To Be Or Not To Be ... A Robot

I always knew that I would be a parent some day.  Parents are caretakers and disciplinarians.  We provide guidance and boundaries.  We are educators.  That last part, being an educator, is perhaps the least understood aspect of parenthood — well, it was for me anyway.  I suppose I always envisioned imparting my children with wisdom as well as a passion for the things I love and the freedom to pursue their own passions.  Despite my belief that I had considered all of the variables, I clearly hadn’t; though at the time, nothing could have convinced me otherwise.  I also never considered how much they would teach me.

For one, children want things constantly.  Since they aren’t legally required to provide for themselves until age 18 (barring any special circumstances), there’s a good chance you will be their standby whenever needs and desires arise.  Their requests can represent the completely mundane such as “what do you think Flower’s favorite color is?”  Flower, of course, was my daughter’s favorite stuffed toy for a time — a leopard that she’d had since before she could walk.  Your children will also fire off many more serious inquiries your way, with a bit of everything in between as well.  Regardless of the magnitude of any of the queries you will receive, if the answer to anything is no, just say so.  I know that can be much easier said than done at times due to variables such as location and surroundings — both human and non-human — but do your best.  If you think children do not pick up on the inconsistent severity of punishments depending on all such variables, you have another thing coming.  

Let us assume children are far more intelligent than most adults give them credit for.  Since your children know they want things and they know they have to go to you for the things they want, they develop an uncanny sense of when to ask.  Maybe you don’t have the time to provide an explanation to the inevitable followup questions to your “no” response or maybe it’s been a long day and you would rather leave them with an answer that scratches whatever itch they had.  OR MAYBE it’s the day after Christmas and your three-year-old son is asking for your help for the ten-thousandth time in changing Bumble Bee and Optimus Prime from a car into a robot or vice-versa.  I should tell you that these are not ordinary toys.  These toys are the stuff of legend coming from the far east and it takes years to master their ways.  I was still struggling mightily with the conversion on day two.  Ten-thousand attempts was a drop in the bucket on the way to becoming a master.  

It was in that moment that I decided to reveal the truth to my son: Optimus Prime and Bumble Bee want to remain how they are.  How do I know?  They told me.  Nothing can be done because they’ve made their decision.  Surely this logic is full-proof because he doesn’t want to upset Optimus Prime or Bumble Bee, and on top of everything else: it’s bedtime.  I revel in my brilliance as my wife bestows the coveted pat on the back — which didn’t hurt the ego any.

The next day, my son brings me both of his toys and informs me that Optimus Prime and Bumble Bee want to be robots.  It is their desire and my help is needed urgently.  So much for my brilliance.  Lesson learned: never underestimate a three-year-old’s ability to flip the script on you.  On the bright side, I can now change that Optimus Prime toy back and forth in under a minute and the wife is an absolute whiz with Bumble Bee.

Wetness My Shoes

My daughter was born with hypotonia, otherwise known as “low tone.”  In layman’s terms, it means she is incredibly flexible and consequently, her joints are very loose.  It may not sound like much, but this condition could have resulted in severe deformations had we not addressed things at a young age.  For example, we had her fitted by an orthotic specialist so he could make braces for her ankles to hold them straight shortly after her first birthday.  Without her braces, she was only able to cruise — and when she stood, it was on the inside of the sides of her feet, with the bottoms of her feet turned outward.  For those of you having difficulty with the visual, picture this: her big toes were on the outside of her feet where her pinky toes should have been, and her toenails were face down, rather than facing toward the sky.  With her braces, she was literally running across my house within a day — it was amazing!  The braces enabled her body to grow into those loose, stretched-out ligaments, allowed the muscles to strengthen, and facilitated permanent upright walking.

While we welcomed the braces and the benefits they provided; the lingering problem was how slow the process was — my daughter was wearing them for five years and did not progress beyond the braces until she was six.  While it may not sound like much to worry about, there were little bumps along the way that made us look forward to the end of her wearing braces on her legs.  Most notably among those bumps in the road were her shoes.  Her braces were bulky, and forced us to buy sizes that were bigger.  They were also made of a hard plastic that didn’t breathe, thus my daughter always had to wear socks regardless of the weather.  Additionally, we were limited on our choice of sandals during the summer because the sandals had to have enough available adjustments to accommodate the braces comfortably, while still accommodating her constantly growing feet.  The end result was that my daughter ended up wearing boy sandals for years during warmer weather because girl sandals never met the requirements to accommodate her braces.

Fast forward to the first pair of summer sandals we purchased for my daughter after she had progressed beyond her braces and you find my daughter giddy over obtaining a pair of Sketchers “Bob’s” for young girls.  The shoes were pink and sparkly and had a single strap over the arch of her foot near her ankle to secure her foot into a mostly open shoe.  I was under the impression we were looking for summer sandals and here we were, about to purchase “Bob’s.”   They’re not quite a sandal and not quite a shoe, and like most hybrid designs they kind of failed as both.  No amount of talking from her father could change her mind (or her mother’s mind, for that matter).  It didn’t matter that I insisted she wear socks with them, because she was convinced that she could wear them without — probably because my wife had also assured her she could wear her new “sandals” without socks (something I did not discover until later).  When we arrived home, she wanted to wear her new shoes.  She really wanted to wear them without socks as well.  I insisted she wear socks and would hear nothing else about it.  I explained to her that feet sweat a lot (especially feet from my gene pool) and socks were one of the only ways to ensure our shoes didn’t get soaked with sweat and stink like a men’s locker room.

Then the inevitable happened: my wife allowed my daughter to wear her brand new “Bob’s” without socks and without my knowledge.  It was purposefully done behind my back because of my aforementioned stance on wearing socks.  Naturally, she perspired significantly and soaked her shoes.  When she arrived home after a few hours of “mother/daughter time,” she kicked off her “Bob’s,” put them under her bed, and took a nap.  Her mother had worn her out on a hot day, and she was only six, so a quality nap was welcomed by all.

I need to take a moment to mention that at the time, we lived in the high desert.  It gets really hot, and it can get cold as well.  When the weather makes a significant change, spiders would routinely appear in the house.  Everything from Daddy Long Legs to Brown Recluses would be indoors.  When we had a dog and cat, these spider cameos were usually short-lived, though they happened regularly enough for my children to be aware of it.  Perhaps it was the sudden end our pets brought along that made these arachnid cameos memorable.  I obviously cannot say for sure, but it is clear to me that my children remember much more than I expect them to.

After my daughter’s nap, she met me in the kitchen.  She had clearly just woken up as her hair was a bit out of place, though her mind seemed quite alert — she had shaken off the “I just woke up” grogginess.  Her face was intense with thought and alight with excitement; she had something she needed to get off her chest.

“Daddy!  Before I took a nap, I took off my new sandals and put them under my bed,” she advised me, apparently building toward something greater.  “When I woke up, I checked them, and it is wet inside them!”  She delivered this declaration with wide, sparkling eyes that touched me deeply, the way only my daughter can.  Perhaps that is why it took me a split-second longer than usual to gather my thoughts and respond properly.  Or perhaps fate stepped in, because as I was mentally preparing my “your shoes are wet because it was a hot day and you wore your new shoes without socks the way I specifically told you not to” speech (basically, my “I told you so” speech), she offered her own hypothesis, all while wearing the most curious, inquisitive expression.

“I’ve been seeing spiders under my bed, and I think they must have peed in my shoes while I was asleep.”

She was completely serious.  I do not know how I was able to maintain my composure, but evidently, I must have.  I know my face most likely broke into a grin — at least for a split second — though in her moment of deep thought, she completely missed it.  Luck was definitely on my side.  I carefully explained to her that, as sound as her spiders-peed-in-her-shoes theory was, it was more likely that not wearing socks had caused perspiration from her feet to be absorbed entirely by her shoes, thus they were still damp hours later.  I also explained to her that had she worn socks as I had insisted she always do with those shoes when we purchased them, it probably would not have been as bad.  She intimated that she understood, and the story would be amusing had it ended there — but it didn’t end there because a thought struck me: her mother was home and I could have some fun.

“Why don’t we ask your mother and see what she thinks?”  I asked her, and she readily agreed.  My wife happened to be walking toward the kitchen, where my daughter and I had been having our discussion.  I should take a moment to note that I had already had the “I told you so” discussion with my wife while my daughter had been napping because my wife had complained about our daughter’s foot odor resulting from not wearing socks.  Naturally, my wife agreed with me regarding socks moving forward and agreed to have that discussion with our daughter at the conclusion of her nap.  Fast forward to my daughter telling my wife that she woke up to wet shoes under her bed after her nap.  My wife tried to cut her off (not in a rude way, but in a parental way) and provide the valid explanation, but I stopped her from proceeding.

“Why don’t you allow your daughter to finish her thought before you cut across her?”  I advised politely, but firmly.  As my daughter’s back was turned, I attempted to convey to my wife, with a meaningful glance, that she wanted to hear the story, and hoped my face didn’t give away too much.

“You’re right,” my wife told me, “go ahead, mija.  Finish your story,” she said in a thoughtful tone.  “You took off your shoes and put them under your bed before your nap, and when you woke up, your shoes were wet.  Go ahead.”

“Well,” said my daughter as if no interruption had taken place, “there have been spiders in my room a lot, lately.  And when I woke up from my nap, my shoes were wet,” she said with emphasis as if it were her first recanting of the story.  “I think the spiders under my bed must have peed in my shoes while I was sleeping!”

My wife was blindsided.  Unlike me, she was completely unable to contain her amusement.  She burst into instant, hysterical laughter.  It was predictable, but like a classic line in a film, it was welcomed, embraced, and thoroughly appreciated.  The three of us laughed healthily and heartily.  To be a six-year-old child is something few of us can remember.  Spiders must have peed in her shoes during her nap and that’s why her shoes were wet after her shoes had spent the entirety of her nap under the bed.  Of course they did, those pesky spiders.  Of course they did.

The Apple Tree

My home growing up was never about inclusiveness.  This extended to meals.  We never had a table where the family sat to eat.  We never exchanged stories about our day.  If we ever dared to mention any strife, our complaints were dismissed as insignificant and irrelevant, and we were reminded to keep it to ourselves (we were shouted down).  Knowing full well how wrong and damaging this approach can be, my wife and I decided to make meal times more inclusive for our family.  We always eat together, at the table, and we always engage our children, encouraging back and forth with playful banter.

One afternoon, when my children were ages five and seven, we were all eating lunch together and my children were finishing up their apples.  Now these apples had been cut up by my wife and contained zero seeds.  Despite this glaring reality, my seven year old daughter is convinced she has consumed a seed, which prompts her mother to playfully proclaim, "Uh oh!  Now an apple tree is going to grow out of your tummy!"

My five year old son instantly went into a mini-panic-attack at hearing this news (that he clearly believed), grunting his anxiety-filled displeasure.  My daughter, meanwhile, tried to laugh it off, but her face was falling because she clearly had her doubts as to whether or not her mother was teasing her, which prompted her to ask timidly, "Mama, are you just kidding ... (pause) ... or are you telling the truth?"  The note of panic rising in her voice was unmistakable.

Her mother responded with, "Yes!  Of course I am kidding!  The seed will go into your stomach, but you will poop it out like everything else.  You will not grow a tree."  She added reassuringly.

Expressions of instant relief spread across both faces of my children.  ”You will poop it out, and then you will flush the toilet!"  Added my five year old son with enthusiasm.

Of course she will.

The Angry Tummy

My son, age seven, passed on a snack in the afternoon, but by the time dinner was nearly ready, he was interested in a snack.  We vetoed him, of course, since dinner takes priority over a snack and dinner is what we would prefer him to fill up on.  Needless to say, he was very displeased.  He ignored our reassurances that dinner would be ready shortly, and informed us that his tummy was very mad because he was so hungry.

After about five to ten minutes, we called our children into the kitchen for dinner.  Fighting off tears as he entered the kitchen, he stopped by the table without sitting and held his arms in a wide, vertical spread, as if to demonstrate the apex of an alligator’s yawn and asserted, “You made my tummy this mad.”

Resisting the urge to laugh, my wife advised him, “it’s okay, because we’re having taquitos for dinner — your favorite — and your tummy will be much happier once you start eating.”

“It will be much happier, but it will still be this mad (gestures emphatically) because you didn’t let my tummy have a snack!”  He declared dramatically, and then sat down and started to eat.  And eat.  And eat.  And eat ...

Six taquitos later (never mind that his father was stuffed after four), unprompted, he advises his mother, “My tummy is much happier now.  Look at my hands!” He exclaimed as he held his arms in front of him, this time in the closed-mouth alligator.  “Look at my mad part!  It shrunk!!  And it’s this happy!!”  He insisted as he reverted to his apex alligator yawn pose once again.

Of course it is.

Natural Sweetener

Some changes in life simply cannot be helped, especially as a parent of a child with food allergies.  Like most families struggling with dietary restrictions relating to severe allergies, we were completely blindsided when we were forcibly granted lifetime membership.  When you factor in environmental and pet allergies, the situation is irrevocably compounded.  Not only were we blissfully ignorant of the harsh reality of anaphylaxis, we were completely dismissive of the possibility that we could be directly affected.

Before I go any further, I should start by disclosing that I'm not much of a fan of pancakes.  Despite preferring waffles, I do not own a waffle iron and haven't for years.  Consequently, I rarely have any need for syrup, thus I rarely have any syrup in my home.  My wife, oddly enough, makes fantastic pancakes from batter she makes from scratch.  And though they are quite good, my wife almost never cooks anything because I do most of the cooking, thus her pancakes rarely see the hot side of a skillet.  She has made her special pancakes occasionally for my daughter, who loves them as well as the obligatory accompaniment of syrup.  In retrospect, it's the syrup my daughter probably loves the most.  Unfortunately, life-saving dietary restrictions have further limited the presence of pancakes and syrup in our home.

Living in a household struggling with dietary restrictions forced my wife and I to make many changes to our food choice tendencies.  We had to become experts at reading food labels and ingredient lists because lives were quite literally depending on it.  As we reevaluated our food choices, we realized that fewer ingredients meant fewer opportunities for cross-contamination and unnecessary processing, thus were safer to bring into our home.  We switched to many organic products as a result, and ended up with honey in our cupboards in the form of one of those squeezable, bear-shaped bottles when my wife purchased some to sweeten her coffee and tea.  Since I have no sweet tooth, I thought nothing more of the purchase until my wife brought out the squeeze-bear honey for some evening tea.  For some reason, our daughter (who was five years old at the time) was staring intently at my wife.  My wife and I exchanged meaningful looks, but before we could ask what was wrong, our daughter spoke up:

"I like bear syrup!"

We broke into instant laughter and struggled mightily to stifle it to avoid hurting our daughter's feelings.  Luckily, my daughter laughed with us because children sometimes laugh hard when adults do despite not knowing why.  This was one of those times.

How does one explain marketing to their five-year-old daughter?  "That's not syrup," I told her after we had regained most of our composure.  "That's honey.  Your mother is using it to sweeten her tea," I said through a chuckle.  "While I suppose you could use it as syrup, that's not really what it's meant for."

I don't believe in talking down to my children, though their limited experiences in life and general innocence sometimes makes bridging certain gaps a bit of a challenge.  You just need to put it into terms they can relate to:

"You know ‘Winnie The Pooh’ is a bear and likes honey, right?"  I asked her.  She nodded, indicating she was following to that point.  "That's because real bears like honey as well.  Most people know that, so they package them in bear-shaped containers so they can sell more."

Though we could see the wheels churning, leading us to believe she may want to ponder further, her response was quite prompt:

"No.  That's bear syrup," she said with a tone dripping with unwavering conviction that can only come from my wife's daughter.  Her expression was even more resolute than her words and we all burst into hysterics once again.

It’s bear syrup!  Of course it is.

A Fatherhood Perspective

Fatherhood is a shared experience.  We share it with our partners (if we are lucky enough to have one), as well as our children.  There is a brotherhood among fathers as we all have milestones and life events that parallel one another.  Keeping to that theme, it's worth noting that I'm not the first to create a blog about my experiences as a father, nor will I be the last, because all of our shared experiences are uniquely ours, regardless of the parallels.  Beyond the obviousness of variables such as race, religion, and socioeconomics, the variables that provide the most depth for our experiences as fathers are our children.  We have heard plenty about what parents have to say about the experience.  My hope is to provide a voice for my children.

Parental Guidance: words to live by.  We hear these words constantly whether we’re parents or not — but what do these words mean?  If parents are expected to provide guidance, who guides us?  Children are born, but without working instructions.  The reason I say working instructions is because there actually are easily accessible instructions that exist for parenting (this revelation may even be greeted with some optimism).  Unfortunately, those instructions are provided in the form of unwanted advice from your parents and peers who are unwilling to admit they are just as clueless as you are with regard to parenting.  Following available instructions from those around you (or the Internet) can make parenting feel like trying to assemble that new Asian-made toy that comes with a billion pieces all while trying to follow a guide that has been translated a few times before it finally makes its debut in your native tongue, though they’ve clearly been translated by someone without a comprehensive working knowledge of your native tongue.  Confusion and frustration will follow by default — which is pretty much par for the course.

Raising children is a lot like building a house, only from the perspective of an architect or builder trying to learn the craft with on the job training — learn as you go, so to speak.  Although you aren’t likely to try to build something profound that the public relies on without first becoming proficient in the craft (like a skyscraper or suspension bridge), that’s exactly what you’re doing when you become a parent: jumping in with both feet for a round of “sink or swim” that never seems to end.  You may not think comparing the building of an important structure to raising a child is as valid as I would have you believe, but consider this: all world leaders were raised by someone.  What if your child becomes a world leader or does something that the public depends on?  Luck favors the prepared for a reason.

The journey from child to adult is a collection of steps I need to become more familiar with.  Much like the buildings and bridges I've encountered in my travels: some assembly is required.  We'll get there.