Love in the Disney Store

Recently my 9 year-old son's lacrosse coach was teasing him about having a girlfriend, to which Sean immediately protested that he does NOT! While many fathers joke about not being able to deal with their daughters dating (I am one such father), the idea of my son starting to develop crushes, eventually dating, falling in love, is all a bit much to wrap my head around. I was reminded of something that happened years ago when he was little. The following story took place on April 22, 2010 - Earth Day. I know that because I took my son, just over 3 at the time to the Disney Store where we turned in aluminum cans for a free hat.

Back then my son and I had a tradition. Once a month we’d drive up to Woodfield Mall for lunch at the Rainforest Cafe. After we ate, we of course went upstairs to the Disney Store to nose around. Sean would always make a beeline for the Cars section and tell me we needed to buy EVERYTHING!

After a few minutes I’d convince him that we couldn't buy everything “this time” and he’d accept that and move on, always to the two displays near the checkout counter. Every Disney store has them. Essentially two point-of-sale "junk" towers meant to trick us parents into spending another $3 - $5 bucks before we leave. They're full of balls, wind-up toys, key chains, etc.

One side geared toward little girls, housing mostly Princess merchandise. The other tower held the more traditionally boy-centric stuff. Sean would spend hours there, if he could. Taking out each little toy, pulling the cars back and letting them race across the store, oblivious to the many reasons he shouldn't.

One afternoon as I stood there leaning on my empty stroller (Sean could walk of course, but that was the problem – he had a tendency to wander off) I happened to look up and see a mom around my age also piloting an empty stroller. Actually in hers sat a pile of shopping bags. I looked over to the girls' toy tower, and there was this little Princess. Literally, a little brunette toddler dressed in a puffy turquoise dress and slippers. She was twirling absently around the store, smiling and singing to herself.

And it turned out I wasn't the only one who noticed. I glanced over at Sean, who moments before was on his knees engrossed in every kind of plastic Buzz Lightyear, Handy Manny, and Stitch he could find. Now he was on his feet, fingers in his mouth, grinning with wide-eyed wonder at this little girl.

A new music video began to play on the large screen at the back of the store. The song, I would learn was "When I Look At You" by Miley Cyrus (back before she officially assassinated her wholesome, Hannah Montana persona.)  

Go ahead, press play. You know you want to.

The little Princess began to dance circles around my son. His big brown eyes never fell away. I’d never seen him like this. The girl stopped in front of him as the music played and said "I'm Princess Ariel, and you're Prince Erik."

The mother and I looked up at each other and smiled. I don't know which of us had the glossiest set of eyes at that moment.

She danced around Sean again, and he just kind of swayed to the music a little. When he was little like that he was seldom afraid to dance if the mood hit him, but in that moment it was like he was discovering something new. He wasn't sure what it what it was, but he definitely seemed to like it. His smile made that apparent. Again she said, but this time directly to me, "I'm Princess Ariel and he's Prince Erik."

I found myself actually speechless. And to be honest, on the verge of getting emotional. It wouldn't do for a grown man to come to tears in the Disney Store.

Finally the song ended and the girl and her mother moved on, but I caught both kids stealing glances at each other as we made our way around the store. I wasn’t sure if they were just kids being kids, or if those two little ones had formed an spontaneous, innocent bond.

It was a strange moment where I felt like I should do something. But what do you do? Ask for a strange, married woman's number so your kids can have a play date . . . or we can set them up in 13 years? That’s not creepy at all, no matter how innocent the intentions.

The truth is there was nothing to do. It was just one of those moments – a beautiful moment of childhood innocence between two sweet souls. Few and far between, they are, but when we are given them we're meant to just step back and take it in.

For a few minutes, my son had the perfect relationship. The purest love there ever was or will be.

I vowed to remember that day, and when he's old enough, tell him about it, as I’m sure he doesn’t remember. I think it impacted me more than him. He'll probably tell me I'm crazy, but I hope he finds it. Not too soon, of course.

 

Is this racist?

Sincere question.  Is this racist?


I am by no means some social justice warrior or hipster. Quite frankly, I think this world has gone way overboard with the political correctness. I have an extremely inappropriate sense of humor. I like to push the envelope as much as possible without crossing the line from "naughty" to straight-up terrible human being.  That said, I am very sensitive to the plight of other races, religions, etc. I believe we should all be able to joke and have fun, but be aware of the lines and not intentionally hurt or offend people. That’s not PC, that’s just being a decent human being.

So that’s why I’m asking a serious question. My daughter has decided she wants to be Mulan for Halloween. My wife’s cousin lives in Hong Kong where she is a teacher. Or artist. Honestly, I’m not really sure. But she does live in Hong Kong. They are home for a visit and she gave both of my girls authentic Chinese dresses. Dresses everyone else in the family keep calling Kimonos not caring that kimonos are Japanese, not Chinese. What my cousin-in-law (that’s a thing, right?) gave my daughters is actually a cheongsam, or Mandarin gown in English. It is a traditional, body-hugging Chinese dress.

See, cultural sensitivity . . . and Wikipedia.

My older daughter Maya, who is 5, and I might add seems to have an affinity for Asian things as it is, immediately fell in love with it and announced she wanted to be Mulan this year come Halloween. To which I said that is a great idea. However she went on to say she needs white face paint and makeup. After all, in the movie when Mulan is dressed formally she wears the white makeup and bright lipstick common to the Chinese upper-class who valued pale skin as a sign of wealth and stature (again, thanks Wikipedia!) I suddenly grew a little uneasy.

I have Japanese friends. I have Korean friends. I don’t know that I have Chinese friends that I could ask. Would it be offensive if my daughter who comes from Irish / Swedish heritage put on Geisha-like makeup and paraded around the neighborhood? When I expressed concern about it, I was told I'm being silly. Plus, now that Halloween has become about how young is too young to dress as "slutty Minnie Mouse" I guess her wanting to dress in Chinese white face might not be so bad. I don't know . . .


Also, there is an issue of dumb Americans who immediately associate Geisha with prostitution, which is incorrect and ignorant. That I knew even without Wikipedia . . . sort of. I'm really not interested in dealing with that.


So I’m left wondering what other parents think. Is it unintentionally racist? Should I just give her the dress, maybe a black wig, and Mushu plush and let her explain who she is? Or am I overthinking it?

That should clear it up, right?

Tryin' to reason with tornado season

“Well, the wind is blowin' harder now
Fifty knots or thereabouts
There's white caps on the ocean
And I'm watchin' for waterspouts” ~ Jimmy Buffett; Tryin’ to Reason with Hurricane Season

Three-quarters of the year or so I spend much of my time daydreaming about living in the Southeast. I’ve had an attachment to the Sunshine State in-particular since I was 9 years-old, and not only because it’s where Walt Disney World is located. Although I admit that is a big part of it. I love palm trees and lizards and the idea of ocean only a short drive in either direction. However, this is that rare time of year when I DON’T envy all my friends living down in Florida. And the news the last couple days is reiterating that feeling.

Not that we don’t get our share of rough weather here in the Midwest, especially in the summer. Summer brings heat and humidity and with it, the very real threat of tornadoes dropping out of the clouds with little warning. In an earlier blog post I mentioned how my youngest daughter was not a fan of mine the first month of her life, and it was only after an "act of God" that she and I found peace. It was in late-June, only four short years ago.

My wife had taken the two older kids to her sister’s house about an hour north of us for a day of swimming and frolicking. I’m not a fan of public pools and volunteered to stay home with the baby who was on a strict nap schedule and didn’t need to be out in the hot sun anyway. In truth I just wanted to spend a Sunday planted on the couch. Early that afternoon I was doing just that, lounging on the sofa watching a movie while the baby napped. I wasn’t even paying attention to the scene just outside the patio door a few feet away, until I noticed some strange movement from the corner of my eye.

If you have kids, you’re probably familiar with the red and yellow Little Tikes Cozy Coupe. It’s every child’s first car. I suddenly became aware that my kids’ Coupe was flying across the cement patio just outside the door. I thought “well that’s peculiar.” Then I also noticed the sky had gone from sunny and blue to a muddy shade of green, and our neighbors' trees were currently sideways. I flipped over to the regular television in time to hear the Emergency Broadcast System finishing a sentence with “. . . hurricane force winds” followed by my county and “get to the shelter of a basement.” I clicked it off and bolted upstairs, grabbing the sleeping baby (who would be pissed at me, but what else was new?)

I headed down into our cold, concrete basement and held her tight in the corner as what little light usually crept in the subterranean windows faded to darkness. The rain was coming down in sheets so loud I could hear it hitting the roof, three levels above. I thought to myself “as long as we don’t lose power, we’ll be okay.” No sooner did I finish that thought then everything went dead. The lights. The air conditioning unit. Everything. Welcome to the stone age. I rushed over to the corner of the basement and peered into the sump pump using my phone as a flashlight, holding the still sleeping (thank God) baby in my free hand. The water level was surprisingly low. We had time before I really needed to worry. If that thing overflowed, I’d have a real problem. If the rain continued, the basement would flood. No question.

That’s when water in the basement fell a few rungs on the ladder of my concerns. It suddenly sounded like a locomotive was rushing through our backyard. You don’t hear a tornado – you feel it in your soul, and it’s terrifying. Especially when you’re standing in a dark basement clutching a newborn to your chest, with no clue where the rest of your family is at the moment.  I could feel the ground vibrating below me. Thoughts flood your brain like “what if this isn’t the safest spot in the house? What if the whole house collapses on top of us?”
I’ve grown up my whole life seeing horrific news footage of post-tornado devastation here in my own state. Plus, I’ve seen Twister about a hundred times. That’s when my daughter woke up and began to cry, not happy to find herself out of her crib and in the clutches of the hairy one! I tried my best to be calm and comforting, even though there was nobody to do the same for me. Those are the moments you regret any immature ounce frustration or resentment you ever felt toward those little ones for waking you in the night, spitting up on you, or keeping you from any semblance of a social life. You are once again reminded they are all that matters to you. Those are also the moments you find yourself trying to negotiate with your maker.  

Thankfully, while it felt like an eternity, it wasn’t but a minute or two before the rumbling and howling was gone. The pitch black at the top of the basement windows gave way to green, and then gray as a little light found its way down to us again. I breathed a deep sigh. Then rain began pelting the windows again. I looked back into the sump pump. The water was literally kissing the edges of the tank. Panicked, I looked around for anywhere to put the baby since I hadn't thought to grab her carrier. I grabbed a Rubbermaid container of hand-me-down clothes and gently placed her in it, surrounded her with a wall of soft pajamas and winter coats. Then I grabbed another, much bigger Rubbermaid; this one filled with Gorilla Blocks we’d bought our son a few years before and he never played with. They’re essentially enormous foam Legos. I dumped them out across the floor and pulled it to the well, along with an empty plastic wastebasket and began bailing water. For a solid ten minutes I stood there hunched over, trying to stay ahead of the rising water before it was covering the linoleum tile.


Eventually the rain stopped and I realized the water level was staying where I’d left it. Thank God, because the giant Rubbermaid was nearly full of brown, leafy water. I went back to my daughter and held her to my chest. This time she didn’t cry. She just snuggled into my neck. We went upstairs where sunlight was now flooding the kitchen. I nervously peered out into the backyard, expecting to see mass devastation. Miraculously all we’d lost was an old wooden privacy fence that had been erected next to the patio. If fact, later my wife would be upset we hadn’t suffered more damage in order get the fence replaced. I put the baby in the stroller and we toured the neighborhood. It seemed impossible we’d been so spared. There were giant trees completely ripped out of the ground, laying on their sides with thick roots in the air. Cars had been hit by heavy branches. Fences were downed all over the place. Neighbors were emerging from their homes, dragging rolled up carpets to the corner, ruined by the flooding. There was marble sized hail all over the grass that had pelted our aluminum siding, as well as my car, yet still no damage.  

To add to the block party, the temperature began steadily rising into the 90’s. Once everyone was home, and I plugged in the generator we’d borrowed from my brother-in-law to get the refrigerator and a couple fans running, I ran to get more fans. We'd need them. By time I got home to our personal sauna, I was greeted by three crying, miserable children and an overwhelmed wife. I loaded all of them into the minivan with instructions to drive to my parents’ house where there were plenty of beds and the central air was cool and crisp. I stayed home to man the generator and protect the homestead (with a baseball bat and steak knife under the pillow – but at least it was something I guess.) By ten o’clock I found myself lying on top of the covers in a pair of shorts, with two fans blowing on me like a modern King Tut. I began chuckling at myself and the situation. Finally, as I drifted off to sleep, the generator ran out of gas. As I began the internal debate about getting up to refill it or wait 'til morning, I zonked out from exhaustion.

In the morning, I woke to a beautiful day. I ran an extension cord from my coffee maker, out the backdoor to the generator on the patio.

Priorities, people.

I headed off to work, as neighbors began to put their houses back in order.  It was ultimately another day before we got power back, and many more days for other neighborhoods in our area. Even the annual Independence Day parade had to be rescheduled.


After that day, the baby and I became best friends. She’s my little peanut. Never cried again when I picked her up, and even now when she falls or her siblings do something that hurts her (real or imagined) she wants Daddy to comfort her. I don’t believe for a moment she remembers a moment of that day, but still, who knows? Maybe it’s somewhere, stored away in her subconscious.

Now every summer, while I welcome the sun and heat, I always get a little concerned when they start showing that cloud & lightning icon on the news. When I was young I loved thunderstorms. Now, as a parent and a homeowner, storms just make me pace nervously. It’s the reason this morning I woke up, took a walk, and made sure to send messages to my friends down in Tampa and Jacksonville who seem to be right in the storm path, making sure everybody’s okay. The A/C is on up here and we’ve got room on the couch, if you need to evacuate for a few.

Divorce

Last night I happened across one of those rare social media posts that, as a parent, restore my faith in humanity and give me hope for the future. For whatever reason, I wanted to share it. Perhaps as a cautionary tale to any readers considering divorce.

No, it wasn’t some uplifting news story or an inspirational meme. It was a picture and post that included someone I know only casually. My family owns a DJ business and I used to regularly pick up shows in bars at night for extra money. While dealing with drunks and bad singers on karaoke night – particularly drunk bad singers – can be a test of one’s good graces, it did make for fun people watching.

At one such establishment I got to know the staff to some degree and found them all to be a fun, if not a little misguided bunch of kids. Part of the mystique of the job was being a regular fixture enough that they let you in to the private goings-on without you really becoming a part of it. I was like a silent observer, watching the weekly soap operas unravel.  One of the servers, a terribly cute, wild child of sorts started dating a guy that at the time I thought “I wouldn’t let my daughter (ironic since I didn’t have one yet) date a creep like that.” She soon ended up pregnant and they had a quick courthouse wedding. When I heard all this I thought “well that’s a mistake” but as I was just the weekly DJ and not an actual friend or any part of her life, I didn’t voice my opinion.

Didn’t take long until that mistake played itself out. They got divorced, and with the advent of social media I again quietly observed the drama now from the comfort of my newsfeed. My opinions of the guy did not improve. It was not an easy or friendly divorce, although I’m convinced those only happen in movies. He began pulling stunts like waiting until the day his child support was due and leaving a box of pennies (or some denomination of wrapped coins) on the doorstep.

She recently got remarried. As I said, I don’t know her well but was very happy for her as the guy seems like the real deal. Takes care of her and her daughter, as well as his own from a previous relationship. I’ve been happy to see their wedding photos appear in my Facebook feed. This week a new photo appeared. It shocked me. It was the young woman, her new husband, and her ex and another woman, all together with the little girl in the center. They were all smiling, and it was recent. Strangest of all, it had been posted by her ex, who is not on my friends list. He tagged her in a post titled something along the lines of “two years ago I never would have believed this picture would happen.”

He went on to confess of his (and her) douchbaggery throughout their attempts at being a family and the ensuing heartache of divorce that followed. He said how foolish he’d been, constantly fighting with her, thinking of horrible things to say to her, just because he was hurt and upset. Then he told of how meeting his new now-wife made him begin to see how stupid it all was. That they should have accepted they just weren’t meant to be together (as they have now that they’ve met their true soulmates) and they should have only focused on loving  their daughter and giving her the happiest life possible.

Upon reading his words, I actually felt guilty for my quiet judgement of this guy I didn’t know at all and had only seen casually in a bar (rarely where anyone’s finest hours are on display.) The level of mature introspection and mea culpa he was putting forward was refreshing and humbling. Even to a guy whose parents divorced 35 years ago. I wanted to reach out to him and say not to be too hard himself. That we’re all human, and any damage they may have unintentionally inflicted on their child would likely not be permanent. She was very young in the bad times and now she will have more memories of their detent, and hopefully shared happy times together as one big dysfunctional family.  

In a manuscript I once wrote but will likely never share, except among the few friends who have read it, I was very candid about my own parents’ divorce. There never was such a “moment of clarity.” I am no learned expert or psychologist, but in that book I wrote: 

“And as an aside to any parents out there considering divorce, consider this.  How you handle yourselves in those proceedings and for years after will profoundly affect your children.  Don’t kid yourselves.  Divorce will hurt your children.  Hurt them irreparably.  Hurt them permanently.  No matter what you do or say, nothing will change that.  But you can still decide if that hurt is a scrape, a bruise, or a complete @#$% massacre.”

I am optimistic that with this path they seem to be on, that little girl's scrape will soon heal as to almost be undetectable at all. Here's to a good man and a good dad.

Angry Birds: A Dad's Review

Many of you parents of younger kids are probably thinking about taking them to see The Angry Birds Movie.

My kids were excited for it from the first trailers months ago, and quite frankly so was I. I played all the games on my iPhone. Plus I love animation and thought the visuals of the movie looked fun. As a writer, I thought creating a story around the games would be an interesting challenge that, done right could be a huge success.

As stated, that could have been the case.

We took the kids last night, and overall I have to admit I was disappointed. On a scale of 4 stars, I'd give it 2. There are moments where I really laughed, as did my wife. My two oldest kids, 9 and 5, thought it was hilarious. My youngest, who turned 4 that day became bored and restless by the halfway point. Let me state she's gone to and sat through a number of movies so it's not just her age or personality. It didn't capture her, for whatever reason.

I also found at numerous points, it wasn't capturing me. The story was boring and the plot weak. They shoehorned a number of cheap jokes as well as humor that was clearly intended for us parents (usually appreciated) that fell flat for me and went straight over my kids' heads.

The bigger issue for me was there were a number of bits throughout the movie that really skirted dangerously close to inappropriate. Listen, I'm no prude. Go check out my other Twitter feed for proof. As a dad I respect the line between what's okay for adults and what's ok for children. This was unquestionably packaged as a movie for kids. Some scenes made me uncomfortable. Why they felt the need to have pigs performing a "cowboy show" that would have been better suited for another Magic Mike sequel, I can't say. Even a scene featuring a mythic character dancing before a throng of screaming female birds in a leather Speedo and signing a character's chest was just out of place. The bird getting the chest autograph did turn out to be male, and more importantly, it went by quickly.

Without spoiling anything, I should mention the movie features one of the longer peeing gags I've seen in a movie. It's up there with Austin Powers and A League of Their Own. It's also a tad more graphic than those, where we thankfully only heard it. Then there's the realization that slowly sets in with both kids and parents alike of what we've just witnessed our main characters doing beforehand, and it's gross-out humor like I may have never seen in children's animation.

That said, yes, I laughed hysterically because sometimes I do have the mentality of a ten year-old. Again, I'm not a prude.

In the plus column, the big climactic battle between birds and pigs is extremely clever and well created. It's as close as seeing an Angry Birds game come to life as we may ever get, right down to how each bird flies and the way the buildings fall. I enjoyed that tremendously. Visually the entire movie is beautiful. The animation is superb. And as I said before there are many funny moments.

Sadly there are just as many unfunny attempts. As a movie, it was just mixed up. They even tried to impress with switching up animations styles and speeds a few times.  Perhaps that's the problem with this movie is they tried too hard to give us grown-up's a wink and nod, but forgot who their real target demographic should have been.  Maybe they were worried they had a weak premise (though in fairness they didn't, if done right) so they tried to distract and impress us. They should have focused harder on story. I didn't even find the main character Red to be all that angry. He was more of an outcast and an anti-hero. His big offense at the opening of the film is flimsy. Story always needs to be right above all, or flashy animation and funny gags won't be enough (says the writer.)    

So take it for what it's worth. Two out of four stars . . . or feathers. See what I did there?
I can only speak for my own feelings as a parent, and at times I was glad my kids are still innocent enough that they didn't get a few jokes. Although I remember being 9 and I suspect my son got more than he let on. Which as a parent makes me a bit annoyed with the studio, Columbia Pictures. They'll never compete with animation kings like Disney and DreamWorks or even Sony, or Illumination, whose Despicable Me franchise is setting the bar for how to combine offbeat animation with good stories by giving us offerings like this.

I'm going to recommend just renting this one. Actually, when it comes to the kids, I'd just download the game and let them play for a while.


p.s. Lest we forget . . .

Imagining Dragons Again

This week on my podcast I was talking about how certain upcoming projects have got me feeling optimistic again. I won't get into details, but suffice to say it's been a while since I've felt that way.
My first book was learning experience, good and bad, and it really opened my eyes. People can steal your optimism pretty quickly when you're not looking. It's something that the protective poppa in my wants to teach my kids, because I never want them to get hurt. However I know that A. that's not realistic - they will get hurt, and B. I never want them to be jaded or cynical.
The world is full of wonder and a parent it's my job to show my kids that. It's the reason I dust myself off and step right back up to the plate. My last book wasn't a home run. It was single and I got tagged on my way to second. Guess what? I'm lifting the bat back to my shoulder. I'm pointing out past the lights - always hope for that homer (no not the Dancing Homer - well him too) but we'll see where the ball goes this time. If every at-bat gets me a little further, that's progress, and that's success. I'm excited.
Today I was thinking about all this and an Imagine Dragons song came on. And I belted it out, windows down, at the top of my off-key lungs. It reminded me of something I wrote, 3 years ago yesterday coincidentally, as I was preparing to start the journey of my last book and the podcast I started as a companion piece.

It's a little long, and it's not about parenting. However as a dad who sincerely wants his children to dream and believe that they can do anything, I wanted to share it as today's post.


Imagine Dragons          

May 23, 2013  /  Bart A Scott
I admit it.  I’m stubborn.  I’m older than my years let on.  I can be a curmudgeon.  A fuddy-duddy.  I fancy myself an artist and therefore often find I turn my nose at those I perceive to fancy themselves artists in this hipster generation. 

And for that reason, I will admit that when I first saw there was a band called Imagine Dragons, I immediately rejected them and whatever they stood for.  How dare they choose a name I would have otherwise thought cool if not taken by some hipster, emo band of alt-rock minstrels posing as the next big thing?  Okay, maybe that’s a bit much.  In truth my reaction was more like:

“Imagine Dragons?  Um, already do.  All day.  Every day.  Gets me in trouble.  So no thanks VHI Artists I oughtta know.”

It takes a real man to admit when he was wrong. I can’t speak to the rest of the album, but yes, I am officially in love with their anthem, “It’s Time.”  Go ahead, click here and press play now . . .

Yeah that’s right, I said anthem.  It’s mine now, that’s for certain.  For whatever reason something compelled me to download it today, and while driving listen to it over and over.  Every line, every stanza resonated through me.  I get it.  At least I get what I’m supposed to get.  It brought me to my emotional knees.  I got misty-eyed.  This guy is me.  He’s talking about what I’m doing right now.  He’s singing about the journey so far . . .   

Many of you know the road I’m on these days.  A few years ago I was laid off from a dead-end, soul-crushing corporate job; my third layoff in five years.  This time with a young child and another (and soon to be another) on the way.  I was scared, angry, the usual.  But that time I was something else.  I was resolved. 

“So this is what you meant when you said that you were spent.”

My dream since I was a kid was to be a storyteller.  I saw when I said or did something funny, or when I wrote out a little story or drew a picture, people laughed and smiled.  My biggest inspiration growing up  was Walt Disney and the Disney Company.  I decided then that I had tried to play the game the way we’re told we’re supposed to, and look where it got me.  Especially in this economy, there’s no security and there’s certainly no loyalty.  And I’d turned my back on my dreams for this?
 

“And now it’s time to build from the bottom of the pit right to the top.  Don’t hold back!"

I declared that I would no longer do things the way I had before. It was going to be a year of doing things different. After all, following the established patterns had only led right back to the public dole. Certainly no commendations, no reward.

Yes, I would find a job to make sure I was contributing, keeping the family fed and sheltered. There were thoughts of going back to school, but I just knew there were stronger and stranger forces at play. It was like something was saying the door is open.

First, I needed a test.

I published a little novel I’d written when my son was born, and low & behold, it actually sold a couple copies. More importantly I got some of the most touching feedback, especially from parents of kids who’d read it. One even took it to school and did a presentation about it. That it made any money didn’t matter. It was that feeling. That fulfillment that I wanted, that fuels me. I’ve got a virtual drawer full of follow-ups to that one still awaiting some final polish, holes filled, etc. But I knew to soar I first needed to unchain my wings.

“Packing my bags and giving the academy a rain check.”

Twain said “Write what you know.”  What I know, to some degree or another is Disney, specifically Walt Disney World.  I’m not one of those who gets lost in the minutia (to me at least) of who designed what, how many bricks are in this walkway, what year this opened and that closed.  It’s not my thing.  All I know is how much I love it all, how it refuels my creative cells every time, and plasters a rictus grin to my face the entire time I’m there, even when I’m exhausted and my feet are throbbing.  I also know the reactions I get from people when they find out me, all 6 ft, buh-buh-buh-hundred lb. man of me, loves Walt Disney World. 

There it was.  The seed of creation.  The spark of inspiration.  A book about Walt Disney World for men. 

Seemed like a great idea.  I ran it by a trusted mentor, one I might mention already in the writing about Disney game who could have very easily said “scram kid, we don’t need another one around here.”  Instead he said it was indeed a great idea, and told me to lean in and charge, rather than retreat.  That was the boost I needed.

“It’s time to begin, isn’t it?”

Of course I still had to run it by my wife.  Hey honey, I’m going to take a week and spend a chunk of money to fly Walt Disney World by myself to research a book I want to write completely on spec.  How could that go wrong, right?

“This road never looked so lonely.  This house doesn’t burn down slowly.”

Where we come from, our backgrounds, our environment, people don’t write books.  They also don’t make movies or television, or write and record music.  Around here, those are things that happen elsewhere.  At least that’s the popular thinking that was drilled into our young heads.  So it wasn’t immediate, but she came around to it.  She didn’t understand it, but she got it.  Years ago she had a passion and wanted to start a business, and she did, and has been very successful.  She saw this was my turn.  Writing is my passion, and this book was a real dream.  It’s hard to explain to someone that being a writer is your business, but she did see it was a chance to focus this geeky obsession of mine into a product.  This was something I not only wanted to do, but it made sense.  It was something I had to do.  So it wasn’t much longer before I was on a plane before the sun came up, on my way to Florida with a full backpack, but also so much more riding on my back. 

                   “I don’t ever want to let you down.”

And now here we are, not even two years later, and that book is officially available for pre-sale on Amazon.  And will be on store shelves in the fall.  Is my next hope that it will be the greatest selling humorous travel guide of all time?  Well, of course it is! 

“So this is where you fell, and I am left to sell.”

The truth is I do hope many people read my book.  And yes, I’d prefer you buy it to stealing it, but we address that in an early chapter.  Either way, just read it.  Yes it’s a travel book.  But I promise it’s not what you expect.  Those are made by real writers.  People who paid attention in English class and understand the mechanics of the craft.  I’m not really a good writer.  I’m a storyteller.  Even when writing non-fiction.  My book is a little bit travel-narrative, a little bit guide book, and a handful of deranged tangents and flights of fancy.  The publisher has of course attempted to tame it a bit, still I don’t expect would-be travelers to read it with a highlighter or a notepad, carefully mapping out their next vacation.  If they do they’ll be lost.  It’s just fun, whatever your reason for reading it.  And it’s to get you to go.  It will hopefully answer the question of those who don’t get why so many guys like me do love Walt Disney World.  Listen I don’t make a dime from Disney for telling people to go there, but I want people to go anyway.  I’m still that kid who wants to bring laughter and joy to people, sometimes just by pointing them in the right direction.  I’m doing just that.  

  

“Turn in the rags and giving the commodities a rain check.”

Now that it’s almost ready for release, I will slowly get back to those other novels along with some other more fantastic ideas.  I can’t leave my own dragons alone for too long.  And yes, I’ve got a couple.  And we're still only halfway through the journey of this book.  But after nearly two years of working and sweating over it, I feel like (if you'll forgive the non-Disney reference) the white dragon in Harry Potter & the Deathly Hallows when he finally broke free of his prison in the goblin bank in that great moment where he perched atop the building overlooking London and just let out a sigh of relief, as if to say "I made it."  Yes, there will be more books in the Ears of Steel brand too. 


I’m not stopping now.  Forty isn’t so far away, and my Twenties are long gone.  If not now, when?  If not me, who?  I won’t be constrained by the thinking that greatness is only for others.  That magic is only made by the established magicians.  That the best one can hope for is a healthy 401K at the end of the rainbow, and maybe 10 healthy years left to enjoy it.  Quite honestly, I owe it to my kids to show them they really can do anything they want.  Nobody instilled that in me, so it took me longer and with a lot of stumbles and falls to find it out for myself. 

“The path to Heaven runs through miles of clouded hell, right to the top.  Don’t look back!”

So now, on the knees of my heart, near tears I say to that band I once dismissed, thank you for reminding me.  Thanks for telling my story, as I imagine it is the story of many, many others. 

“I’m never changing who I am.”

Never again.


Imagine Dragons?  I am one.  Watch me fly.  Better yet, break your own chains.  Spread those beautiful wings and soar alongside me.  It’s our time.  It’s our world.


It's time to begin.


Isn’t it?

Birthday Girl

Wednesday is our youngest child, Macy’s birthday. She’ll be four. We already had a party –her sister Maya is only 14 months older, to the day. I’m starting to feel guilty that we aren’t really doing anything additional. Although we’ve left most of the decorations up and I’m sure we’ll get a cake or something. The question will be, will she remember she already got her present from us? It’s amazing how quickly they can forget little things like me saying “if we give you your present now, that’s it. Are you okay with that?”

Guess what. She said she was. Of course she did. She’s 3. She knew it was her very own tablet. Of course she said yes.

Truth be told, it’s very likely we’ll have a few little things for her on Wednesday just so it feels like a birthday. I like giving my kids things. Crazy, I know. Sure, I worry about raising spoiled children who don’t appreciate hard work (which is a dumb phrase anyway - I don’t appreciate it -I just know I have to do it every day or we’ll lose the house) and the value of money.

Honestly, I don’t worry about Macy so much. She’s a very sweet, appreciative kid. Those other two . . . well, let’s keep talking about Macy.

If you’ve kept up with this blog thus far, it’s not hard to use simple math and a little deductive reasoning to determine that she was what they call “a surprise.”  One that floored my wife and me. We had such a hard time even having one, that when we were fortunate enough to have two, we said we were through.

As John Lennon said, life is what happens when you’re making other plans. One winter’s eve, we were watching television after the kids were in bed, and my wife casually mentioned she’d gotten dizzy at work and almost fell down. She said she’d made a doctor’s appointment just to be safe. I asked her at the time, “you don’t think you’re pregnant . . . do you?” I should mention that a month or so before, I’d gone in for a procedure to shutter the baby-making business for good.

So of course my wife answered “no, of course not!”

Turns out, yep, of course so! Apparently the doctor said with a chuckle “hey, let’s do a pregnancy test just to rule that out.” Nope. Problem solved. Cause found. Bun placed squarely in oven.  My wife says she cried for ten minutes when she got the news – not because she didn’t want another baby – just that, we were already exhausted. We didn’t start having them until our 30’s and now we were both nearly in our 40’s. We already felt too tired for the ones we had. She called me and it was as if she was speaking in a dead or alien language. I couldn’t comprehend the word pregnant.

After doing a few laps around my office building, I called her back and said everything would be fine. We’d figure it out. We’d make room for three. After all, I told her I loved having kids (which I did and do) and would be happy to have three, four, even five if I felt we were financially sound enough for it. We weren’t of course. We’re still not. But screw it, you find a way.

Macy’s arrival was a bit turbulent. They scheduled an induction. We checked-in at the hospital early and we were there all day, and into the night. Nothing was happening. She didn’t want to come out. Then things went south. Our doctor, Vernon, said the baby’s heart rate was dropping . . . and cue the chaos.

One nurse pushed me back and the rest began yanking chords and plugs out of the wall and in a matter of seconds, my wife, the bed, and all those electronics were gone. I was standing in an empty delivery room with just one machine making an insane, screeching beep.

In his book A Pirate Looks at Fifty, Jimmy Buffett wrote “remember that it can all go to hell in an instant.” In that moment, I got it. Every “what if” scenario races through your head. I tried to tell myself “they do this all the time.” That didn’t make it any less scary. Just as the fact women give birth every day doesn’t make it any less miraculous and amazing. In the moment, I was terrified. I couldn't imagine losing either or both of them.

At first they told me I couldn’t go. It was an emergency C section and I had to stay put. Then a minute later a nurse returned with some scrubs and said they would let me in with her, and to put them on. The scrubs were medium. You may not know this, but I’m a big boy. I can’t get my thigh in a medium. I tried to put the shirt on and looked like Chris Farley doing “fat guy in a little coat.”

Someone scurried off to get my size from the tent and awning company down the road. They finally brought me my plus-sized scrubs and we raced down the corridor. As I finally entered, our doctor was leaving and he congratulated me on a beautiful (they have to say that – the thing is covered in strawberry jelly and crazy glue-like material) baby girl and off he went. My wife was shivering and overwhelmed, but she was okay too.

While her entry into the world was full of surprise and terror, Macy was the greatest baby. Although she did not like me the first month of her life. For a few weeks I couldn’t pick her up, feed her, or anything of the kind, without her having a full DEFCON 4 meltdown. An act of Mother Nature brought us closer together – I’ll tell that story another time. Now she’s the sweetest child, and has a face befitting the angel that she is. Most of the time. She loves to help others, make people laugh, and give and share freely. She’s been the greatest “surprise” of both of our lives.

So I’m happy to spoil her with an extra gift this year!

Married Single Parent

I’m a single parent.

I mean, I’m married and all – 14 years in fact. What I meant to say is I’m a “married single-parent.”

My wife and I both work, and work completely opposite schedules. I work a 9 – 5’er, Monday through Friday in a typical corporate American office environment. I’m also a published author and working on expanding my oeuvre. No that doesn’t require surgery. Oh, and I host two podcasts and will happily accept the occasional public speaking gig. Why not? Like that song in Zootopia, I want to try everything. Eventually I'll get something right.

My wife is a self-employed hair stylist, and a successful one at that. However her days tend to start late-morning or early afternoon and run into the night. She’s lucky if she gets home when one of our three kids is still up.

That means we’re both on our own, and dreadfully outnumbered most of our lives. The little time we get together during the week is usually after 10 PM and I'm ready to crash, having been up by 6 while she's wired and ready to catch up. We try to communicate pertinent information throughout the day, although that is often made harder by the fact that she’s working with her hands and can’t pick up the phone for hours at a time. I on the other hand am a “pencil pusher” by day and leap at any excuse to avoid real work.

Just kidding.

No, I’m not.

Mommy blogs have taken the world by storm, and even I find myself turning to a few I’ve come to follow for ideas, tips, or just commiseration. Odds are there are dads out there like me, who work all day only to come home to work again for another 3 – 4 hours, getting kids fed, washed, and into bed. All the while trying not to snap at them for wanting you to play when you just want 5 minutes to veg out (knowing full well that’s never going to happen.)
We have a 9 year-old son, Sean, who has already charted his course from Notre Dame to the NHL – where he gets the athlete gene I’m not sure because it isn’t from me. He’s also good at math. Another reason I’d demand a DNA test if he didn’t look like me.
Then we have two little girls, Maya (5) and Macy (4). One of them was a cherubic surprise. The other, her older sister, is a brunette agent of chaos sent from another world to wreak havoc on mankind as punishment for global warming and the music of Justin Bieber. They are all three the loves of my life – and I have to remind myself of that all the time.

Fortunately, my kids tend to be really funny too. Yes, every parent thinks that. Either their kid is funny, or their kid is a genius, or worse, their kid is a comedic genius. Well I’m not claiming any of mine are the reincarnated George Carlin, but people do tend to tell me I should compile a list of my funny kid stories and write a book. Well, I’m already elbow deep in book writin’ so a blog will have to do, for now.

Welcome to my world. Keep your hands and feet in the vehicle and remain seated until the ride has come to a complete stop.

                                                     

For the love of . . . just eat a green bean!!!

How do parents get kids that eat healthy?

Notice I didn’t say “raise” or “get them to” eat healthy. I think if your kid loves spinach, broccoli, or even green beans after the age of 4, you hit the kid lotto. We tried. We fed all of our kids nothing but fruits and veggies when they were babies. We weren’t going to make the “same mistakes” our parents made of feeding us junk.

In fairness I was raised on junk because it was cheap. That was the early 80’s. We ate a lot of frozen fish sticks because I guess they were cheap. Mom would make a big pot of chili with little noodles in it and that would last us days. And there were nights she went to bed without dinner to make sure we ate enough. I also recall bricks of unmarked cheese. Sad thing is, the “we eat bad because it’s cheap” excuse is still true and the same reason so much of our country is out of shape and sick all the time. But I’m so not the guy to get off on that rant.

Our son used to love green beans. I mean hard! He would inhale them. Del Monte were his label of choice. Cooked or cold out of the can, didn’t matter. They were like Reese’s Pieces to him as a baby through age 2 or 3. Then something happened. Almost overnight, he just decided that was it. He’d fulfilled his green bean obligation to us. Now they’re repellent to the boy. He’s similar to Buddy the Elf now in that he only has a couple food groups, and one of them requires syrup. Otherwise it’s hot dogs (which we have more or less put the kibosh on because, come on), chicken nuggets, and pizza. That was it for years.

Recently he’s added cheeseburgers (but only plain – meat and cheese) and steak. Even steak was a battle. “It’s the same thing,” I’d explain, “just different, and may I add tastier formatting.” By the way, I apologize in advance to any vegetarians or vegans who happen upon this. I admire your resolve, but I’m a big hairy carnivore, as are my young.   

All three of my kids are picky eaters. I never realized how frustrating it is. We try not to give in but there are nights just to avoid arguments I find myself cooking (and by cooking, I mean microwaving or boiling water for) three different meals. Breakfast is the worst. The only thing they’ll agree on is bacon. Go figure. Many days the extensive breakfast buffet I will lay out looks like this:

Just feel the high fructose corn syrup seeping through you, let it envelop you!

I admit I’m not the best role model. I love junk food. I’ve committed to really working on it, for my weight but also to try to be more of a role model. Maybe I need one of those books like Jerry Seinfeld’s wife wrote (or stole, allegedly) about disguising healthy food as junk food. We did try giving the kids mashed cauliflower as mashed potatoes. Didn’t work. What can I say? I make smart kids.

Although I might make a better example if I didn’t make videos like this!