And so it begins. For me, I am sometimes torn between what needs disciplining (although in this case, hitting was clearly deserving of punishment) and what needs to be encouraged. For instance, you run away from me often, laughing mischievously as you escape my clutches.  You throw food onto the ground when you don’t want to eat it and you sometimes turn a deaf ear when you don’t want to hear what I’m saying.

And while I am contemplating what to do, I am often reminded of the saying, “Well-behaved women rarely make history.”  I am keenly aware that how I shape your reaction to authority will have an impact on who you become. Yes, I want you to be polite and courteous, but I also want you to feel comfortable challenging authority and following your heart rather than following someone else’s plan for you (and every other child). You are unique. You are special. You can be anything you want to be, little girl. I want you to be sure of that.

So let’s hope this timeout only prevents you from hitting people in the face.

I have been able to spend a lot of one-on-one time with you the last few weeks. Between your daycare provider going on vacation, you being sick, me leaving my job, there’s been a lot of opportunity for us to bond even more. This is making me feel so incredibly good because I never did take a paternity leave with you like I did with your brother and sister. Circumstances made it difficult and I regret not taking that time. But now I have the time and it’s been an incredible experience to not only get to know you but have the opportunity to feel like I’m contributing to your development.

I have been playing with you a lot these past few weeks and it is amazing to me how quickly you absorb information. It hasn’t been all that long since we’ve begun reading nightly bedtime stories but you can now help me finish the rhymes on your favorite book, “I know a Rhino.” At first I thought it was coincidence that you were making sounds that were similar to the words but now I know that it’s deliberate. You know the rhyme and you say it with me, which is pretty damn cool.

You also know the names to the facial features as we get dressed after a bath, you lie on the changing table and point to my hair and say “hair” in your cute 19-month voice. You point to my eyes, nose, ears and teeth and repeat these as well. And then, as I blow raspberries on your freshly-washed belly, you laugh and point and say, “Belly!”

And finally, you love to sing. If you have heard a tune a few times, you will sing along to it, reciting lyrics only you know but it’s clearly in the tune of the song you’re either listening to or just heard. Today, we had a good time singing “The more we get together” as I readied you for your nap. After we had stopped singing together and I gathered you to put you in your crib, you continued your own little solo. Your smile as you sang lit up the room.

You are growing up so fast and learning words at a dizzying pace. You have an outgoing personality and a smile and laugh that is intoxicating. You give kisses and raspberries and hugs. You wave and say “bye-bye” emphatically and, if the person is really special, even blow kisses.

I love the little girl that you have become, sweet one. And I’m equally glad that I’m here to see it.

Love,
Daddy.

As GirlyGirl and I return to the house after the twins are sent packing, I sit down and contemplate what to do next. GirlyGirl, sensing my funk perhaps, heads to the pantry and returns with a bag of Doritos. She looks at me and says, “chip” – which clearly translates into, “Look, you know you can’t drink while it’s just you and me but let’s hit this bag of Doritos like it hurt you.” What the heck. We break into the bag. It’s 9:00 a.m.

The rest of the day I do laundry.

Day 2: Sporting a slight Dorito-induced hangover, I wake up with a sense of purpose and declare that the day will not get the best of me. I make the kids breakfast before taking them to spend the day with their mother. It is then that I realize that I have time to myself. This is not a good thing. Before I know it, I’m cleaning the house like CPS was on the way. Clutter is being tossed, floors are being mopped, that pile under the coffee table that’s been hiding for years meets its demise. I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. Everywhere I turned there was something to clean. Even the cats realized what was up and disappeared before they made the list.

At some point I couldn’t remember what day it was. OH MY GOD! IT’S ONLY BEEN TWO DAYS AND I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT DAY IT IS?!! My life is now clearly devoid of meaning.

Before picking up the kids, I head to the grocery store to pick up food for the week. I nearly break down in tears when I catch myself doing the unthinkable. I actually considered buying non-rBGH-free milk. OH MY GOD! WHAT HAS BECOME OF ME?! HAS MY LIFE STOOPED TO BUYING POISONED MILK FOR MY KIDS?!!! I compromise and buy organic whole milk for GirlyGirl and the poisoned milk for Swee’Pea and TheMonk. Yes, it has come to this. I have my favorite. Sue me.

I throw in a load or two of laundry.

Day 3: TheMonk wakes up with a fever. This is okay because I had talked myself into being super dad and taking everyone to the park to feed wildlife and possibly snacking on McDonald’s french fries. Instead, we hunker up at home and, hello, NFL playoffs on TV? Don’t mind if I do!

Somewhere between the first and second quarter of the Niners-Falcon’s game, I remember that the kids have a science project due this week. In fact, it is due on Tuesday and, as I learned yesterday, today is Sunday. So we break out the pennies and glass and water for a water displacement experiment and a magnet and various things metal and non-metal and get all scientific. We take photos of the experiment. By the time we are done, the Niners are on their way to the Super Bowl. Now, the kids are decorating their display boards in preparation of presenting their experiment. They finish right about the time Tom Brady is pouting while wearing a beanie on the sideline.

I do a couple of loads of laundry.

Day 4: It’s Monday but the kids are all at home because Martin Luther King Jr. decided to do all of this heroic stuff and now I must suffer for it. TheMonk is still fighting the fever so we cannot go anywhere. I spend most of the day trying desperately to keep the house looking clean. The words, “OH MY GOD! WE LIVE LIKE PIGS!” may have escaped from my mouth.

At this point, I have clarity on why I liked working so much – it keeps me sane from my kids. I decide I should probably be looking for a job and fire up the internet to propel me to employment.

The jobs are not inspiring.

I head out for a bit. Andrea helps the kids finish their science project. When I return, she informs me that the science project is not due until NEXT Tuesday. My bad.

I do a load of laundry.

Day 5: It’s Tuesday. I think. The twins are ushered off to school with a nutritious lunch made lovingly the night before. But before I can taste freedom, I make the mistake of taking GirlyGirl’s temperature. Dammit. It looks like another day with GirlyGirl. And we’re out of Doritos.

I find more things to de-clutter and clean. The downstairs bathroom gets hosed down and the exercise equipment that’s been sitting in a corner of the den for years gets moved to the garage. I move my IKEA book case that I brought back from my office into the playroom and use it for toy storage. This cleaning and organizing is like a sickness. I can’t stop.

I do another load of laundry.

Day 6: It’s Wednesday. Almost one week from when I left my job and I finally have a day to myself. Up until now, this unemployment thing has looked decidedly similar to parenting – albeit with a cleaner house.

With all of this free time I go to Starbucks in the morning, lunch with a friend at mid-day and hanging out at Panera in the afternoon.

Once I am at home I plan on applying for a job or two.

Oh, and doing a load of laundry.

It was a tough moment in a series of tough moments these past six months. So many thoughts swirled through my head while my hand scribbled the words, “Effective today…” I thought of my kids and my ex-wife and how they depended on me to be there for them. I thought of all the joy my job has brought me and how much I loved what I do. I thought of how much I loved building that Y and giving the community something special. But it is time to move on.

And as I say the things I need to say to myself to keep going, things like, “when one door closes, another opens” or “the best is yet to come,” I feel better but it just barely masks the feeling that I don’t know if I’ve ever felt in my lifetime… failure.

The kids cried tonight when I told them I was leaving the Y. They cried for the camp counselors they love and what the Y has meant to them over the years. I cried too. I told them that it’s okay to be sad but that things will be okay.

And they will be. Fortunately, I have some time to figure things out. The uncertainty that lies ahead is certainly scary and daunting but I look forward to new challenges and a new opportunity to be the leader I want to be. Sometimes, a fresh start is what’s needed.

And I will hold my head high and be the role model my kids need me to be. They need to see that in challenging times, good things happen. I am determined to show them that this is true.

But it does seem I’ll have to enroll them in camp in the spring. Good thing the Y gives financial assistance.