Today I learned that the U.S. soccer team lost in something called the "round of 16" and are out of the World Cup.
This after Friday and Landon Donovan's game winning goal. One moment you're up, the next in the gutter (cue the skier exploding over the railing on Wide World of Sports).
A loss to Ghana? 300 million people and we can't come up with enough players to beat a country the size of Jersey?
I don't get soccer. Never played it, barely watch it.
When I was a kid people said "Just wait until your generation can drive, then the sport will really gain popularity." I have been driving for many years, but not to soccer games.
Soccer is the world's sport, not America's sport. Not by a long shot. Ever watch a World Cup match and then tune in to the NASL, MSL, or whatever league is out there these days? Like watching the World Series before a game of T-ball.
Kids love soccer. My theory is soccer is popular with the shorties because it's the one sport adults know nothing about, freeing them to run around without grating, meddling parents.
I know baseball and have coached my son for years. Soccer? Two of my kids have played. I watched.
Let's not confuse participation with fandom, otherwise cycling and jogging would be outdrawing "The Bachelor" and "Desperate Housewives."
Americans play a lot of sports that they don't watch, particularly women's sports. I know an attorney who ran a now defunct women's pro volleyball league. When I asked him whether he thought women's sports would "catch on" like men's his "no" made sense. Put simply, when men get together they go to a ballgame. Women don't, and until they do leagues will struggle.
Ditto soccer. We certainly don't rally around the national team the way other countries do. Most nations shut down for games while we gather a handful of people in the lunchroom.
So good luck Ghana. See you down the road unless I am watching my kid chase a spotted ball.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Al and Rush Together Again
So Al and Tipper Gore announce their separation after 40 years of marriage at about the same time Rush Limbaugh gets married to his fourth wife. Ideology aside, they have something in common with most of us.
We can't seem to find the secret to long-term, fulfilling marriage. But man do we like to try.
A friend passed along an article about Rush the other day which suggested he was a hypocrite for marrying again while being against same sex marriage. I disagree for a couple of reasons: 1) I haven't observed Limbaugh portray his personal life in a righteous manner and 2) Believing in an institution and participating in it multiple times doesn't make you a hypocrite. It means you're trying to get it right.
As to the Gores, I was sorry to hear the news, as I am to hear about any union ending. None of us with any sense enter into commitments with the intention of ending them. If the essence of love is sacrifice, then to have a marriage of any length end is to experience grief. I dealt with a man many years ago who was fond of saying he had been "married and divorced five times to my wife of 36 years."
But this one seemed to resonate because they had been married so long and appeared to be happy, appeared being the operative word. None of us know what our friends or colleagues experience behind closed doors. How often, for example, have you developed a mental image of a co-workers' marriage based solely on one person's view?
Tipper and Al looked happy. Who knows?
Maybe it was for show or political expediency, maybe they "grew apart" (the catch all cliche), or maybe there are other things going on. They have endured crisis in the form of depression and the their son's near fatal car accident. Crisis does not change people, it just exposes them. And if you asked them? None of us have the same view, especially of the mirror.
40 years is a long time. I read an article a few years ago about couples who had divorced after 30 years or more of marriage. Why? A few themes emerged. They married young. They focused on the kids and after they "flew the coop" nothing was left. There is less stigma to divorce today than was when they got married. But the main reason seemed to be a realization that at 55 years or so of age they had another 30years left on earth, which begged the question: Do I really want to spend it with this man or woman?
Reminds me of the couple who went before the judge after 73 years of marriage. She was 92, he was 95.
"Why are you divorcing?" asked the judge.
"Irreconcilable differences."
"And how long have you known this was irreconcilable?"
"70 years."
"70 years," said the judge. "Why would you stay in a marriage you knew was over for 70 years?"
"Your honor, we had a pact. We wanted to wait until the kids died."
We can't seem to find the secret to long-term, fulfilling marriage. But man do we like to try.
A friend passed along an article about Rush the other day which suggested he was a hypocrite for marrying again while being against same sex marriage. I disagree for a couple of reasons: 1) I haven't observed Limbaugh portray his personal life in a righteous manner and 2) Believing in an institution and participating in it multiple times doesn't make you a hypocrite. It means you're trying to get it right.
As to the Gores, I was sorry to hear the news, as I am to hear about any union ending. None of us with any sense enter into commitments with the intention of ending them. If the essence of love is sacrifice, then to have a marriage of any length end is to experience grief. I dealt with a man many years ago who was fond of saying he had been "married and divorced five times to my wife of 36 years."
But this one seemed to resonate because they had been married so long and appeared to be happy, appeared being the operative word. None of us know what our friends or colleagues experience behind closed doors. How often, for example, have you developed a mental image of a co-workers' marriage based solely on one person's view?
Tipper and Al looked happy. Who knows?
Maybe it was for show or political expediency, maybe they "grew apart" (the catch all cliche), or maybe there are other things going on. They have endured crisis in the form of depression and the their son's near fatal car accident. Crisis does not change people, it just exposes them. And if you asked them? None of us have the same view, especially of the mirror.
40 years is a long time. I read an article a few years ago about couples who had divorced after 30 years or more of marriage. Why? A few themes emerged. They married young. They focused on the kids and after they "flew the coop" nothing was left. There is less stigma to divorce today than was when they got married. But the main reason seemed to be a realization that at 55 years or so of age they had another 30years left on earth, which begged the question: Do I really want to spend it with this man or woman?
Reminds me of the couple who went before the judge after 73 years of marriage. She was 92, he was 95.
"Why are you divorcing?" asked the judge.
"Irreconcilable differences."
"And how long have you known this was irreconcilable?"
"70 years."
"70 years," said the judge. "Why would you stay in a marriage you knew was over for 70 years?"
"Your honor, we had a pact. We wanted to wait until the kids died."
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Beware the Boppy
and other random thoughts.
Go Hawks!!
Of course I am excited about the Hawks chance at winning the Stanley Cup for the first time in 49 years. They are an exciting team, with young stars who hopefully will win multiple championships.
But let's get real. Hockey has a limited following, with plenty of room on the bandwagon. It's a great sport to watch...in person. On T.V. it feels like I'm watching a two hour traffic cam.
And I can't tell Duncan Keith from Toby Keith or Brian Keith, other than the last two have their Chiclets. If the Hawks rode with me on the subway I wouldn't recognize them.
Chicago is, in order, a:
1) Bears town
2) Cubs town
3) Bulls town
4) Sox town
5) Hawks town
Discuss
BP Oil Spill
Disaster. A word overused, but not here. This is catastrophic. We seem to agree that we to reduce dependence on foreign oil. But at what cost? We love our cars, and cheap gas to run them. When will will commit to an national energy policy, something we not had for over 30 years?
And the people of the Gulf coast, who have endured and persevered, godspeed.
Imperfect ump
Armando Galarraga was robbed. The ump blew it, and admitted so after the game. But there is no way the call should be overturned.
As an aside, when I heard his name I thought of the way Harry Caray used to pronounce Andres Galarraga's name. Galllllaaaaahraaaggggghhhaaa.
I hate instant replay, in any sport. Why bother with umpires, referees or judges if there is a camera to overrule them? It's called human error, and it separates sports from video games. Baseball is perfect for it's imperfections.
Blago
The sewer which is Illinois politics continues, with wall to wall coverage as the trial starts next week. It will be great theater, and I would love to be a fly on the wall as Rod's lawyer tries to coach him as a witness. Can anyone contain this guy? I'm waiting for him to walk out of the courthouse, make a b-line to the cameras for his daily emoting only to be tackled by his own counsel.
Boppy boo boo
We have a newborn, which means we got out the boppy. A boppy (you may also know it as a "bouncy seat") is a wonderful neglectomatic device. An infant is strapped in the seat as it vibrates for hours, freeing parents for housework, reading, T.V., golf or activities which lead you to need another boppy.
But there is a hidden danger. The boppy has a wire base, really two long metal legs, or tentacles, that reach out and grab unsuspecting parents. This thing will find you at all hours no matter where it's positioned. The dangers range from bruised shins to broken limbs after a header down the stairs. Be warned.
Go Hawks!!
Of course I am excited about the Hawks chance at winning the Stanley Cup for the first time in 49 years. They are an exciting team, with young stars who hopefully will win multiple championships.
But let's get real. Hockey has a limited following, with plenty of room on the bandwagon. It's a great sport to watch...in person. On T.V. it feels like I'm watching a two hour traffic cam.
And I can't tell Duncan Keith from Toby Keith or Brian Keith, other than the last two have their Chiclets. If the Hawks rode with me on the subway I wouldn't recognize them.
Chicago is, in order, a:
1) Bears town
2) Cubs town
3) Bulls town
4) Sox town
5) Hawks town
Discuss
BP Oil Spill
Disaster. A word overused, but not here. This is catastrophic. We seem to agree that we to reduce dependence on foreign oil. But at what cost? We love our cars, and cheap gas to run them. When will will commit to an national energy policy, something we not had for over 30 years?
And the people of the Gulf coast, who have endured and persevered, godspeed.
Imperfect ump
Armando Galarraga was robbed. The ump blew it, and admitted so after the game. But there is no way the call should be overturned.
As an aside, when I heard his name I thought of the way Harry Caray used to pronounce Andres Galarraga's name. Galllllaaaaahraaaggggghhhaaa.
I hate instant replay, in any sport. Why bother with umpires, referees or judges if there is a camera to overrule them? It's called human error, and it separates sports from video games. Baseball is perfect for it's imperfections.
Blago
The sewer which is Illinois politics continues, with wall to wall coverage as the trial starts next week. It will be great theater, and I would love to be a fly on the wall as Rod's lawyer tries to coach him as a witness. Can anyone contain this guy? I'm waiting for him to walk out of the courthouse, make a b-line to the cameras for his daily emoting only to be tackled by his own counsel.
Boppy boo boo
We have a newborn, which means we got out the boppy. A boppy (you may also know it as a "bouncy seat") is a wonderful neglectomatic device. An infant is strapped in the seat as it vibrates for hours, freeing parents for housework, reading, T.V., golf or activities which lead you to need another boppy.
But there is a hidden danger. The boppy has a wire base, really two long metal legs, or tentacles, that reach out and grab unsuspecting parents. This thing will find you at all hours no matter where it's positioned. The dangers range from bruised shins to broken limbs after a header down the stairs. Be warned.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Designate This
Baseball season is in full swing. They say nobody really pays attention until after Memorial Day, which is good because both Chicago teams should be in last place by then.
I'm a baseball junkie. Box scores in the morning, games at night, and every..single..highlight I can catch.
Each year they offer a preview of the MLB channel the first week of the season. I have warned my family if we ever subscribe they will awaken to find me asleep in front of the TV in a bed of peanut shells.
Baseball is perfectly imperfect. No clock. Nine inning games, unless there's extras. Three strikes, three outs, which could take three batters or thirty.
Baseball is a thinker's game and a stats paradise. Every matchup is an alphabet soup of WHIP, OBP, RISP and ERA.
Baseball fields are wonderfully different and distinct, other than the base paths. From the Green Monster at Fenway Park to McCovey's Cove in San Francisco, each outfield is unique. What other sport requires managers to come out, in a uniform, and hear about the ground rules before a game?
Not every imperfection is perfect, of course. I prefer ballplayers who don't resemble Rockem Sockem robots and get have their juice freshly squeezed, not from a lab. The Designated Hitter? Phooey!
And I hate interleague play.
Until the mid-90s, baseball was the only major sport where teams competed in separate leagues until the World Series. As a kid I remember watching the Game of the Week on NBC (which was THE Game of the Week). It felt like every game featured either the Dodgers or Yankees. But never against each other. If you were a Dodgers fan, you're only shot at the mighty Yankees is by winning the pennant. The Series was it, champions of the National League against champions of the American League.
Then they messed it up.
The suits decided that the game need teams to play across the leagues, but only a couple of times a year. Interleague contests would rotate every four years or so, except some local rivalries (Yankees-Mets, Cubs-Sox, A's Giants) which would be every year.
I get it. Yankees-Mets and Cubs-Sox can be fun. But for every one of those we get duds like Cubs-Orioles or Sox-Padres.
Interleague play screws up schedules, travel and rivalries. For example, the Cubs and Cardinals meet only a handful of times in order to accommodate their AL friends.
And yes, it does water down the World Series. But it's hard to put the toothpaste (or HGH) back in the bottle.
I'm a baseball junkie. Box scores in the morning, games at night, and every..single..highlight I can catch.
Each year they offer a preview of the MLB channel the first week of the season. I have warned my family if we ever subscribe they will awaken to find me asleep in front of the TV in a bed of peanut shells.
Baseball is perfectly imperfect. No clock. Nine inning games, unless there's extras. Three strikes, three outs, which could take three batters or thirty.
Baseball is a thinker's game and a stats paradise. Every matchup is an alphabet soup of WHIP, OBP, RISP and ERA.
Baseball fields are wonderfully different and distinct, other than the base paths. From the Green Monster at Fenway Park to McCovey's Cove in San Francisco, each outfield is unique. What other sport requires managers to come out, in a uniform, and hear about the ground rules before a game?
Not every imperfection is perfect, of course. I prefer ballplayers who don't resemble Rockem Sockem robots and get have their juice freshly squeezed, not from a lab. The Designated Hitter? Phooey!
And I hate interleague play.
Until the mid-90s, baseball was the only major sport where teams competed in separate leagues until the World Series. As a kid I remember watching the Game of the Week on NBC (which was THE Game of the Week). It felt like every game featured either the Dodgers or Yankees. But never against each other. If you were a Dodgers fan, you're only shot at the mighty Yankees is by winning the pennant. The Series was it, champions of the National League against champions of the American League.
Then they messed it up.
The suits decided that the game need teams to play across the leagues, but only a couple of times a year. Interleague contests would rotate every four years or so, except some local rivalries (Yankees-Mets, Cubs-Sox, A's Giants) which would be every year.
I get it. Yankees-Mets and Cubs-Sox can be fun. But for every one of those we get duds like Cubs-Orioles or Sox-Padres.
Interleague play screws up schedules, travel and rivalries. For example, the Cubs and Cardinals meet only a handful of times in order to accommodate their AL friends.
And yes, it does water down the World Series. But it's hard to put the toothpaste (or HGH) back in the bottle.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Four on the Floor
So as of early Saturday morning I am the father of four. Three girls and a boy.
All in. Zone defense. A bifocal Dad.
Wow.
They say we never know the plan (or who makes the plan) but mine is workin' out alright. I remember at age 10 wanting to be either a cowboy or a linebacker for the Bears. Door number 3? Yes.
While my wife was pregnant the news brought a full range of reactions ranging from "Wow, what a blessing" to a look of "You must be nuts."
Some would say "Oh, so this is old hat for you." It's not of course.
Nothing I have done, nothing I will do, compares to the thrill of raising my children. And witnessing the birth is simply perfection.
Some reality has set in the past few days.
Tired? I am riding fumes.
The house? I am waiting for news cameras to show up and film the crime scene - dolls and stuffed animals sprawled like dead bodies across our floors.
And I have this recurring thought that there is not enough oxygen for all of us. Of course I might be hyperventilating at the thought of feeding six people and a sheepdog.
And I wouldn't bargain away any of it.
Raising kids is hard work, if that's your choice. I know men who don't, like the ones who enable their kids with this silly notion of being their "friend" instead of their Dad, or who put their kids in youth sports solely to fulfill their pipe dream.
As I have told my kids many times, anyone can be a father, but it's takes true commitment to be a Dad. If the essence of love is sacrifice, ours is often silent. Fathers get a card, Dad's get rewards.
Along the way I have mastered a few skills, like the ability to fall asleep in a room full of kids, or listening to a kid tell a long...long story fully enraprtured. Can anything beat the excitement on their face as they tell the story?
A few weeks ago we went to the mall and my (then)youngest daughter, age 2, insisted on wearing her "two-two," high heels, shades and a tiara. She walked slightly ahead of my wife and I, my daughter and son with runway swagger. We were her entourage. She drew stares and laughter from all as we made our way to the escalator up to the food court.
And now she has a sister.
Drive home from the hospital? No thanks, I'll fly.
All in. Zone defense. A bifocal Dad.
Wow.
They say we never know the plan (or who makes the plan) but mine is workin' out alright. I remember at age 10 wanting to be either a cowboy or a linebacker for the Bears. Door number 3? Yes.
While my wife was pregnant the news brought a full range of reactions ranging from "Wow, what a blessing" to a look of "You must be nuts."
Some would say "Oh, so this is old hat for you." It's not of course.
Nothing I have done, nothing I will do, compares to the thrill of raising my children. And witnessing the birth is simply perfection.
Some reality has set in the past few days.
Tired? I am riding fumes.
The house? I am waiting for news cameras to show up and film the crime scene - dolls and stuffed animals sprawled like dead bodies across our floors.
And I have this recurring thought that there is not enough oxygen for all of us. Of course I might be hyperventilating at the thought of feeding six people and a sheepdog.
And I wouldn't bargain away any of it.
Raising kids is hard work, if that's your choice. I know men who don't, like the ones who enable their kids with this silly notion of being their "friend" instead of their Dad, or who put their kids in youth sports solely to fulfill their pipe dream.
As I have told my kids many times, anyone can be a father, but it's takes true commitment to be a Dad. If the essence of love is sacrifice, ours is often silent. Fathers get a card, Dad's get rewards.
Along the way I have mastered a few skills, like the ability to fall asleep in a room full of kids, or listening to a kid tell a long...long story fully enraprtured. Can anything beat the excitement on their face as they tell the story?
A few weeks ago we went to the mall and my (then)youngest daughter, age 2, insisted on wearing her "two-two," high heels, shades and a tiara. She walked slightly ahead of my wife and I, my daughter and son with runway swagger. We were her entourage. She drew stares and laughter from all as we made our way to the escalator up to the food court.
And now she has a sister.
Drive home from the hospital? No thanks, I'll fly.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Free to Me...and You
Score one for lunatics? Seems to be the consensus about Arizona and their immigration bill. Outrageous? Xenophobic? Unconstitutional?
I will leave the constitution matter to lawyers with more smarts than me, but it seems we have reached a turning point in the immigration debate. Or have we?
I doubt it and think little will change as a result, and I don't think the Arizona law will "spread" as many fear.
Both parties are scared to death of immigration reform, the cyanide of American politics. Leaders on both sides have always talked a good game while coming just short of real reform and the chance of offending one giant constituency.
Solution? First, let's first stop the flow of illegals by securing our borders. Then let's examine some type of "permanent worker" status for those who are law abiding and an easier path to citizenship.
I was thinking about this the other night in a larger context with my wife, who posed the question "What exactly are American values?"
Ours is the land of opportunity, right? Even when only 80% of us are employed? Yup.
Ronald Reagan got me many years ago. I see myself living on his "shining city on a hill, whose beacon light guides freedom loving people everywhere."
And our values can be summed up with that one word: Freedom.
Do you ever take it for granted? I remember being in Prague for the first Czech free elections, right after the fall of the Berlin wall . The plazas were full of candidates from over twenty parties, including the beer party and the music party. I will never forget the woman who explained to me how happy people were to vote...for anyone. "Now we are free!" she exclaimed.
I grew up in a military household, the son of a proud Naval Commander. My Dad never, to this day, let's me forget the sacrifices Americans have made for freedom.
I am sure there are people in his life he disagrees with on everything except the weather. But he would fight, and he would die, for their right to say it.
So would I. I would fight for all us immigrants, all with ancestors who faced discrimination of some sort.
It's our fight also.
I will leave the constitution matter to lawyers with more smarts than me, but it seems we have reached a turning point in the immigration debate. Or have we?
I doubt it and think little will change as a result, and I don't think the Arizona law will "spread" as many fear.
Both parties are scared to death of immigration reform, the cyanide of American politics. Leaders on both sides have always talked a good game while coming just short of real reform and the chance of offending one giant constituency.
Solution? First, let's first stop the flow of illegals by securing our borders. Then let's examine some type of "permanent worker" status for those who are law abiding and an easier path to citizenship.
I was thinking about this the other night in a larger context with my wife, who posed the question "What exactly are American values?"
Ours is the land of opportunity, right? Even when only 80% of us are employed? Yup.
Ronald Reagan got me many years ago. I see myself living on his "shining city on a hill, whose beacon light guides freedom loving people everywhere."
And our values can be summed up with that one word: Freedom.
Do you ever take it for granted? I remember being in Prague for the first Czech free elections, right after the fall of the Berlin wall . The plazas were full of candidates from over twenty parties, including the beer party and the music party. I will never forget the woman who explained to me how happy people were to vote...for anyone. "Now we are free!" she exclaimed.
I grew up in a military household, the son of a proud Naval Commander. My Dad never, to this day, let's me forget the sacrifices Americans have made for freedom.
I am sure there are people in his life he disagrees with on everything except the weather. But he would fight, and he would die, for their right to say it.
So would I. I would fight for all us immigrants, all with ancestors who faced discrimination of some sort.
It's our fight also.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Can I Buy a Hormone Surge Protector?
Two of my children turn 12 this week. Nora and Thomas are twins, the best of friends (reluctantly)and as different as they are similar. A common sight is Nora running out to remind Thomas what he forgot on the way to school.
Having opposite sex twins provided me the opportunity to embark on a ground breaking sociological experiment, with a remarkable conclusion.
Men and women are different.
Please, before you leave this page to email Drudge or Huffington,read on as to my methods.
You see, from the beginning I to exposed them together to everything. We played catch together, attended dance and music shows together, went to the mall together. P.C. baby, all the way. Equal opportunity.
It didn't work.
I should have known early on. On their first birthday we gathered for candles and cupcakes, which were carefully placed on each high chair.
Nora delicately reached at a few sprinkles, raising each in the air and placing it on the tray before eating them.
Thomas thrust his face straight into the cupcake.
I guess it's not about sex as much as personality. As a child Nora would sit for hours with her books and dolls, while Thomas preferred to chase the dog and go one on one with the seat cushions.
Some would argue that young kids are like kittens. Everyone loves cute, cuddly kittens. So soft, purring gently.
Then they turn into cats.
Don't get me wrong. I adore my children, and every age has had it's share of joy and challenges. They are not shy about what's hip and what's an OMG moment.
As an aside, I have taught fifth grade religious ed (Sunday school) for years. I love kids at age 10 because they are on the cusp of adulthood, and close to attending church because they want to, not because Mom and Dad drag them there.
Each year I predict that for half of them the light will go on...they will discover that the opposite sex is good for something besides target practice. Each year, bingo, about half are smitten.
My kids are no different. Their experience is somewhat unique in that they watched me date and marry my wife. I still have a framed, signed note from Nora, age 6, which reads "Dad is going on all of my dates."
Twins make great spies. Nora gives me the scoop on her brother and vice versa. When Thomas was in first grade he spent a good half hour in the bathroom slicking his hair like Bowser from Sha Na Na. Quite a hit with the ladies, I learned.
And then, a few years ago, the hormones kicked in. Now I have a son who wants to buy Axe because "It's chemically guaranteed to attract women." Or flies.
I will never forget the evening when, while barbecuing, I asked Nora, then 9, to please get me a spatula. What ensued was a child writing on the kitchen floor, screaming that I did not understand her.
She's right, I didn't. Then again, she didn't either. The hardest part of parenting these days is recognizing the times when they have no control. Their bodies are volcanoes, erupting at any moment. To parent a tween is to experience "push pull" on a daily basis. Up to age 8 or so you are the center of their universe. Now the switch flips between affection and mortification.
Oh, and I did I mention that my son's party includes GIRLS?
And then you are a man, my son.
Having opposite sex twins provided me the opportunity to embark on a ground breaking sociological experiment, with a remarkable conclusion.
Men and women are different.
Please, before you leave this page to email Drudge or Huffington,read on as to my methods.
You see, from the beginning I to exposed them together to everything. We played catch together, attended dance and music shows together, went to the mall together. P.C. baby, all the way. Equal opportunity.
It didn't work.
I should have known early on. On their first birthday we gathered for candles and cupcakes, which were carefully placed on each high chair.
Nora delicately reached at a few sprinkles, raising each in the air and placing it on the tray before eating them.
Thomas thrust his face straight into the cupcake.
I guess it's not about sex as much as personality. As a child Nora would sit for hours with her books and dolls, while Thomas preferred to chase the dog and go one on one with the seat cushions.
Some would argue that young kids are like kittens. Everyone loves cute, cuddly kittens. So soft, purring gently.
Then they turn into cats.
Don't get me wrong. I adore my children, and every age has had it's share of joy and challenges. They are not shy about what's hip and what's an OMG moment.
As an aside, I have taught fifth grade religious ed (Sunday school) for years. I love kids at age 10 because they are on the cusp of adulthood, and close to attending church because they want to, not because Mom and Dad drag them there.
Each year I predict that for half of them the light will go on...they will discover that the opposite sex is good for something besides target practice. Each year, bingo, about half are smitten.
My kids are no different. Their experience is somewhat unique in that they watched me date and marry my wife. I still have a framed, signed note from Nora, age 6, which reads "Dad is going on all of my dates."
Twins make great spies. Nora gives me the scoop on her brother and vice versa. When Thomas was in first grade he spent a good half hour in the bathroom slicking his hair like Bowser from Sha Na Na. Quite a hit with the ladies, I learned.
And then, a few years ago, the hormones kicked in. Now I have a son who wants to buy Axe because "It's chemically guaranteed to attract women." Or flies.
I will never forget the evening when, while barbecuing, I asked Nora, then 9, to please get me a spatula. What ensued was a child writing on the kitchen floor, screaming that I did not understand her.
She's right, I didn't. Then again, she didn't either. The hardest part of parenting these days is recognizing the times when they have no control. Their bodies are volcanoes, erupting at any moment. To parent a tween is to experience "push pull" on a daily basis. Up to age 8 or so you are the center of their universe. Now the switch flips between affection and mortification.
Oh, and I did I mention that my son's party includes GIRLS?
And then you are a man, my son.
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