Dad 101 - Ten things men should know about parenting:

3. Earn it...don't demand it!

I've heard this comment more times than I can count, "Respect is earned...not demanded." Yet with my children I sometimes have the tendency to think that there might be some exception to the rule of this statement. Somehow the fact that they are innocent, young, and immature gives me the idea that I, as an adult, deserve their respect regardless, period! For me it is not that hard to evaluate the true value of this perception. All I have to do is rewind the clock of my own journey through life and try to remember who were the individuals that I respected the most during my childhood and why I felt that way. It is true that during my childhood it was inconceivable to behave in a disrespectful manner towards elders, but this really had very little to do with how much I respected them deep inside. My outward appearance of respect towards someone else probably holds less than five percent the value or my overall inward assessment of the individual in question.

True respect is much more than learned behavior and it has very little to do with any demands imposed by the individual that is being assessed. In fact, just because social customs and ethics rule my outside behavior, it does not mean that they also rule my mind. Think about it, how many times have you been at the beach or next to a wonderfully looking pool filled with nice clear template water during an extremely intense hot day? Does your mind not wish you could take off all your clothes and dive in totally naked? On the other hand, how many times have you acted on this mental image and impulse? If you knew that you were all alone, would you take off all your clothes and jump in? My social behavior is mostly governed by the rules I have learned as a child based on the society in which I live in. The point is, my outward behavior of being respectful towards others does not always match my inwards feelings on the same subject. This is as true now as it also was when I was a child.

I should not be surprised that the rules in my mind have not really changed much with the passage of time. However, many rules have been altered considerably in the last 30 years in the outside world that surrounds me. I no longer live in the days in which nudity, profanity, and violence are relegated to adult eyes only. Everywhere I look today humanity's true inner impulses are open to public display via television shows, movies, news, music, and even children's video games. No matter how hard I might try to shield my children from it all, eventually I will lose because I am one and they are way too many for me to have any realistic control over. For this same reason I should not expect my children to have the same degree of self control as I was able to develop as a child with respect to their outward behavior. I am not washing my hands from the responsibility of teaching them and hopefully being able to censor as much as possible their ability to access today's reality, I am simply stating the facts that I cannot pretend that they won't somehow, sometimes be exposed and influenced by it.

Today, more than ever, my job as a father is much less about teaching my children to respect me and other adults, as much as it really is about making sure that I earn their respect. I might still be able to teach them social skills on how to address their elders regardless of how they feel towards them deep inside, but it is extremely doubtful that I will be able to demand the same respect that was demanded from me all of the time as a child. In fact, I contend that demanding respect is today as effective as demanding that the guy at the corner quickie store must sell you the winning numbers for tomorrow's lottery drawing...good luck with that!
So what can I do as a father to truly earn my children's respect? Some of the answers are obvious and I am sure you have already thought about them too. I can start with giving a good example on my own behalf. I can make sure that they see how I respect my own parents, my spouse or life partner, and of course my children too. Self respect is a crucial lesson. Do I honestly believe that they will respect me if I spend my time involved in conducting risky or unhealthy behavior? They might grow up to be outstanding men and women because they learned from me the things that they should not do, but this will not help my cause in earning their respect. My attitude towards awkward moments with strangers is more important because of how I exercise self control, than because of winning or losing. When someone cuts me off on the freeway, it really does not help my cause to yell out the window or flip the bird at the individual that just did this to me. On the other hand, if I am able to take a deep breath, exhale, and let it roll off my previously altered skin, during that 15 second experience my children have just learned that I am a bigger man for taking the higher road and not acting out in anger.

A few months ago as I was driving off a freeway exit with my mother, oldest sister, and my five year old niece in my car, a drunk driver unexpectedly ran into us from behind. Fortunately for us we were in a much larger car than the culprit of the accident and we did not suffer any major injuries. At the moment of the accident somehow I went into an emotional autopilot mode and calmly asked everyone in my car if they were OK, and then proceeded outside to help the drunk man get out of his own totally destroyed vehicle. After calling the police I even called a tow truck for the other party in the accident since he was not in any condition to do so himself. As frustrated as I was with the moment, the fact that everyone in the vehicles had survived, instantly made me thankful and I realized that the rest was all just "stuff" that could be replaced. Eventually the cops came, tow vehicle also arrived, and soon we all went on our way to continue our existence. On our departure my mom made the comment that she was impressed that at no moment in time I had lost my cool and that I had taken it all in strides. To me, that was the biggest compliment that she could ever give me because I have worked really hard in the last few years to learn to control my anger and not allow these kind of moments to rule me and in the process set a terrible example to my children. My kids were not in the car, yet my drive to be a better father leading by example has truly made me a better person which I hope is worthy of their respect.

One of the most common mistakes I have found myself making with regards to earning respect from my two sons is my inability to sometimes project a more positive outlook on their childish mistakes. Even though I know better and truly understand that they are still not men, I too often find myself putting some of their "boys will be boys" behavior into a higher expectation category than I really should. It may sound normal for me as a father to assume the stricter and more stringent personality because of my desires to make men out of my boys, but I am under the impression that this behavior does very little for my cause towards earning their respect. They are children, they are supposed to make all of those mistakes, and at the least instead of looking down on them when this happens, I think it would be much more beneficial to allow them to make their own self assessment of their downfalls. I know of nobody that enjoys being looked down upon, much less when the reasons for those heavy eyes landing critically on their person take an air of superiority. Instead, now I am trying to learn how to lower myself to their level when mistakes happen, and allow them to tell me why they think it is or is not OK to do what in my mind perceive as wrong. What this compromise of minds gives me is the opportunity to learn how they think and also show them that they, just as I, do not have to agree in order to respect each other's opinion. In the end, is that not a much better lesson than demanding they respect my own ideals and way of life?

I wish I would of known these things sooner. I am sure that our mutual understanding and respect would be much more solid. If from the get go I would of taken the time to listen more than to demand, the walls I am now having to climb in order to understand my teenage son's decision processes would be much lower. It is not so much about regrets as it is about having to work much harder to undo some of the damage done because of my inexperience and lack of wisdom. My best advice with regards to gaining the respect of my children is that I should pay much more attention to my own behavior than to theirs. If I spend all my time watching, correcting, and judging them, then what time do I have to discover my own flaws that are creating the wrong impression about me in their minds? I need to try to be honest with myself by carrying an imaginary mirror to watch the reflection of my own actions. Am I proud of what is reflected? I must learn to earn their respect by being able to respect myself first.

Dad

Dad 101 - Ten things men should know about parenting:

2. They are watching you.

There is no way that anyone can be the perfect role model at all times. Every once in a while you are going to blow a fuse and say something out of line, make mistakes, and obviously teach the exact opposite lesson to your children with your actions. The truth is that as much as a child might idealize you, he or she does not expect you to be perfect all the times. It is how you deal with those moments in your life in which the true lesson resides. So in essence, even though I could go on and on writing about all of the things that are bad examples and you should not do in front of your children, this post is really more about the things you do right than it is about the ones you screw up.

My children are not strangers in my lives. Even though I might tend to make my first impression with respect to the people I randomly meet in life the most impacting towards my opinion and assessment of their persona, this is not the case with my kids. With them I have the opportunity to allow them to really get to know me and learn from me ALL of the time. The key is to understand that the younger they are, the more impacting my behavior is to their overall evaluation of what is wrong and what is right. I might think that a sarcastic comment might go totally unnoticed, but the reality is that they are watching me all the time and not once while they are at any of their sensory ranges will it be missed. If I am constantly making sarcastic remarks, there is a really good chance that they will learn this behavior and incorporate it into their personality too.

When I was a young boy one of the things that is most prevalent in my mind today as an adult is the memory of my father joking around and being light hearted about many things. I rarely have any recollection of him talking about people, neither good or badly. He was an incredibly social person, yet I have no memories of him criticizing anyone in particular. That was such a wonderful lesson for me as a child, the fact that I could have great social interaction with others without having to turn any conversation into gossip. I am sure that in the privacy of his relationship with my mother, they probably exchanged opinions of friends and family members, but in public this behavior was completely absent.

I will not advocate or critique anyone for smoking or drinking. In fact, my father was a heavy smoker and a social drinker. However, I rarely saw him intoxicated. During family gatherings he would drink and have a wonderful time with everyone around him, which taught me that moderation was the key to being in control of my actions. From his heavy smoking I learned that addictions are tough to beat and can make my life and that of those around me very frustrating. Again, it is not about what I do right or wrong, it is how I do it and deal with any fallout or consequence. I am aware that even though I teach my children by example, the example is not just a single act or behavior, it is my entire demeanor and attitude that gets sucked in by those young sponges that are my kids.

Because I did not think that I needed help in dealing with my own anger, I went through much of my kid's childhood teaching them that it was OK to once in a while let it all out. My anger never reached the point of breaking things or much less being physically abusive to anyone, but the simple fact that I was angry and would once in a while go on a rant of raising my voice and saying out loud everything that was frustrating the crap out of me taught my children the wrong lesson. Soon I found my oldest son doing the exact same thing and colliding with me when this happened. When we realized that this was totally unhealthy we both went and got help. Neither one of us is perfect, but going together to find other ways to deal with our anger was a lesson that has paid off handsomely. Interestingly, learning to deal with these issues at a younger age makes my son a much better student than myself. Old dog and new tricks are much less effective. All and all the lesson did not end by learning other ways to deal with our anger, it also went a long way in learning that sometimes we need help in order to find the right answers to our questions.

I need to set a good example on the little things too. I cannot allow their mother's birthday, Mother's Day, and other special holidays to go by without taking them with me to learn to get their mom something nice. Nice does not mean expensive, it means thoughtful and expressive in their gratitude towards her. If I don't teach them, who will? Also, the way I behave towards my own parents and elders will definitely make an impression on their eventual attitude towards their parents and elders. Hugs and kisses are free and rarely rejected by anyone. If they see me hugging my mom, they too will be much more inclined to love their grandma, and hug their own mother too. Eye contact during greetings, pats on the back, and good wishes during farewells are just simple gestures that go a long way when they are learned at an early age.

I learned from my parents that it is not only right to be compassionate towards those that have less than I do, it is also good for my soul. I need to allow my children to see me not just give money to a homeless person, but also talk to them, interact with them. It is not about how much I give, it is about how I give. Children have very little concept of the difference between one dollar and twenty dollars, yet if I go into my closet and pull out a blanket and bring it to someone that is cold, trust me when I tell you that this image will be recorded in their minds and hearts for all of their life. My father did it, and I am still to this moment proud of him for doing so. The positive lessons that I teach my children will definitely stay with them and contribute to their ability to be good parents too.

Finally, something that you might not think is that important yet I am of the school of thought that it truly is, be kind to animals in their presence. I do not have to like cats to say something nice about them planting the seed that as contentious as they may seem, they are cute and after all a deserving part of kindness in this world. The kindness that I show towards any animal, especially a home pet, will go miles deep into my children's emotional attitude towards living things in general. It is interesting to know that studies have shown that many socially maladjusted individuals were cruel to animals. The degree of my human compassion is an amazingly important lesson that is typically considered a learned behavior.

I need to tell them, show them, and make sure that they know that Iu love them. My life is fueled by the knowledge that good things surround me. Emotional gifts are significantly more important than any toy or gadget that I buy for my kids. On the outside they may be begging for me to spend money on some new game, but in the inside they are also begging for me to spend time with them doing anything that brings us closer to each other. Once they are at the age in which they prefer to go to the movies with their friends rather than with me, I must break the pattern of allowing life to just go by and entice them with their favorite place to eat so that we can still find time to share a moment together. When they start drifting apart because of normal teenage behavior, I need to dig deep into my own teenage experiences and find some common ground, anything that makes them feel that I understand them. At that age they are totally engrossed with their friends. Instead of finding what is wrong with their friends, I search for what might be right and say it out loud so that I can still connect with their hearts even if am not not able to connect with their mind. Trust me when I tell you that love is the key, not money, not reasoning, and especially not judging. From the moment they were born their eyes fixated on me, and that is no coincidence. What that means is that they are watching me to learn.

Dad

Dad 101 - Ten things men should know about parenting:

1. Boys are NOT made of steel.

I still kick myself every time I realize how high my expectations and demands have been while raising my oldest son. What have I been thinking? Were my parents also this strict and demanding on my oldest sister? If so, I might feel a little relieved by the knowledge that most new parents eventually realize that some of the rules imposed and the overall behavioral expectations towards their first born were just unreasonable. The simple act of pulling out old pictures of when my boys were younger typically makes me go down this road of parental remorse. At every stage of his life my oldest son always appears to me as behaving too immature for his age, but when I look back at images of him from the past I then realize he was just a boy and obviously not as big as I made him out to be in my mind. How do I stop this from happening? To make things worse, I also realize that it never happens with my youngest son. On the contrary, to me he seems too mature for his age, which is also most likely an incorrect assumption of my part. The double standards that reveal themselves in this kind of erroneous parental baseline cannot be healthy for either one of my boys.

I have observed this to be true with other parents too, but when the subject comes up between adults it is typically dismissed as "oh well, too bad." Somehow these unfair parenting techniques find themselves justified by the fact that the child grew up to be a good adult so it couldn't of done any harm to raise them this way in the first place. I am personally not sure that this is a healthy mentality to promote towards parenting, but I am also not sure that there is any way around the problem either. In my early parenting days so very little formal advice worth promoting had been published that we heavily relied on the advice from elders. Today it might even be more difficult to know what is right and what is wrong since there are so many different schools of thought on the subject and it seems almost impossible to narrow down the success of any of them. I am by no means an expert on this subject, but there is one thing I can testify to, and that is the fact that the oldest child in a household most definitely has it the roughest.

The years go by, and now when my oldest son is finally at the age of 17 I realize that raising him has taught me probably more than I have been able to teach him. At what price I ask myself? What has been the cost of me learning to be a better father and can it be measured in any negative effects to his own self esteem and mental growth? More importantly can I still at this stage find a way to make it right and give him the fair equivalent of what a good father should be, or is it too late to make amends and undo any of the damage that my rookie parenting might of caused in him? I am not claiming that I am a terrible father, not at all. In fact I know that overall I have been more than patient and that my love has flowed into his person as it should from a good dad to a good son. This is not so much a moment of regrets, as it is of honesty and self assessment. Even more to the point, this is about letting any of you that might be starting on your journey into parenthood appreciate the value of a free lesson in the subject of Dad 101.

He always looked so damn big to me! Why? His tiny hands should of been an instant indication that even though he looked as if he truly was "Superman," in fact the most that he could of been at that age was "Superboy." Even so, I should of always kept in mind that just as I seem to be strong and fit, I too am not made of steel. It is easy for those around us to visualize us as strong males with very little space for the weaknesses of our emotions, but this is rarely true with any man, much less any child. If you are of the opposite gender, you might think that it is easier for us to brush it off, let it slide, and to get on with our lives when we get hurt. On the contrary, I contend that the fact that we internalize a lot of our emotions might make us even weaker in the end. The fact is that we hurt just as much as anyone else, and all things considered, a male child is not one bit stronger emotionally than a female child.

If I could do it all over again, I know that I would get a lot more of my parenting right. It is easy to say this after having to deal with so much harder issues with my son in his teenage years than those that were sporadically creeping their head when he was much younger. I just hope that as time goes by and my children become men, they are able to take some of these words I am now writing and use them while raising their own kids.

So the lesson for you, dad, is that boys are not made of steel. Your first born might always give you the appearance that he should be doing this or that better by his age, but when you find yourself grading his abilities, behaviour, and maturity, it would serve you well to go back into that big box of pictures you still have not put into albums and take a closer look at him from the day he was born until the present moment. If you look at those images and he looks so small, so childish, and so innocent, then you might realize that indeed that is who he really was at the time, a little boy and not "Superboy." At all times this child will always be younger and less experienced than you so don't expect him to be perfect because he is work in progress just like you still are when it comes to parenting.

Dad

Taking my sanity pill...

I tend to work myself up into being upset about some of my oldest son's behavior even though I should by now already be used to it. I think the fact that I can't control my own frustration is unfortunately the main reason for my frustration in the first place. Pretty dumb, huh? I feel like the rain cycle chart that teachers would show us in primary school that displayed how the sun heats up the land and ocean creating water vapor which rises into the sky and which eventually forms clouds of rain that falls down into the land and ocean all over again. What bothers me the most is that I should be grateful enough that the weather is calm at home, and not get upset about what in retrospect are not that big of a deal things, but unfortunately I sometimes can't seem to help myself and still find a way to blow a temporary fuse.

A while back I made several investments to make my son's room more appealing so that he would want to sleep in his room instead of the family room. In that process I made sure that he had to contribute both financially and idea wise so that there would be some form of investment on his end to the buy-in process of what would change in his room. It actually worked and to my relief he finally moved out of my family room allowing me to have a bit of normalcy and cleanliness in that area of our home. Suddenly he is back to falling asleep on the couch in the family room because of its easy access to the outside of the house for smoking. I know, you probably are thinking why do I even allow him to smoke at age 17? Well, I tried to keep him off tobacco for the longest time knowing that his personality would get him addicted almost instantly, but once he started doing it at friend's houses, then it was too late. As far as I can tell, almost anyone that has become addicted to cigarettes began smoking between the ages of 16 and 17. Power, control, words that seem so useful in our vocabulary, yet so lacking in real life when it comes to our parenting of teenagers.

Let's forget about the smoking issue for a moment since that boils down to me not having "control" of someone else and not myself. I would like to re-focus on my inability to be able to "control" my own desires of wanting to choke the alien creature that drives me nuts when he turns part of the house into his private crash pad. I am the adult, this issue really bothers me to the point that I find myself yelling to him to pick up his mess or else! The problem is that my yelling only contributes to creating a larger gap between us and reinforces his mental image of dad being a drag. Don't think for an instant that I have not tried to work around this situation with other techniques. A while back I discontinued giving him any allowance as part of the "no way in hell will I give you money if you are doing drugs" phase we had been under for the past months. Since he now seems to be completely sober I went ahead and started with the typical reinstatement bribe and the contingency of him picking up after himself. If you knew the boy you would understand what a big deal this effort truly is for him. Of course he agreed and did a once over cleaning effort prior to asking for any money, but a new mess reached its peak just as quickly as it had been eliminated originally. My dilemma is simple, if I clean up after him, I at least enjoy the momentary satisfaction of a clean room which helps calm my own nerves and compulsion to live a normal life, but he obviously learns nothing. If I leave it messy for him to clean, this means living in a chaotic environment for the whole week until he decides to do it because he then wants to earn his allowance. If I add the condition that it needs to be clean all the time, there is as much chance as hell freezing over that he will comply, which means chaos still prevails and I am miserable all week looking at the mess. He told me this morning that I was just looking for an excuse to fight with him, to which I replied, "I don't need an excuse, listen clearly so that you are not confused as to why I am upset...you are being completely inconsiderate by keeping the family room in a constant mess which you know drives me nuts. If you don't want me to be upset, do your part and clean after yourself please...otherwise I am going to be angry and don't expect me to be calm."

My mistake, even though you probably disagree with me, is assuming that I am entitled to a normal life. I want something that is not on the menu. I need to accept my reality in which scrambled eggs are my only choice for breakfast even though I am more partial to eggs over easy with white toast and coffee. Trust me when I tell you that 17 years of eating scrambled eggs for breakfast is enough to want to strangle the cook no matter how much he smiles when he serves the food. I bet you can tell I am not having such a great day.

Back to what I might be able to do to make things right and crack a smile today. I breath in, I breath out, I do a little prayer, close my eyes and try to go to a happy place. "It is not that big a deal", I keep telling myself and slowly but steady my mind eases back into a more calm state of conciseness allowing me to relax and let go of the little things that tend to pile up with the passage of time. It really is not that big a deal, and I know this more in my heart than I do in my mind, which of course is the only part of me that can put my situation back into perspective. I tell myself that I am blessed with so many good things in my life that I need to learn to cancel out the few things that put me in a negative mood so that I may enjoy the moment without being in a constant alert to what might come instead.

As I walked up the final stairs that lead into the entrance of the building in which I work, I watched three other much younger guys walking ahead of me on their way in too. All three guys were wearing blue jeans. Two of them were wearing tennis shoes. One of the guys had the bottom of his jeans all torn and ripped from wearing them at a much longer length than he should. Finally one had a rubber band holding his long hair in a pony tail. As they all strolled into the building my mind wandered in thoughts and contemplation as to how care free they seemed by physical appearance. Even though I am pretty sure they are all engineers too, they seemed way to young to be married and much less have any children of their own although I know that looks can be deceiving. There was no judgement on my part about their choice or the condition of their garments, but I could not help myself to wonder if any of them was anything like my own son. Is this totally care free generation linked by any of the multiple characteristics that my son has shown to have in his personality? If so, I can almost understand how little choice I have with regards to accepting so much of his demeanor that I find difficult to handle. In my own father's time, engineers walked around sporting pocket protectors, slide rulers, and always a tie. In what I consider my time, we significantly let go of a lot of the stereotypical appearance and even I love coming to work in a Hawaiian shirt whenever I can get away with it. This newer generation is bound to be different and just like mine, nothing will be able to change its influence on their way to dress, much less the way they think.

I don't necessarily need to accept things the way they are, but it sure does help my outlook of life when I finally do. This is my main reason to fight against my frustration of not being able to let go of the little things that bother me sometimes. I'll tell you what though, taking the time to write about it and share it with you has already given me a way to vent and feel much better. I hope this vaccine for my sanity isn't addicting in itself, that would be a hell of a price to pay since I am sure you as a reader wouldn't appreciate too many posts like this one. Still, I would be more than happy to take a sanity pill if they ever made one.

Dad

Brothers

When was it that anyone of us realized that the bond that we share with our closest siblings was destined to be eternal? At a younger age we take for granted so much about these younger or older extensions of our lives. It is not until one day we rudely wake up to the realization that they are moving to college, getting married, or even taking a job at a no longer driving distance, that we find ourselves left with a sort of hole, if you please, that cannot be filled by anyone or anything else in our lives. Funny that at a certain age we tend to drift apart because of different interests and the group of friends that take over our social life, but then later on in life the gap becomes smaller and smaller, and our differences start to blend within our much different individual personalities, and the need to reconnect becomes of primal importance. Nobody knows your heart as well as a brother or sister knows your heart. The common experiences, the parental link, and the household environment all together create some sort of virtual clear coat that interconnects our closest siblings with each of us. For those of you that have never been blessed with the gift of brotherhood (of sisterhood for that matter), I am sorry to tell you that you are missing out on an amazing experience.

I understand how many families drift apart and some even stop talking to each other with the passage of time. Matrimonial life, work responsibilities, and even the challenges of parenting can serve as an excuse for not having the time to be connected with anyone else other than those that are inside your bubble of life. For some people bitter disagreements, money, and trust issues have created a wall between the same individuals that in youth had once been placed on worshiping pedestals. Some parents get divorced and then re-married in search of the oh so elusive happiness, then forming new relationships that somehow, sometimes, change the hierarchy and order of relevance between siblings. The reasons are too many to account for them all, and I honestly understand your reasons if you have somehow drifted away from the connection that once was so significant in your younger life with a brother or a sister. Do not think for an instance that I am here to find blame and much less pass judgement on any particular situation.

All of this been said, I must confess with regards to the completely and totally opposite experience that I have with this subject in my life. We were once three, and later became four when my youngest brother was born 12 years after me. Not once, I repeat, not a single time have I ever felt left behind by either of my older sisters or my younger brother. I was the youngest for 11 years and 18 days, yet when my brother was born, I suddenly became an older brother which was and still is one of the best things that ever happened to me in my life. My fancy free and little guy around the house lifestyle was instantly replaced with all of the refreshing smells and sounds of a baby brother. This I had been asking for, actually more like begging for, since I was a baby myself. I wanted a companion to play with, to share with, to boss around of course, but more than anything to be my brother. I had obviously given up on the idea many years before since I could only assume that the baby factory had already been shut down, but from the day my mom announced that our family was in the process of expanding, all that I could think about was that I was finally getting my wish. In fact, I remember dreaming of some strange number, of which I made all sorts of deciphering and decoding with my nerdy mind and soon I had the month, day, and even time that my brother was supposed to be born. By some amazing coincidence I was actually right on the money! Kind of scary, huh? That was the day that I knew that even before he was born, my brother was already bonding and a seriously integral part of me too.

The age gap was huge, which should of made our relationship somehow weak, but there is nothing weak about my relationship with my brother. Sure enough we had very little in common with respect to our childhood interests, after all by the time he was in Kinder I was already headed for college. However, I never saw this as a handicap to play or share with him, instead it was an opportunity to be a kid all over again. I remember when I had just started college, taking my brother out on a side road next to our house to teach him how to ride his bike without any training wheels. I sat on the back end of the banana seat while he rode the driver's position with pedals and all. My job was to maintain balance so that he could gain confidence on the steering and pedaling. Half way down the sloped road I let go of the backup handlebar position assuming he had it all under control when suddenly we hit a wide crack on the road that made us both lose control of the bike. One moment we were smiling and laughing, the next we were flying through the air with absolutely nothing to break our fall ahead of us into the pavement. He went face first on to the road completely tearing skin and lips with the horrible fall. In my desperate attempt to avoid the incident, somehow I went over myself and dislocated my knee on the fall. As soon as I saw all the blood coming from his face, I tried to get up but the pain was excruciating from my dangling leg. I bit my lip and I grabbed on to my leg and "SNAP" it painfully went back into place. Bike left behind I grabbed on to my brother and with a rushed limp carried him back home in hopes that whatever injuries he had suffered could be healed by others. We were both taken to the hospital where he had stitches on his lips and the painful process of having a lot of gravel taken out of a lot of his ripped off facial skin. I was treated for the dislocated knee with pain killers and some crutches which I later traded for a crazy looking cane offered by a neighbor. Once home, every time I would look at my poor little brother's swollen and disfigured face all I could think of was why did I ever let go of the handlebars? If I had never let go, the whole thing would of never happened. Eventually he healed back to a very handsome young man with a small scar on his lip to remind us both of what it means to be brothers. Every time the weather gets really cold and humid, sure enough my knee also reminds me of our bond.

I am by far the most fortunate man in the world when it comes to the riches I possess between the hearts of my two sisters and my brother. I cannot imagine anything in the world being as precious and special to me. Mom and dad will always have their place, maybe the most important one in my heart, but my brother and sisters have more emotional real estate in my heart than anyone else will ever have because of the amazing love that we share for one another. Each of them, individually has an infinite number of reasons to be loved by me. What is even more amazing is that because of them I have never really known what it feels to be lonely in my heart. I might of had moments of solitude in which I have felt desperate in my own quest for emotional balance, but loneliness is not an option because of how much each one of them is always present in my mind and heart. There has never been a doubt in my mind that if I needed my older sister, she would drop everything in her life to come and rescue me from life's bullies. The thought has never crossed my mind that if I had something horrendously hard to share, I could not call my second sister and spill my guts with the reassurance that she would not only understand me, but also find a way to make me feel better. Not once, not a single time has my younger brother not returned a phone call. He might be busy, or tired, or out of communication range, but as soon as he knows that I am trying to get a hold of him, he always calls me back. In every moment that I share with my younger brother, the love, the caring, the indisputable sense of wanting to be close to each other comes through loud and clear like the horn of the approaching freight train...I just can't miss it.

There is a reason for this bond to be so strong, so prevalent in our minds and hearts. There is no doubt in my mind that we are who we are because of how our parents guided us in our youth. The punishment for having a fight between brothers and sisters was that we had to hug each other and tell each other we loved one another. "Los hermanos son para quererse!"..."Brothers (or sisters) are to love each other" were the famous words told by our mother at the end of any fight and just before she would yell "ahora abrázense!"..."now hug each other!" and then finally "Pídanse perdón!"... "Say that you are sorry to each other!" At which time we would reluctantly hug each other and say we were sorry with a very non reassuring tone. It might seem a bit hypocritical to hug one another when you really don't feel it in your heart, but the wisdom of our mother shined bright in this simple act. Looking back at it all, I now realize that what she was able to do when she made us hug and ask for forgiveness was clean the slate between each other. Instead of waiting until we were ready, which could of been in a few hours or days later, the fact that we had already said we were sorry allowed us to go back to being brothers and sisters almost instantly after the anger was over. Nobody was left waiting for the other to come first and apologize since both sides had already done so. Cool, huh?

I can tell that the simple three year gap between my younger and older son is probably even larger than mine with my twelve years younger brother. Even though the numbers are larger, the struggle for balance of power disappeared because of the bigger gap. My sons, just as me and my two older sisters when we were young, have always had to contend with the power differences that comes from a smaller age difference that still rules between. For example, all the oldest has to do is say that the TV is too loud, and the younger has to lower the volume regardless of his desire to be able to hear above any other noise in the room. I understand that this is the way things are in real life, so the lesson is there for the grabbing and maturing of them both. However, even with the momentary power struggles and simple put downs that come with the territory, my two sons have a very good connection between each other. The younger one always finds a way to gain access to the oldest heart with his simple jokes, funny demeanor, and beautiful personality. This is the key to their knucklehead kind of love, and I applaud them for always being there for each other too.

Life is too short. If my calculations are correct I passed the middle point of mine a few years back, opening my eyes what might be left for me to live in the short run. I am glad that even though we are not geographically close, that I live in an age where getting a hold of my brother and sisters is just a matter of picking up the phone and dialing ten short numbers. I am the luckiest man alive, really I am. I have the most loving and caring family any person could ever dream of. Thank you for never letting me down, I hope that I am worthy of your gifts of love that I treasure so much.

Dad

Sometimes it just does not grow back!

I want to start this post by thanking all of you for reading, sharing, and caring enough to help make a difference in my search for answers while I try to be a good father for my two teenage sons. Parenting is much more than making rules and figuring out what consequences are to be enforced if they are broken. A great deal of patience, understanding, and most of all love is required on the side of the adult in order to be able to reach into the heart and mind of a teenager. There have been over 1,800 visits to this blog since I started writing a bit over two months ago, which in my mind is amazing since I started by sending the link to just a handful of family members and friends. From the messages and comments you have sent me I have felt you laugh, contemplate, and sometimes even cry with me during this short amount of time that we have been sharing together. Not a single one of your words of encouragement or advice has gone to waste, much less your prayers and positive thoughts. Again, thank you from the bottom of my heart for your emotional generosity and all of your wisdom.

As you have probably been able to tell, the last few weeks have actually been calm on the home front. My youngest son keeps doing what he has always done so well by teaching me that I must not be that bad of a father since his life seems to be moving forward with the typical flow that accompanies a normal and well adjusted child raised in a loving and caring environment. As I have said in the past, it is he who serves as a gauge in my life as to my true parental abilities. Life is never perfect, but at least it is manageable in a very positive way. My oldest son has been apparently sober from any chemicals and mind altering drugs during these past few weeks, allowing us all some very much needed peace in our lives. He has taken some of this time to read books, write essays, compose and play music, and interact with us and his friends too. Every once in a while he comes up to me with some ridiculous request for me to allow him to buy strange chemicals for what he describes as "experimenting." Of course I would be crazy to oblige, so I simply tell him that if I find him with any of that stuff he will find himself out of my home. I am not sure if his request is just a test of my ability to control myself from wanting to kick his ass for saying something stupid, or part of his mental process needed to stop or start doing chemicals again. I cannot fight with him for everything he says that is out of place, wrong, or plain stupid, this would only make things so much worse. I'll save my moments of stringent discipline to when I know that I cannot afford to ignore him.

I really needed a break from the ever continuous escalation of stress that I seem to live in because of my particular circumstances. The fact that today and the last 20 days have been on a scale of 1 to 10 a mere 3 or 4 is only a reminder that God apparently knows when to let me stick my head above water to catch my breath. We have some significant challenges heading our way, including juvenile court, the completion of a teenage substance abuse prevention program, and even 80 hours of community service. At least we got past him taking the California High School Proficiency Test, which in the next few weeks will reveal how well or not so well he did a couple of weeks ago. I have purposely avoided writing about some of the things I just mentioned, with the intent of keeping an open mind on my part and not bringing any bad karma to our situation. Like they say, hope for the best, prepare for the worst.

Just today he told me that he had written another essay that makes the previous one obsolete. I am truly not sure what that means. I asked if I could read it, but he said that he rather I did not because he fears that I am not going to like it. I told him that I did not have to like it for him to share it with me, and if he rather I make no comments, I would honor his request. Trust me when I tell you that some promises are very hard to keep. He said he would show it to me sometime later. I'll have to exercise a bit more of that short supply patience of mine. One thing is for sure, if he told me about it, then I believe that he eventually wants to share it with me, and that is actually a good sign with respect to our lines of communication.

I believe that there is nothing written in stone inside the minds of our children. No matter how decided they might seem, or how sure of themselves and their opinion with respect to a particular subject, we as parents have the upper hand by the nature of our maturity and experience. In their minds it might seem like they have come to a very conclusive decision, yet all it takes is for us to discretely plant a tiny seed of doubt, a slightly better option, and soon enough if you let them brew over it, many times they come back with a completely new perspective and singing a bit of a different tune. Amazingly, most of the time, since they had to go through the thought process on their own, in their minds it was their idea in the first place. I find this hilarious, but very real and effective. Next time your child insists on doing something really dumb, instead of telling them that it is a dumb idea and nagging them to death, give their idea a small twist by telling them some story of how you know of somebody that proceeded in the same way that they seem totally intended to go, and finish the story with a not so wonderful ending. Don't threaten, don't nag, don't even talk about it for more than three minutes in all. Then allow them to process this information and watch as the hamster starts running around in the little wheel inside their heads for a bit of time. You will be amazed at how effective your subliminal and covert message finds its way to a much better outcome than confronting them with "your opinion." I promise you that even if the story that you tell them is not all based on real life, the reward of watching them take the right path on their own will clear your conscience of the little white lie.

"I once new a guy that thought it would be cool to shave his head because some of the other guys in the football team had done it. It was all well and dandy until he met a really cute girl that insinuated that he looked much better with hair on his head, but then when he tried to grow it back, a bald spot in the back of his head never grew back."

Hahahaha!!! See what I mean? What guy in his right mind wants to be bald at 17? This all might seem a bit deceptive, and I am here to tell you that indeed it is...deceptively smart! Again, you are all amazingly good to me, thank you for reading.

Dad

Dogs, chickens, and transvestite rabbits...

I've learned with age that pets mean different things to different people. When I was just a kid and living in Arizona, one of my two sisters was given a choice of picking a family pet for her birthday. We all went together to the Humane Society to check out the animals and see if we would be able to adopt one of her choice. I remember that the majority of us took a liking to a mid size German shepherd puppy, but since the decision was up to my sister, too bad...hahaha, she liked a cute little black poodle and cocker spaniel instead and nobody was able to change her mind. In my opinion it was more like the puppy picked my sister instead and then put a spell on her heart to make it go the dog's way. The adoption papers had her named "Blackie," but it was later changed by family consensus to "Chiquita," which from Spanish to English translates as "Tiny."

Chiquita did all the puppy things from peeing in the car, chewing on the furniture and side of the kitchen cabinets, to whining enough when left outside of the house to guarantee her indoor pet status. At one point in time we also had rabbits, which when I finish with my psychotherapy treatments I will some day tell the story about my sisters locking me up in their huge cage while our parents were not in the house, forcing me to clean their stinky home. We started with one single black rabbit, which we named Periquito, assuming it was male. Later it was decided that Periquito was too lonely so we got another rabbit, this time white, and named it Periquita, assuming it was female. Soon Periquito and Periquita did what all rabbits are so fond of doing and we realized when twelve other baby rabbits were born that we had it all wrong. Just because a rabbit is black it does not make it a male rabbit, and just because the other is white it does not make it a female rabbit. In fact, we had it completely backwards, so soon we re-baptized the creatures and switched their names in order to save them from any further gender confusion trauma. Chiquita loved it when it was time to clean the rabbit cage because it gave her time to do a bit of her own dog against rabbit bonding by chasing them all over the back yard. The funny thing is that all she really wanted to do was play with them, so after the rabbits would get tired of running away from her they would just give up and stay still in one place, which would then make Chiquita nudge them with her cold wet nose while crying as if begging for the transvestite rabbits to start running again. The rabbits had a nasty little trick they would play on the dog, running very fast towards the backyard house wall and then in an instant changing directions. Chiquita would be chasing them like a mad dog and because of size and momentum she would not be able to turn as quickly as the rabbits could and end up crashing against the house head first. From this she developed an eternal bump on the top of her head.

As a family we bonded with the puppy, which soon grew much bigger than anticipated making her name a bit unfit for her size, yet still perfect in our hearts. Two years later, when we made our final move back to Puerto Rico, Chiquita went with us on a trip across the United States riding in the back board against the rear windshield of my dad's huge four door Chevrolet Impala. By the time we took this cross country trip, in our minds and hearts she was already an integral part of our family and the number one criteria when selecting a motel to spend our nights for almost two months while on the road was that they would accept pets. In fact, Chiquita pretty much slept in bed with me throughout the whole trip. My dad, having had his first heart attack just a few months before, had been trying to quit smoking. However, in his moments of weakness, he would graciously offer to take Chiquita for an evening walk so she could do her business while he would sneak a few puffs of his cleverly hidden Winston pack. Not once did Chiquita tell him out! Smart move if she intended to keep her motel room sleeping status instead of in the car, right?

Years went by and Chiquita became what in my mind had to be the most loved pet in the world. When she started to get old we knew it was too cruel to take her to strangers to have her groomed, so soon we found ourselves buying a set of electric clippers and doing the job ourselves. I say "ourselves" loosely since it was really my dad's job, which somehow later became mine instead. I swear it would take at least four hours for me to cut her hair while she sat totally frustrated on top of our ping pong table. She grew so much hair that I could easily fill up a standard size pillow case with just one hair cut. I remember that when it was time to groom her, we would have to spell out the words, because if anyone said "you have to give Chiquita a haircut and bath," there went the dog rushing away under a bed to hide from everyone in sight. Interestingly, the dog was bilingual, you could say it either in Spanish or English and it would have the same exact consequence. Instead, my mom would say "B-a-ñ-a la perra" giving me enough of a lead to get all the necessary tools and then sneak the leash around her neck to drag her to her torture chamber. Once the ordeal was over she would run all around the house, room by room showing off her new hair do in an exhilarating dance.

In our family, our love for our pets has always gone beyond what most people would consider normal. When one of our pets died, it was pretty much as if a family member died. We grieved our lost companions with all of our heart and found it amazingly difficult to get over their loss because they were part of the family. I was already in college in Mississippi when Chiquita died, and trust me when I tell you that it hurt like hell. Since then my mom has also lost another canine companion. It was just as traumatic as lossing Chiquita, maybe even more. The bond was not limited to dogs and rabbits. In fact, when my brother was little my oldest sister and her boyfriend brought him two colorful little chicks as a present. You know, the ones that are colored red, or blue, or yellow, or green to make them seem more desirable to children. You guessed it, these two birds grew big and fat laying eggs every morning for years, but they also grew incredibly dear to my brother's heart. As all older brothers and sisters, we too found joy in sometimes torturing the youngest by telling him that the chicken he had just eaten for dinner was one of his dear fine feathered friends. His face would change colors in rage biting his lower lip while holding up a fist in the air threatening to beat us up if it was true. Of course mom would give us up in our lie and make things right again. Don't worry dear brother, your pollancas were never in any true danger, we loved them too.

I can understand how many of you might think that we are way too attached to our pets, it certainly does seem to go a bit into the extreme to love a dog, rabbits, and some chickens the way we felt for our friends. However, when love finds it's way into your heart there is very little you can do regardless of gender, race, and in some cases species too. I for one hope that they have a soul too, that way I can reunite with my sweet pets when I check out of this life. It may sound dumb or maybe even ridiculous, but you might one day discover that the unconditional love you felt coming your way from your own pet was no accident. I know in my heart that in my life they have always been a blessing to me. We still love you Chiquita!

Dad

The day Christmas was cancelled.

It happened over ten years ago, yet I still feel guilty. If I go search for the pictures I can probably tell you the exact date of the incident. On Christmas eve we had done the family thing sharing with my sister, an uncle and his family, and a few other friends that at the time still lived here in California. In those days they either still pretended to believe, or actually did believe in the fat jolly guy, so by the time everyone went home it was already close to midnight and it was not too hard to convince my two sons to get to bed so that Santa could deliver presents. By the time my then wife and I had finished cleaning up the place the clock had already raced to past 1:30 a.m. and it was safe to bring out all the presents for wrapping. I am not sure how I got the job, but once I did it the first time, it was then mine for the rest of their childhood years. One after another she would go to each of the hiding places around the house and bring me what then did not seem like enough, yet now seems like an excess of toys for me to gift wrap. It was typically around 3:00 a.m. when I would be done with the paper, tape, ribbons, bows, and scissor job and the final task of placing the presents under the beautifully decorated Christmas tree. There would be two mountains of gifts, and a sheet of paper with each of my boy's name taped to the highest one on the pile. Finally, somewhere close to 3:30 a.m. I would crash on my bed with the satisfaction that I had done an excellent good job in the previous three weeks finding all the elusive games and toys that each of my boys had written down on their Santa wish lists.

Even though I had managed to get at least four hours of sleep, it never felt like I had closed my eyes for more than five minutes when one of my two sons would climb into my bed to shake me up and let me know that Santa had arrived as promised. Eyes half closed I would encourage him to wake up his brother so that they could both open their presents at the same time. I don't think that I can remember seeing them any happier at any other time of year. Christmas morning was the pinnacle of joy in their lives, the most anticipated and cherished day of the year. All four of us would go downstairs, mom and dad only half asleep, the boys only half awake, but all of us together experienced the excitement of that most special moment. One by one they would tear apart the paper that the fake Santa had so carefully wrapped around each present. Their eyes would gleam of excitement and joy at the emergence of each of their desires coming true. Our hearts filling with the warm emotional gratification that all parents experience from the knowledge that we still possessed such an amazing power over the happiness of our children.

However, this Christmas morning was destined to be different. When the last present was opened my older son realized that he had received one less present than his brother. A count? The boy had actually kept a count of how many each had opened? I suddenly became petrified by the impact that this deficit was causing to his emotional state. He started to complain in a demanding manner that the situation needed to be rectified, that the injustice had to be fixed immediately! I found myself baffled and confused, but more than anything I found myself hurt by this incredible moment of ungratefulness. I did the count, and sure enough the younger guy had received twelve presents, and the older one only eleven. But what did it matter? Why would one less present have such a negative effect on his Christmas happiness? After hearing him complain and demand I suddenly found myself in a fit of anger. No more than fifteen minutes after we had experienced one of the most joyful moments we had ever had together, there I was so mad at my oldest son that I took everything away from him, sent him to his room and declared that Christmas day was cancelled for him altogether. The pictures to follow that day have his face with an expression of sadness that I will never be able to get out of my mind. Even though the punishment only really lasted about an hour, surely less than two, by then the damage had been done and the rest of the day was just not the same or as it should of been.

At the time, probably like any other parent in this situation, I did not have a clue as to what was wrong with my child. In my mind, even though I knew that he had problems, I too believed that discipline was the biggest issue and not a medical condition. My heart still hurts when I remember that day because I now know that I should of been more patient. Think about it...I cancelled Christmas! Jesus, what an idiot idea on my part! What he needed at that moment was reassurance that he held the exact same value as his brother did and there were many ways that I could of done that without making the situation such a big deal. I did not understand his compulsions, his obsessions, his way of processing all the things that I take for granted because my mind is wired like most others are too, but his is not. It does not matter what anyone has ever told me about this moment, I have never been able to shake the guilt from knowing the mistakes I made that day.

I think that this guilt I feel is actually healthy. I need to once in a while fall flat on my ass and recognize that I make many mistakes too. Of course, as I have told you before, I value these lessons because they make me a better father and hopefully a better man in time. I am humbled by the fact that a man with a college education can still manage to make all the wrong decisions with some of the simplest things in life out of ignorance. I remember once, when I had only been doing my job as an engineer for a few years, having to tell the CEO of a very large defense contractor that his position description was in error and one of his duties needed to be corrected. He saw my rookie face and immediately went on to tell me that he had being doing his job for over twenty five years, and who was I to tell him that it was wrong? I simply answered in a very serious yet sure of myself tone "Yes, you are right about everything you just said except for one thing...you have been doing your job wrong for twenty five years!" Believe it or not, his job description was changed in the following week to correct the original mistake. The point is that it does not matter how long we have been doing anything in life, there is still a good chance that some of it might be wrong. As a parent, I had only been on the job about seven years at the time, which now seems like a very short time compared to my seventeen and counting that I currently hold with my kids.

I am proud to say that I have learned to never cancel Christmas with my children regardless of how good or bad they behave on Christmas Day. I never again made the mistake of allowing either one of the boys to perceive that there could be any favoritism between them because even if it is not done on purpose, it is just wrong. I have made a very large effort to ensure that they both get the same number of hugs, kisses, compliments, and yes, even Christmas presents regardless of our circumstances or their behaviour. Love is given, never demanded in our family. Even after going through a divorce, I still contact my ex-wife to find out what she plans on giving the boys for Christmas and make sure we are both being fair and even handed with them. In fact, I also make sure that they never forget to buy their mother a present for her birthday, Mother's Day, and Christmas, which typically means I have to fork out some of the money. Tell me, how else are they to learn to treat the people that love them with respect if I do not set an example for them? My responsibility as a father cannot be any less because of the broken household, on the contrary, I feel the need to be if not just as, then even more consistent in my role as dad. This is no easy task, since I am sure you can appreciate that the reason one gets a divorce is typically to get away from your spouse, but in my mind it should never justify getting away from my children. These two "monkey heads" as I sometimes call them, are "my monkey heads."

Dad

Raise your hand if you feel it!

Life is full of moments that if you know how to play your cards right, could eventually add up to a great deal of happiness. Just as in many card games where you need to risk getting rid of some cards in order to hopefully get a winning hand, you too have the ability in your life to choose the moments which should be relevant to hold on to or those that need to be dismissed altogether. I am inclined to hold tight to the ones that make me laugh, smile, and even a few that might make me cry because of their uniqueness. I am also of the idea to allow the not so pleasant ones to teach me whatever lesson I should learn from them, but then allow them to trickle away like water between my fingers. It makes absolutely no sense for me to hang on to misery, pain, and sorrow. I think that this attitude has actually served me well and allowed me to be a much happier person. It is almost like taking a rough piece of meat that after being pounded enough with the kitchen mallet, soaked and marinated in the proper juices, and finally cooked at the right temperature and for the proper amount of time, it then has finally turned into a pretty nice culinary delight. It just can't have the right outcome without going through the proper process.

The proper perspective with respect to the things that happen around me, allows me to grow. When I wallow in the not so good moments for too long, I become stagnant and depression is sure to follow. I like to look back in time and consider how much simpler things were in my life when I was younger. All of my basic needs were taken care of by my parents. When I was hungry, it was just a matter of time before food was not just bought for me, but also cooked and served with love. When I was cold, the exact size clothing would magically appear in my closet to keep me warm the next day on my way to school. When I was tired, a comfy bed with all the bedding's and pillows was always there for me to lay on and recover my strength. Everything that I needed was provided to me without a single financial expectation on my end. As a child I was treated as if I was a prince in my parent's kingdom. Don't get me wrong, I was expected to do chores and meet certain responsibilities, but compared to adulthood, my childhood was a breeze. It is no wonder then that as young teenagers my children are so much less stressed out with life's demands than I am most of the time. Their ability to catch a good wave and ride it all the way to the beach is so much better than mine because of how light their baggage is compared to my own. I enjoy watching those moments in their lives in which life throws them a curve ball and yet they still manage to at least get on first base due to their agility to run like the wind instead of being anchored in place like most adults become with time. To illustrate I'll share with you a recent set of events that unfolded in my youngest son's life.

A few weeks ago my youngest son was at his mom's home in the middle of his daily game and computer playing routine when the door bell rang. When he went to see who it was he found himself being invited by a year older friend that is currently in high school to attend a youth religious service at a hall that is at walking distance from my ex-wife's place. This cute young lady has in the past arrived with other invitations for him to accompany her to walk to a close by candy factory, the nearby park, and sometimes to just hang out. The first thought in my mind is to say to him "you dog you!" However, I realize that he has the most wonderful personality, easy going, and a real sweet demeanor, so even though I am sure he probably likes the girl, I rather not invade his personal space and mess with him. It is very rewarding to see him having what appears from my end to be very healthy and normal experiences.

That particular night was interesting for him to say the least. We have raised our two son's Catholic, so there are certain religious experiences which neither of the two have ever encountered. He later told me that after a lot of singing, praying, and a somewhat interesting sermon, there was a moment in which the speaker asked the audience that if there was anyone in the group that wanted to give themselves to God, to raise their hands. Everything up to that moment had been a crowd kind of experience in which everyone in the room did pretty much the same thing, so not having ever attended this kind of religious service he had no reason to think that the moment at hand was any different. In fact, if you were not Catholic and attended a Catholic mass, soon you would probably also find yourself standing when everyone else stands, kneeling when the rest kneels, and sitting as soon as you saw the crowd sitting too. Without warning he suddenly found himself with his hand raised in the air, but to his surprise being the only person in the room in the suddenly very uncomfortable position.

OK, this is when I just had to burst out laughing out of control from the visual image that suddenly parked itself in my mind of my sweet son being dragged into the front of the congregation in order for the preacher and a few more to lay hands on him and convert his obviously confused soul! Oh my God, what an incredible story will this kid have to tell his own children when he grows up! Sure enough, they came up to him and removed him from the back of the room and brought him all the way to the front of what he said was at least a hundred other young, but already converted souls. His mind was spinning at the unsuspected consequence that he was having to deal with from his genuinely ignorant earlier action. However, he is a trooper and of course took it all in hoping that there would eventually be no fallout from this scary moment. Afterwards he said that they approached him requesting that he provide some contact information so that they could add him to their books, to which he replied that he was not comfortable providing it at the moment. I am sure that the requester must of been confused with his reply, but I could only applaud his instinctive sense for damage control.

He says that later he confessed to his friend that he truly had no idea what was going on, and that it all happened so quickly and without warning that he was just glad that nobody else in the room actually knew him personally. They both laughed at what had happened and took it all in strides. In fact, he has since gone two more times with her, which in my heart tells me so many things about his gentle personality. It is in fact these and so many other experiences that turn a boy into a man. Mistakes that are made in total ignorance are one of the lessons that we need in order to learn how to be more attentive and obviously less impulsive in our actions.

Dad

Can you hear the voices of your actions?

First, I would like to thank all of you that stuck in there and read my son's four page essay last week. Your feedback and comments have been very insightful and I really appreciate every single one of your encouraging words. Second, I promised to start this week on a much lighter note, so here I go...

In my experience, I have learned that it pays to listen carefully to those that are trying to reach you via the rudimentary emotions of love and fear. To put this advice in perspective I would like to remind you that a skillful seller will have you buying the proverbial ice in the North Pole if you allow him or her to suck you into their mindset. You would think that age, life experience, and schooling would be the major factors required for us to develop an effective avoidance radar to screen deceitful intruders, but apparently this is not always the case. Every so often we learn about ruthless individuals that are able to clean out other people's savings accounts by systematically influencing the victims with their gift of salesmanship. All it takes is for the predator to gain the victim's trust by offering them a false sense of security and eventually the odds become stacked in favor of the weasel and suddenly the hen house is in deep trouble.

Personally, I am of the school of "don't tell me about it, show me." When someone walks into my life with any kind of promise I am already predisposed to close my ears and open my eyes for verification or validation purposes. Telling me something holds a much lesser degree of value than showing me something. This is not to say that words don't mean anything, on the contrary, I am convinced that it is with people's words that we gain access to their minds, even if this means that we need to learn to read between the lines to have the complete picture. However, I am also convinced that it is with their actions that we are able to see their true heart, the intent of their words. So you see, both have their own merits, but reveal much different aspects of an individual.

Nowhere in life have I found the above to be more true than when I am dealing with my oldest son. Experience has already taught him that in order to avoid my wrath, it is much simpler for him to agree with my demands even though he might not have the slightest intention to comply in the end. I do not take this strategic move on his end to be offensive, since it can be much worse for him to become defiant or disrespectful instead. I am not oblivious to his trickery, I am just glad that it can be worse and instead it is not. Experience has already taught me that in order to assess the true intent of his words I must pay very close attention to his actions. No surprise there, huh? One thing that I try to be consistent about is with my threats. Consequences typically mean absolutely nothing with this bright child since he has managed to climb up to the higher ground in order to maintain an unfair advantage over those of us in charge of his parenting. For this same reason I have made most of the rules as clear and simple as I possibly can make them, so that there is no doubt in his mind with regards to my reaction when they are broken. I have learned to never make a threat that I am not ready to deliver with my actions. Unfortunately, as most of you already know from experience, enforcing consequences is not a harmonious event when the household is divided due to divorce, separation, or even non agreeable parents.

In my life, the lessons have not just been related to the relationship that I have with my children. I have shared an assortment of experiences with many different people. I have learned to appreciate each individual that walks into my path for who they are, and not for whom I wish they would be. At some level each character I have shared with has his or her own merits. Very few times have I walked away without gaining something positive in return, even if in the end the overall experience was not what I expected. Some have proven to be incredibly true to their word. The majority of these honest individuals are much more doer's than they are talker's. Interestingly though, a character marker of these trustworthy folks is their stringent interpretation of the spoken or written word. However, even though they are extremely unwilling to spend almost any time telling you what they intend to do, while still following through with their promises, they tend to go to a whole different level of communication and understanding if they are not convinced of the honesty of your own words. To these people, since their actions and words are parallel in importance, any deviation in which your words might not match their interpretation of your actions is a sign of deceit. While your interpretation and theirs match, life is good. As soon as there is a discrepancy in their mind, there is very little that you can say to convince them to any other interpretation of the word. Sadly, even though these are outstanding candidates to have as true and loyal friends, I have learned that entertaining the thought of a meaningful relationship with these individuals, although worthwhile, it is extremely challenging.

On the other hand, in my life I have also been blessed with sharing very strong emotional bonds with individuals that are much more talker's than doer's. On first sight you would think twice with regards to getting to close to someone that has the gift of selling sand in the desert, thinking that not much of what you see in them could be real. This is true, there is definitely a gap that needs to be closed before you cross their lives and decide to mingle to intimately. However, in my experience, these are dreamers, light hearted souls that are able to achieve incredible feats and are very attractive because of their flamboyant demeanor. If you need a pick me up, this is the person that you want to go party with and engage in an adventure. When you communicate with them, words are just one more way to savor the moment, and if they find you to not fit into the box labeled with your name on it, they simply through it out the window and find you a more suitable box instead without hesitation. In a relationship, the challenge here is to be able to see the forest for the trees. What you see is not necessarily what you get, and sometimes not even close to what you need. But then again, who is truly in the inside what your eyes are able to see on the outside? I doubt that I will ever meet anyone who in the long run will still project the same original image I sensed earlier once I get to really know them later.

Personalities are almost always all based on a mix of the above two characters of talker's and doer's. Throw in a belief system, childhood experiences, and what challenges a person has faced in life, and you got yourself more variety than you can shake a stick at. This is probably why they say that for everyone out there, there is a special someone to be happy with in life. Notice that so far I have left outside any of the physical traits that seem to be so prevalent in our minds when we typically reply to the age old question of "what do you like in a man or woman?" To me, even though important to a certain degree, the physical appearance of my friends takes a much smaller role and in most instances is just insignificant. After all, what good does it do for you to be amazingly beautiful if you have the personality of an amoeba, dull and totally uninteresting?

When you find yourself wondering what it is that you like about someone that you might be sharing part of your life with, take the time to turn off the lights and consider what you feel when you share with them instead of what you see or hear. When they speak to you, listen attentively to the true meaning of their words, not just your interpretation and what they mean when you say the exact same thing. Words means a lot of different things to different people. "Help me" might just mean "sit by my side, I am lonely" and not "tell me how to fix my life." "Thank you" might mean "don't stop caring" instead of "I am grateful." I suppose that the most desired words might be to hear someone say "I love you" as long as it does not mean "take off your clothes, I'm horny," or "how much money is in your bank account?" Listen carefully to people's actions and not just their words. Don't allow yourself to be blinded by the brightness of beauty without first considering how amazingly lovely a caring person can be compared to someone conceited or full of themselves. A soft touch or simple gesture has so much more meaning than a million hollow "I love you so much!"

In my mind, I consider myself to be by far the least desirable person anyone would ever want to meet to entangle themselves in any kind of relationship due to my current circumstances with my oldest son. Yet for some reason I always find a way to mitigate the ugliness in my life with my ability to see past it all and my willingness to learn from others. I find myself inspired by those that find themselves compelled to give of themselves to me, even with the knowledge that my life is far from perfect and in fact full of untenable drama. I am fortunate that I am surrounded by what I need the most which has definitely made a difference in my ability to survive some incredibly troubled times. It is true that in my worst moments I am typically alone, but this is more by choice than anything else. I just can't imagine inflicting my burden on anyone else, what good could come of it? Even then, when I am at the bottom of my emotional well, hiding in the darkest corner of my closet, wondering what it is that I ever did to deserve the bitter sorrow that fills my heart when my son is out of control or his life seems so full of uncertainty...there, helping me glue back what might be left of myself into something that might compel others to learn from...picking me up from my knees after a long desperate moment of prayer...or simply wiping off my cheek the salty taste of a single rouge tear...love shines through it all and breaths life back into my lungs. It is not instantaneous, but in life nothing worth holding on to really is either. I have to put my foot forward for it to be a step, otherwise it is nothing more than existing, not truly living. However, I have learned that when I do my part, I rarely find myself without what I need to keep going, to continue on. I think that this is because in the end, doing something about it has much more effectiveness and influence on those that are close enough to care, than simply talking about it.

Dad

A skunk is eating the cat food in our backyard...(Part 4 of 4)

(Continued from the previous post...)

The following is the conclusion of a four page essay written by my oldest son just a few nights ago. I am sharing it with my readers since it is a rare opportunity to look into his thought process and abilities. If you want to make any sense whatsoever of the main idea behind this essay, it would be a really good idea to start reading it from the post that is identified as Part 1 of 4, before continuing to read below. Otherwise it might not make much sense. Enjoy and please feel free to send me any comments.

The Supercomputer and the Equation of the Universe
(page 4)

The journey to complete knowledge and understanding is so complex it's not even conceivable as to what the full picture might be. The only two possibilities to the great answer that is the variable that dictates everything logically and mathematically are both considered incredibly improbable for their own unique reasons, but any other explanation is impossible. The first is that all knowledge/understanding must end in an illogical singularity, a mathematical black hole of sorts; a point in which all logical reason must break down to find itself at a single point. It's a concept that is mathematically fundamentally impossible, yet has show itself to be proven in the physical universe in the structure of real black holes. The second is the complete opposite, that all knowledge/understanding must spiral outwards into entropic infinity. This has a mathematically sound basis, in that in theory numbers can go on forever because they are merely concepts which we base reality on, but in practice it is determined impossible, as according to the second law of thermodynamics, all things must end in entropy until they come to a stop and cease to exist. The only instance in which infinity is feasibly possible is with the value of Pi, but its uncertain if this is just a mathematical anomaly and if it can even apply in the observable universe, since according to observation everything has an end point.

Physics and mathematics, knowledge and understanding, are working against each other when it comes to answering the final question. There is always the possibility that the question is in fact the answer, and that singularity and infinity are they themselves intertwined in their own yin yang system, the explanation being that the singularity is infinite and infinity can only exist in a singularity. If that's the case there can be no concrete answer, and the Universe is indeed just a never ending math equation. In this way the Universe can fuel itself as its own self sustaining system, as well as the supercomputer of the brain, constantly answering the questions to never find the final answer, as with it there would be no more drive or reason to question and the purpose of consciousness and existence would disappear and therefore never have been able to exist in the first place. But even this theory contradicts itself in the question being the answer to itself, thus the answer being found and the brain having no reason to continue searching. If this is the case maybe we just don't have the knowledge or understanding yet to completely conceive of it any more than as abstract concepts, our own security system at work even at the highest levels of consciousness, just trying to keep us sane.

Where does one even go from here? Part of me never wants to figure it out, the hunt is always more satisfying than the catch, no matter how satisfying the catch may seem during the hunt. And yet the craving is still there, and will probably always be there, and isn't that just another form of insanity? I guess the balance will keep teetering on the brink of sanity and insanity until death and closure. The only temporary solution is to drink until you forget, its about time to crash anyway.

Alright, this concludes the final page of his essay. I understand if you might of given up in reading after the first page since much of his thought process is based on a compilation of the ideas set forth by a group of authors that have a very compelling yet complicated way of seeing the world. A while back, when we were having some arguments based on a significant difference in opinion, all I could hear from his end were what seemed to me as a mad person's ramblings. I even resurrected a small digital voice recorder to try to catch some of our conversation on a media that would allow me to later listen to it calmly and see if I could make sense of his point of view. The original argument never came back to life, so I did not find another opportunity to review his ideas. I have read his essay several times now and in fact he has managed to extract from his readings the fundamental message that I was having such a hard time understanding during our original conversations. I admit that in the end his arguments, although extremely complicated and very hard to follow, finally have enough coherence when put on paper for my much less versed mind to understand. Interestingly, I could probably now write a much less complex essay describing his point of view but I fear it would not serve much of a purpose, since the real point of this exercise in sharing with you was to allow you some access to his way of thinking.

I hope that sharing this essay might of shed some light on some of my previous comments describing how my son converts his obsessions and compulsions into very complex forms of mental processes. The images that he creates, pictures that he takes, music that he composes, and the written words of his thoughts are some of the many examples of why it is that I am convinced that I cannot give up on this wondrous child. I truly believe that inside of his inabilities are a collection of abilities that are begging to be rescued, or at the least brought to bare fruit. Anyway, this is after all part of my job as his father, to patiently find a way to understand his unique perspective and help him steer his life in a productive direction.

I concede that as intellectual as this essay may sound, its true value is not in assessing his choice of words, or the subject matter in itself. What seems to be worth getting from it all is his desire to find enlightenment and knowledge from the authors that have planted their ideas in his mind through their own written word. He is searching for something that is bigger than what he has found through simple life experiences. The danger is not in the access of this knowledge, it is in fact through the methods that seem to be required to gain the knowledge in itself. Psychoactive chemicals, hallucinogenic and psychedelic substances are the vehicles which scientists have utilized in the past to trigger the desired mental state to conduct research on this subject. I for one am horrified with the prospect of my son going down that road and maybe never coming back. As his father I have a vested interest in his state of well being that goes far beyond just caring, it reaches deep into my sense of love and responsibility. When he hurts, I hurt. When he gets lost, I feel his fear and am strongly compelled to clear out a path that he can easily recognize to come back to where he feels loved and secure again. However, how truly healthy is it for me to rescue him every time he slides into the dark side? If he knows that dad is always there to save him, what is his motivation to stop taking higher risks each time? There is a very fine line between helping and enabling. If I draw the line in the sand at a unreasonable place, nothing of value comes out of my efforts. If I make it too easy I become an enabler and contributor to his wrong choices in life.

Parenting is much more difficult than it is made out to be in the literature that has been written on the subject matter. Authors are compelled to give generalized advice and recommendations in what seems as an effort to bring in a larger audience to their concert. They try to write their music of advice with a full symphonic orchestra in the background, when in fact most of us only need the string section. In order to find anything of value I find myself having to not only squeeze out of their books the bits and pieces that are of value to me, but also carefully filter anything that could actually worsen my particular situation. In all honesty, I have found better advice, recommendations, and tactics from friends and family members than from all the books I have read. Some of the so called experts are actually going by what they themselves learned from the books that they've read, and very few times from hands on experience. I doubt it very much that anyone could go as deep as it is truly required to help my son as I am willing to go as his father. These are after all, the real reasons that I began writing this blog. I wanted to share my experiences with others that might indeed want or need to hear them in order to help me or help themselves.

Thank you for reading,

Dad