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Since this site will be shut down on October 26, 2009, I'm starting the process of shifting to my main site at Blogger. I suspect I may post more often since it will be simpler to do on Blogger, now (considering Vista no longer lets me see html source code for documents, which I used under XP to post in html here).

My latest Home Front postings are here.

"Whew!" (Posted April 18, 2009)

April has been a busy month so far. Chuck E. Cheese as a belated reward for the science fair success. Lamb reminded me that I'd promised her a trip there after she put in so much work on her 1st grade science fair project. I know that Chuck E. Cheese has a bad reputation for parents. But really, for $20.00 worth of tokens, we got in over two hours of playing capped off with the purchase of cotton candy and assorted candy with the tickets won. And nobody came down with any virus from grubbing around with other plague-infested children.

The key, of course, is to avoid the over-priced pizza made with crackers, a scattering of cheese food product, and MSG. Go with the tokens and get out. Which we did. We headed to the nearby Target where Mister bought some more presents with some birthday money. I had to veto some computer games because I'm really tired of games that work on my new computer but not his recently memory-upgraded three-year-old computer. Lamb and Mister each have their own computer (Is it nerdy to take some pride that I have four computers in my home but only two televisions?), but they often need to use mine for various games. Lamb, especially has several online games with little cute characters roaming through a cute online world. Sigh. What can you do? I'm the only one with high speed Internet access? And Lamb got a toy called Mymeeba. I never heard of it but it is an electronic game with a soft toy locked inside that grows on the screen when you win hearts. It evolves from a little speck into a grown thing. Pretty cool, actually. It took Lamb about a day to go through the games and release the stuffed, colorful blob.

That day was topped off by ordering pizza from a real pizzeria on the way out of Target which was ready by the time we reached the place. Much better pizza this way. So a pizza and $20.00 worth of tokens bought a fun afternoon and dinner. Not bad. It helps that it has been a year since I took them to Chuck E. Cheese. Perhaps I'd sour on it with more frequent trips.

And we had a nice dinner with some of my family for Easter. As I've written, I'm very happy about how welcome Lamb is. Easter of course included coloring eggs. Mister is not too old to enjoy it and Lamb is in her prime. So sadly, though neither likes hard boiled eggs, I got two dozen to coddle and color. Mister is old enough to soak the eggs for deep colors. Lamb has that enthusiasm that allows time only for pastels. I'm sure there's some deep analogy I could write about concerning this, but after a week of an egg diet--fortified with beer whenever possible--I'm in no condition for that. Plain hard boiled eggs with salt. Chopped up hard boiled eggs on toast with cheese. Chopped up hard boiled eggs on rice with soy sauce. Chopped up hard boiled eggs with mayonaisse for sandwiched. You get the idea. Plus of course the explanation that this holiday isn't about the Easter Bunny but about Jesus going up to heaven.

Still, the candy-filled baskets were the biggest hit. I've given up on jelly beans since they will last until Halloween when they get tossed. I have to be desperate for sugar to raid that source of candy. Lamb even accepts that at some point the Easter Bunny will return and retrieve the baskets to use them next year. Re-use is better than recycling, sweetheart. Mister seems amused at my pronouncements on the matter, being old enough to be in on the secret.

Mister and I also headed out to the Michigan spring practice early one Saturday morning. It was really cool. We skipped the line for the locker room tour. Instead we walked into the stadium on a sunny but cool day to get over-priced concession snacks and watch the alumni player flag football game. That was a hoot. It was good to see some famous football names from near and distant history. They had a good time and the play-by-play was good natured and light-hearted. We skipped the actual scrimmage, although we could have stayed to watch a half hour or so, because we also had tickets to the last home game of the Red Wings.

We made it to the Red Wings game over an hour early. And it worked out well. I departed from the online directions at the last momenton a hunch, and ended up on the Civic Center exit ramp that went right into the Joe Louis Arena parking ramp. Hooah! That skipped numerous steps on the directions list.

We got a frozen lemonade for Mister and a large beer for me (it's a hockey game, cut me some slack). We wandered around since we've never actually been to a hockey game. A little old man walked by me, no more than two feet away, and I said to myself, "that's Gordie Howe!" Actually, I said that to Mister. And when two young men in suits were visible behind him, I knew for sure. And yes, it was the great one since he headed for a table to autograph copies of a book he was selling. I'd know that face anywhere.

Our seats were high up but we had a great view. And just let me say that a lot of female hockey fans are not unpleasant to view. I'm just saying.

We enjoyed the game a great deal despite the outrageous penalty call that gave Chicago a penalty shot that won them the game and denied us overtime. I asked Mister if he wanted to do this again next year and he said yes indeed. So I'll try for a couple games next year. It has to be after the Super Bowl since Mister doesn't really pay attention to hockey until after football is over.

And miracle of miracles, I found my way out of the ramp and immediately recognize that I was going the wrong way. This despite my general lack of a sense of direction and and dreadful lack of knowledge of downtown Detroit. I did a quick turn-around and I was heading for the river. I could see the Ren Cen and knew if I got down there I'd find the freeway and I'd be fine. We at least got to listen to a sports talk show on the way home that got the bad call out of our system.

And this weekend, Lamb and Mister are on a short vacation to Chicago. Their mom is good about stuff like that and they get to travel because of her. I don't have the travel bug, really. The annual Toronto trip is great. But if it was up to me, the kids wouldn't see nearly as much. So I'm happy they enjoy the whole travel thing.

So a busy April so far and it is only half over. Next week it is take your child to work day and I'll take Lamb and Mister up to see the Legislature in action. For Lamb I'm sure the M & M dispensor in my office will be the highlight.

It's good to be a dad.

"The Promise" (Posted March 24, 2009)

Promises can take a long time to deliver. Sometimes they take a long time to give, too.

Several months ago, Lamb put a couple pieces of paper on the walls in her house. Each listed, "mom, dad, Mister, Lamb". One was by the door to the garage and one was upstairs by her bedroom. I asked her, what is this? Lamb told me that it was her "promise list."

Your "promise list?" I asked. "Yes. Remember you told me about the church promise? You and mom promised to take care of me, right?"

Oh, yeah. That we did.

I'm going to go backwards in time, here, so bear with me. Not long before the promise list appeared on her walls at mom�s house, we (me, Mister, and Lamb) were driving to my parents' home for a visit. We passed by a cemetery and Lamb asked if that was a church, like where she was baptized. Lots of the headstones had crosses on them. So I explained that this wasn't a church.

And then Lamb asked me what exactly happened at the church when she was baptized? Wow. How do you explain that to a five-year-old? But I gave it the old college try, without trying to remember theology from high school religion classes and apply them to a different religion.

Well, I started, "It was like introducing you to God. Not that God didn't already know you, of course. So it was more than just introducing you to God. Me, your mom, and your jiddo and tata (grandparents) stood before God and promised Him that we'd take care of you. We promised that we'd do our best to make sure you grow up happy and healthy. God wants you to grow up to be a good person and we promised we'd do that."

Lamb seemed satisfied with that and didn�t ask any questions. And she didn't mention it again until she made her promise list. It's funny what kids hang on to.

But when I thought about it, my off-the-cuff explanation was as good an explanation as I could have given. I stood that day of her baptism in church as her father. And that promise is more powerful than any law or court order could possibly ever convey.

And it wasn't a promise that I'd just given that day. It was a promise that I'd been making since the day she was born, looking back at it. Lamb was born on my birthday. At the time, I was simply a bit annoyed at my ex-wife for that coincidence. Despite my worries about the future, when Lamb was born, I took Mister to the hospital to see his mom and new little sister. And I held Lamb in my lap, too. My main concern was that I didn't want Mister to think of his sister as anyone but his sister, fully deserving of unconditional love. It couldn't be good for him--or his future wife--if Mister started off with a poor view of his sister. If I showed distance from Lamb, what would Mister learn from me? It didn't matter that Lamb's birth was a bit of a complication in our lives--in my life. Lamb was (is) truly innocent and does not deserve to be weighed down by the decisions of adults. Whatever else, I could not turn away his little sister. I had to treat her well. I had no legal responsibility to do any of this, but I couldn't see any other way of acting. I didn't intend to do more than that, but I didn't see how I could do less.

As time went on, when her mom had late night work schedules, I spent many a night after putting Mister to bed sitting on a recliner with little baby Lamb sleeping on my shoulder. I was unwilling to disturb her fragile sleep to put her in her crib, and so waited for her mom to get home from work, just listening to her sleep peacefully.

And whenever I came into my Ex's house, I'd announce myself by saying "Hello!" so as not to be mistaken for a burglar or something. And I always paid attention to Lamb and played with her or made goofy faces. As Lamb got older, she started to talk a bit. And when I'd come in, she'd call out "Allo!", like a little Cockney baby. My Ex said it was cute that she was saying "hello" to me. No, I said, I think she's calling me "Allo." She'd heard me say "hello" just about every day, and since I wasn't hovering over her asking her to say "daddy," that's what she learned to associate with me. I didn't finally win my argument until Lamb started to put words together. When she began to say "Bye Allo" when I left, that settled the argument. At least there is some sense to this. I still don't understand Lamb's early name of "Googie" for her brother.

But even as it was a little funny that Lamb called me "Allo," it also saddened me. She should have someone to call "daddy." Someone who would love her and take care of her, and swing her and carry her when she's tired. Little girls need a dad.

Time passed. Life settled down again. People got used to seeing me with Lamb. The neighbors of my Ex's parents remarked that it was amazing how much Mister and Lamb looked like me--that you usually didn't see that kind of resemblance.

I'd sometimes take Lamb to Mister's school when she was still in her stroller to wait for Mister to get out of class. And once, when I was there without Lamb, another dad asked me how old my youngest was. And I asked him, "Who?" And he said, your little girl? "Oh, I'm not her dad," I replied. I guess I was taken by surprise by the question. It was the only time I ever said that. There are all kinds of truth, I guess, but in my heart I knew that wasn't one of them. I felt sick for denying Lamb. I felt like I'd betrayed her.

As time went on, I took care of Lamb more and more. And Lamb went from calling me "Allo" to "B'ian", to "Brian." I played with her. Filled my home with toys for her. Provided space for her in my home even though I didn't have a room for her. She has clothes here and a desk and her own computer, and a shelf with books and videos that are all hers. She learned to love my pool in the summer and enjoy playing outside in her sandbox on my patio. And I swung her and picked her up so she dangled from my arms, and carried her when she was tired. And we played games she made up as she went along, and worked on her homework and science projects together. I worked hard to make my home her home as well as Mister's home.

I found that I cared very much for her welfare. I worried about her. She is a delightful little girl. And I started to quietly tell her I loved her when I put her to bed at night. It took me several months before I'd say it aloud so others might hear me. I was slowly becoming Lamb's dad. Or slowly realizing it, I should say.

And when I realized that I loved her as her dad, the fact that we shared the same birthday didn't seem so odd. People say that God doesn't speak to people anymore, but I wonder. Couldn't that coincidence of birthdays be more than chance? Is God really incapable of speaking to us--even obscurely--to let us know what we need to do? What we should do? And even if it is just chance, is the message any less true?

At some point, Lamb told her mom that she wanted "a poppa--like Mister has." My Ex wasn't sure what to tell her. So I told Lamb I'd always be her daddy. And that I'd always take care of her. But still Lamb did not call me daddy. She continued to call me by my name. My Ex asked me one day if I'd told Lamb not to call me "dad." That's what Lamb had told her, it seems.

So I sat down with Lamb and told her she could call me dad, or daddy, or Brian. But whatever she called me, I'd always be her daddy. Ok? She didn't say anything, but she listened.

In time, I noticed that she started referring to me as her dad when she mentioned me when talking to someone else, but she still called me Brian when speaking to me. And I still remember the first time she got mad at me and told me that she wanted a "new dad." Which is all a very normal thing for kids to say about their dads. What could I say to her? She already did that once, so it wasn't an empty threat as she assumed. She's a sweet little girl and anyone would be a fool not to want to be her dad. But I just told her that it didn't work that way. I'd always be her dad. Even when she's mad at me.

And Lamb told me that some kids in her class didn't know that I was her dad. Lamb said that she had a dad "just like everyone else in class." And sometimes a little child would ask me, "Are you Lamb's dad?" And I'd say, "Yes I am."

Pretty soon, she started mixing it up, calling me dad sometimes and sometimes Brian. More and more, Brian started to drop away. Now it is almost always "dad" or "daddy." And one day, fairly recently, Lamb asked me if I loved Mister more than her. She said she figured I did because Mister was older and I knew him longer. Why no, sweetheart, I said. I love you both the same. I'm the youngest in my family but that doesn't mean grandma and grandpa love me less. That's not how it works. And on her last birthday, while we sat at the table with her birthday cake, the sun came out after a rain. And you know what? A double rainbow shown in the sky. One for each of us, I told Lamb. I even got a picture of it. One strong one and a fainter one above it, both arcing across the sky. It seemed very fitting.

And my family has responded so well to Lamb. As Lamb got older and I took care of her more and more, I thought I should take her to meet them. They've taken her into their hearts, and now Lamb has more family to see and talk about. She loves to go to my parents for visits. And she is as welcome as Mister to family holiday events.

And Mister? He loves his little sister dearly. He is quite protective of her. Despite the cat-and-dog disputes they get into. So I guess even my first initial goals are achieved. And Lamb looks up to her big brother. I suspect that they'll always be pretty close as they get older and go their own ways in life.

So far, so good, it seems. When I took Lamb to an after-school science fair last month (where she won a first prize ribbon), Lamb ran around the halls with a little friend from her class. As her friend took off, she called out, "Follow me, daddy!" And her dad trotted off after her. And Lamb looked back at me, and repeated, "Follow me, daddy!" And I trotted off after her. Just to make sure she didn't get into any trouble or fall down, or get lost, or all the other horrible scenarios that dads worry about if we let our guard down for even an instant. And Lamb's broad smile and glittering eyes let me know that I was keeping the promise that I'd given on her behalf before God in His church. It was a promise that was a long time coming, but no less compelling.

I know that family and friends think I should make more effort to meet someone else. And I've tried. Really. I've met some women who I would have liked to pursue things further with, and a couple who gave me serious heart flutters, but it hasn't worked out. I wish I could have it all, as the saying goes. But it would be hollow if I succeeded in that part of my life at the expense of taking care of my responsibilities as a dad. And failing in this would be irresponsible and unacceptable. A promise to children is a special thing. Heck, it really isn't even a promise anymore. It just is the way it is.

So I find that I have two wonderful children to take care of. Truly, I'm a lucky dad.

"Who Rah?" (Posted January 13, 2009)

The college football season is long over for Wolverine fans. Since Mister was 4-1/2 years old, I've been taking him to football games at the Big House. The first game he lasted only a quarter before the heat got to him. Next year he made it to half-time. Since then he has been good for the full game.

We've gone to 3 games or so each year since he could make the whole game, and it wasn't until Appalachian State in 2007 that Mister witnessed his first defeat in person.

And then last year, for the first time since I was in college, I had season tickets for the two of us.

What great timing. Although I will say that the win over Wisconsin was the second-best game I've ever seen in person. So that memory will always be strong as the memory of the rest of the season fades.

And as a bonus, I got to alienate Sis and her boyfriend Dur by getting them to Michigan Stadium for a game.

My sister had mentioned a couple years ago that she'd never been there. Dur hadn't been there in years. So last spring, I asked Sis if she wanted to go to a game with me and Mister. Sure, she said. I'm sure she conjured up images of classic fall days and sunshine or perhaps a cool night under the lights after sundown. I've certainly experienced both with Mister over the years.

So I went through the Alumni Association which came through with four tickets to the Northwestern game. We should get them, and as our last home game and the game before the Ohio State game, it should be fun to see.

That was the theory.

November in Michigan, notwithstanding the whole global warming thing I'm supposed to get my panties in a twist over, was not the template for the classic fall games. Oh, it was still technically autumn, to be sure. But it was not what you think of when you think of football.

Unless you live in Green Bay, perhaps.

On game day, Sis and Dur drove over to Ann Arbor. Normally, we'd have a nice walk in the sun to the stadium from my home. Sis brought a rain poncho. I had them for Mister and me, and one extra for Dur. It was lightly misting at that point. Cold, but as long as you're bundled up, no problem.

My first mistake was forgetting to put on a winter coat over my hooded sweat shirt. Mister didn't want his winter hat since he had a Michigan cap and a hood. Sis and Dur had thought ahead and brought a blanket just in case.

The walk up was just ok. We were getting damp but our spirits were high.

But once in the stadium, it was getting noticeably cold. And the rain was picking up. This spoiled the first glimpse of the stadium bowl when you enter through the entrance tunnels. The stadium is submerged and so outside it doesn't look like much. But when you walk through the tunnel on a bright day, especially on the first game you go to in a season, the impact of the actual size is pretty cool, I think.

We were in the twelfth row I think, at the southern end zone. Which was pretty good for viewing the action on the southern end. Sis and Dur certainly liked the seats we had. Mister and I had seats in the end zone for years until last year. When the action is on your side it really is cool. The Penn State win in 2005 was made all the better for being right there almost at the rail for the last-second play that won that game.

So Mister and I were standing, cheering the team on (everyone in front of us was standing) despite the cold and rain. Sis and Dur were enjoying the game but generally huddled under cover. And we were basically winning through the first half so the weather was a minor factor. Nobody felt like food or refreshments, however, since exposing fingers to hold food or drink was a bad idea. And rain-soaked sausage and bread wasn't appealing either.

We weren't playing all that well, truth be told, despite the lead. And after getting fairly soaked, Mother Nature toyed with us a bit more�after soaking us, the rain turned to snow. Mister was getting cold so I switched gloves with him. He took my adult-sized gloves and I took the old knit kid gloves too small for him that he decided to bring. They were soaked but I put them on anyway. In time the water actually warmed up a bit and the gloves did keep my hands warm. A little bit later, Mister was still cold so I gave him my winter hat and pulled it down over his head. He was still game but noticeably less enthusiastic. I had started noticing the cold, having but a t-shirt, sweatshirt, and poncho, but I was still cheering the time on with full enthusiasm.

Sis and Dur were noticeably quieter, thought still of normal pallor and clearly conscious. So no worries.

Still, as it approached half-time, I began to think that it might be wise to consider leaving earlier than the end of the game. Sis was starting to endure the game more than watch it. And Dur, as he said later, was simply determined not to call for going back to my home before Mister did. He�d endure as long as he had to. Mister was barely in the two-digit range of age and Dur is a Marine veteran of Vietnam. One must maintain pride. So I told Mister quietly that we might have to consider leaving early as a courtesy to his aunt. Mister was horrified at the thought. "No, dad! We have to stay!" We�ll see, I said.

We made it to half time but nobody wanted to move to get snacks or anything. Lots of the crowd in front of us weren't as wimpy apparently, and headed up for sustenance to hold them over through the second half. Still, we were prepared to stick it out for a bit longer. I was thinking that the start of the fourth quarter would nicely balance mercy for my sister (a Marine can suck it up, I figured) and my son's desire to stay. I'd found I was barely warm enough by standing with the poncho tightly wrapped around me, so I could go either way.

So when the second half began, imagine my surprise when the wall of people in front of us did not return. They weren't getting hot dogs and�to show their toughness�lemonade! They fled! While we were winning! This wasn't discouragement or anything. This was just running home to warmth and antibiotics!

Mister clearly noticed the lack of a fan wind break. Before long, he was sitting down with his entire head pulled in turtle-like into the warmth of his coat, hood, hat, and poncho pulled down.

I still stood and cheered, as much for warmth as to support our team. Mister was still interested in the game since he would periodically ask me what happened.

Sis and Dur were rather quiet and still. Upright, mind you, but the guilt started to kick in. I've never ever left a game early since I figure the team deserves support even when losing to the bitter end. These are college kids and not professional athletes so I guess I can't abide treating them that way. It seems dishonorable.

But health of those I'm with? Sigh. So I leaned over to Mister and told him, "I think we should go now. I think Aunt Sis is pretty cold."

"OK," he replied. Whoa. OK?

Dur looked over and asked if I was serious.

"Yeah. Let's go."

There was no argument.

So we trudged out, passing some of the stragglers who had retreated to the concession stands to sip hot chocolate and watch the game on TV under cover. Once past that we joined the throng of refugees making our pathetic retreat from the stadium. And while we still led in the game! An outrage!

My poor Sis was wrapped in a blanket and soaking wet, cold to the bone, just putting one foot in front of the other. It felt like this:

(http://www.powellhistory.com/art/Painting/Prianishnikov_Retreat_from_Moscow_1812.jpg)

As warmth returned a bit, I tried to joke. "Hey Sis, maybe next week you and Dur can come up and Mister and I will poke you with sticks!"

"That does sound like fun," she said weakly but gamely.

"Hey," I retorted, "I'm talking sharp pointy sticks, and not dull-tipped things! They�ll leave marks!"

Actually, Sis and Dur were good sports about the whole thing, insisting they had fun and were glad they'd come. They even bought the dinner on the way home. I had mercy and sent them off to the pizza place to warm up and wait for the dinner while I walked the rest of the way home and got my car to come get them.

So we dried off, had pizza, salad and bread, and hot chocolate. And chatted and recovered until stadium traffic eased and they could reach the freeway.

I'd still like Sis to experience the thrill of a game on a nice sunny day. I'll try for tickets to a September game for 2009, and hopefully the memory of the whole horrible retreat from Moscow experience will be forgotten by then, and Sis and Dur will trust me for another trip to the Big House. Hopefully, we'll win, too.

�The Maestro� (Posted November 30, 2008)

Mister decided to continue his cello career in middle school. A couple weeks ago he had his first concert along with the students from the 7th and 8th grade.

His class is still learning to tune their instruments, of course, so I didn�t expect a lot.

One thing I didn�t expect was a last minute rush to get Mister properly uniformed. A week before the concert, remembering that Mister�s white shirt and pants in the spring looked to be about a week from becoming too small, I asked his mom if he was all set for his clothes. No problem, I was assured.

Then the night before the concert I asked again. Absolutely, I was assured. And she brought out his clothes. Mister couldn�t even button the pants and the shirt sleeves weren�t even close to reaching his wrists. Oops.

So my job became to get home early to pick up Mister and go get clothes. Go to TJ Maxx, which is close by, my Ex told me. Sounds like a plan, I thought.

So I made it back to Ann Arbor by 5:20, a full 55 minutes before Mister was supposed to be at the auditorium for the 7:00 concert and ten minutes ahead of what I had planned for. Lamb wanted to go with us, but I told her she had to stay with her grandpa until her mom came home. Lamb would have slowed us down enough to make a difference in a tight schedule. No offense sweetie, but we�ll be back. That took half a minute and I figured I passed the main obstacle to finishing this within the time limit.

We pulled into the first parking spot I found and started searching. Sadly, it took ten minutes to confirm from a scarce employee that the fact that I could not find children�s dress clothing was because they don�t carry it. Great.

Mister was worried. We hurried off, with me still limping from a gimpy mystery foot injury that I�d woken up with earlier in the week. (I assume that is what happens when you get older�things just break down for no apparent reason.) I reassure him that as long as we made it back to his mom�s by 6:00, we�d have time to get his instrument and cut off all the tags, and still make it on time.

We headed for Target. Meijer was nearby as a back up. If both failed, we were hosed. We were too far away from my place to let him borrow some over-sized but appropriate clothing.

So we rushed into Target, focused on black pants and a white shirt. I was guessing that a size 16 would be the best since 14 fits now and it would be good to have something that would last until spring, if I could manage it.

After 30 seconds of looking in the boys section, I nabbed an employee who helpfully got us in the right place. Pickings were sparse, I have to say. But I did find one pair of size 16 black pants and one size 16 white button-down collared shirt. They had nothing in 14 and no other 16s! But on the other hand, if these fit, all we needed were one of each.

So we quickly strode/limped back to the changing room and Mister tried them on. All fit although the pants were a bit loose in the waist. So it was back to boys for a belt. All of the belts were way too small for Mister. This was astounding. Mister is thin, but no boys belts fit him?

So we went back to the men�s section and we got him the smallest men�s belt I could find. By going to the last notch, it fit.

The lines were not long, and I will note that the time stamp on the credit card slip recorded 5:53 PM.

We made it back to his mom�s just shy of 6:00, and I snipped off the tags as Mister undressed. He got everything on, put his cello in my car, and headed off to the school. Lamb stayed with her mom since we figured Lamb would fidget too much with an official start time of 7:00.

And we walked into the auditorium by 6:15. Mister, apparently recalling my stories of how I�d tell his mom back in the day that we had to be places a half hour earlier than we really had to be in order to stand a chance of arriving on time, informed me that he really had to be there by 6:20. Hey, I protested, this is dad you�re talking about! I got you here on time! Oh well. His future girl friends and wife can thank me for this habit, I suppose. It lessens conflict, trust me.

I saved a couple seats for Lamb and her mom, and watched the kids tune up their instruments, avoiding just staring at Mister out of sheer boredom. A mom nearby had brought a book. She�s done this before, I assume. Live and learn.

The concert was very nice. The sixth graders managed to carry a tune, actually, though it was hardly what you�d call �good.� The seventh graders and eighth graders, all clad in black, were actually far better. And they were far more female dominated. The sixth grade orchestra has lots of boys. But they were few and far between in the higher grades. Sports take their toll, I suppose.

Trying to make pleasant conversation, I asked my Ex if it was a big deal to graduate from white shirts to black shirts. I actually know that all-black is the uniform of real orchestras so I assumed it must be considered a bid deal to go all-black. My Ex treated my question like a raving of a lunatic, so I just dropped it. Lamb had not been terribly cooperative prior to reaching the concert, I take it (though she seemed to me within the bounds of her age during the concert), so her mom didn�t seem receptive at that moment to polite small talk. Oh well. We get along just fine, actually. But we are divorced, after all. I later asked someone who would know and who lacks the same reflex response to me, and she told me that yes, it is a fairly big deal to graduate to the black shirts. Thank you for that, it�s nice to know I�m not dimwitted.

The orchestra teacher finished up with his own cello solo and boy was he good, to my untrained ears. I just wish the accompanying recorded music hadn�t drowned him out so much.

So we had a success. Mister did a great job, as far as I could tell. Although my part was really restricted to getting my young musician properly attired and to the event on time, under the circumstances I felt like I should have wielded a baton (or whatever they call the stick thingy�maybe I am dimwitted �). Really, I was in my element in this situation. Classical music? I know little. Early in my career I wrote a tribute to a conductor upon his retirement from the local symphony orchestra that apparently brought the man near to tears and prompted the legislator who read it to him on stage to interrupt himself and say �this is really good.� But I knew nothing of classical music. I even bought a book that I started to read on the subject, but I never did finish it (Obviously, that was female-related, which is why I stopped reading the book ...). So my classical music knowledge is all Bugs Bunny-related, for the most part.

But put me in a time crunch situation with limited options? I�m there. Work the problem until there are no options left, is my motto. We solved the problem. And Mister and his classmates did a fine job on stage that I thoroughly enjoyed.

Maybe I�ll have a chance to use my tuxedo in the near future after all.

"Border Issues" (Posted November 25, 2008)

This last summer, I went to Toronto for my vacation again. It was a two-part vacation this year with part on my own and part with my Ex, Lamb, and Mister.

Before my part of the vacation, the kids enjoyed the trip to the amusement park in the harbor, with Lamb old enough to go on more of the rides this year. I admit to hanging on to Lamb for dear life on the ski-lift ride over the park, fearful that somehow she'd slip off and fall. Mister and I made it on the bumper cars this year.

Last year, I took Mister to visit his grandpa up near Sudbury and spent some time at a cabin there suffering in nature's splendor before returning to Toronto for a few days. Mister then stayed a week or so until his mom took Lamb up for several days and the big trip home. Mister didn't like that arrangement so asked for the former schedule of the four of us going to Toronto first and then me sending them on their way up north while I remain for my own down time.

I really like the Entertainment District in Toronto. This year, with my two favorite museums still under construction there, I needed afternoon alternatives to recovering from bar trips the night before. So I saw both the Dark Knight and Iron Man on vacation. I had fun. It's getting to the point that I probably should find where the somewhat older types like myself go for nightlife, but so far my age hasn't been fatal!

Anyway, I've begun to dread the border crossing at the end of these trips. For some reason, they don't like my story and this time I got a border agent with some personal issues that she really shouldn't have taken out on me. So even though I always remove my sun glasses so I can look directly at the agent when responding and always give a cheery "hi," that moment is always the high point of my Customs experience coming home.

Like I said, the basic concept is that me, my Ex, Mister, and Lamb travel by car to Windsor where we board a train for Toronto. After a couple days in Toronto, I get Lamb, Mister, and my Ex to the train station for the trip north to Sudbury where they meet my Ex's dad. They spend several days enjoying boating and whatnot while I enjoy the complete absence of responsibilities with healthy doses of Canadian beer. I take the train back to Windsor where I get my car and drive home. The rest drive back home through the UP. Simple, right?

Well, perhaps not simple. Life is surely more complicated than I'd like. But it is true and I prefer to stick to the bare bones truth since it is easier to remember and I figure trying to make up a lie that sounds simpler could just end up getting me grilled by Homeland Security types for several hours. As it is, I've had long inquiries as I've sat in my car about my job, origins, travel plans, the "suspiciously" empty child seat in the back, and even had my trunk searched.

This year, I assume my female agent was divorced and perhaps hasn't had a magical experience with that whole legal process. Because when I laid out the above facts (minus the beer part), the agent clearly stopped listening to what I actually said. "So you went on vacation with your ex-wife?" she asked, with some disbelief in her voice. "Well, only partly, I explained patiently. "Like I said, I sent them up north to meet her dad and their grandpa."

Much more animated now, having clearly abandoned the script before she could ask me about bringing over live plants or anything like chemical warheads, she began to fixate on the ex-wife part of the story, completely ignoring the basic narrative of who went where. I'll admit that I was starting to get a little annoyed. Three days of hangovers will do that to you, in my own defense. At one point, she asked, "So you're telling me that you all went to Canada and you now have no idea (at this point she looked off into the sky as if the strange explanation for this would pop out ot thin air) how your ex-wife and children will get back home?" My clearly sequenced narrative was being ignored. "No, " I said, "As I told you, they met my Ex's dad and they are all coming back home together." This was really getting bothersome.

"So you are telling me that you get along with your ex-wife well enough to get on vacation with her?" She clearly had trouble with that concept. Hey, a lot of my friends and family have trouble with that. But my first impulse is that children shouldn't pay for the mistakes of adults. I try very hard to live by that. Look, I don't want too much of that togetherness. Which is why I've never accepted the invitation for all four of us to go meet my Ex's dad up at Sudbury. The trip to Toronto isn't all that much fun for me and increases my stress levels. The kids having fun makes it worth it. I've pushed off offers of other longer vacations, but this one allows me to help out and head off on a vacation of my own. It works for me. It works for my Ex. And it works for the children. Why United States Customs would have an issue with this is beyond me. And why the agent's apparent personal issues should affect me was beginning to grate. So that's about when I snapped and replied to the agent, "Yeah." I should have just stopped right there. But no. "You sound a lot like my mom on this," I added. (Sorry, mom.) And I wasn't smiling or being cheerfully patient anymore.

That's when her personal issues merged with statutory authority. "Alright," the agent snapped as she emerged from the booth. "Turn off your car, give me the keys, and pop your trunk." So I did that. My luggage was in the back seat and she didn't even want to look through that for plants or whatever contraband one might bring back from our northern neighbor. She just had interest in the trunk. Based on past trunk interest, I get the feeling that they half expect to find bodies there. To make room for luggage for four, I had cleaned out my trunk of the extra clothes and stuff that I keep in case I break down on the highway in sub-zero temperatures, and with no luggage at all, it was pretty clear. What I could not remember was whether I had taken the big shovel out before the trip. Nor could I remember if I'd used it in the garden recently (I have no garage so leave my shovel in my trunk, where it can double digging me out of a snow bank or whatever) and so did it have dirt caked on it? Good grief, they'd have DNA testing and sniffer dogs out any moment, the way this was going.

But the agent spent only about 5 seconds determining that I had not--in fact--been trying to sneak "evidence" across the border before she closed the trunk, returned to my car and handed me my keys, and told me I was free to go. I thanked her, put my sun glasses back on, and drove off, thus ending another eventful Customs experience.

I really need to reconsider the whole truthfulness philosophy that I bring into the world of border crossings.

�Getting What We Wanted� (Posted August 27, 2008)

The school year is almost upon us and I�ve yet to write about my very proud dad moments of the spring. The 2008 Science Fair was a grand day, indeed, for me.

After last year, when Mister won the humongous 4th-Grade trophy, Lamb informed me that she wanted one, too. Oh boy. I had to come up with a 5th-grade project and a kindergarten project.

So this spring I had to face the pressure. Mister had won in third grade and in fourth grade. He�d surely like another win. And Lamb had trophy fever.

For Mister, we made an experiment that did not involve glue drying. Last year, that really slowed us down in repeating the experiment. We did it, but boy was that tense with the deadline looming. So this year we did an experiment with friction. Mister dragged a wood object across various surfaces using a pulley and string, measuring how many pennies it took to get the object to move across the same length of different surfaces.

Mister could do it all. This year my support was limited to the idea, building the actual display, and formatting what Mister typed. And I probed him with questions about the experiment to get fuller statements on the results.

Mister worked very hard on his project and he maxed out on the points. But after three years, other students learned to max out as well. Apparently, the judging went back and forth between his project and another boy�s project. The other boy won. Mister was a friend of that boy and wasn�t disappointed too much. I told him I was very proud of how well he did. He won a first prize ribbon but no trophy this time, which only went to the top project in each grade. The project that won was certainly very good and it really was a toss-up as to which one was better. What I�m glad about is that projects obviously done by parents were not rewarded with prizes.

For Lamb, this was the first time I had to make an experiment that a 5-year-old could understand. It worked out well, with Lamb�s kindergarten teacher complimenting me for making an experiment that she could understand. What we did was take 3 different types of balls (a super ball, a soft rubber ball, and a hard plastic ball, all about the same size) and tested to see which one would bounce the highest. Lamb predicted the order of �bouncy-ness� and I built a tower with an adjustable ramp and gate to hold the balls plus another tower, both using cardboard wrapping paper tubes, with three Styrofoam cups embedded in it. Lamb color coded the three cups and I made a simple data sheet for each ball with boxes color coded to match the cups.

The idea was to adjust the tower ramp height so that all three balls would bounce into one of the three cups (high, medium, and low). I thought this would be a problem but actually it worked quite well. After I showed Lamb how to do the experiment, Lamb ran each ball three times and each time the super ball went high, the rubber ball went medium, and the plastic ball went low. Lamb was even able to translate the experiment results to the data sheets and understand what that meant about how high the balls bounced. At one point I thought she didn�t quite get the experiment when she ran over to look at the tower to double check the cup colors, but when I noticed the tower was actually upside down, I felt better. I flipped the tower and she clearly got it.

Lamb also wanted me to include the towers in the display, which I hadn�t planned to do, but in the end her idea was good. The display looked much better with the two towers on either side. I used pink poster board for background and I had to type the display of course. But I used a question and answer format where I asked Lamb about the various stages of the experiment and recorded Lamb�s answers. I wanted to make sure she understood what we were doing and I wanted her to do as much as possible. I did not want to be one of those parents who just does the experiment while their child is off playing video games. But as a kindergarten student, she just couldn�t do a lot of the work on her own. So I had to balance what she could do and what I needed to do.

Two days before the projects were due, when I brought both projects to heir mom�s house, Lamb�s mom gave me some heartburn by worrying that writing about what I did in the text minimized Lamb�s role. I worried all the next day and night. I did replace the computer-made graph with one that Lamb had to hand make, in response to her worries.

The night before turning the projects in, Mister touched me by telling me that he sure hoped Lamb would win the trophy. No mention of his desire to win. He was concerned for his little sister. He is such a good boy. That made me more proud than all his hard work on the science project.

As luck would have it, I took the kids in to school the day of the science fair and stuck around for the award ceremony early in the day, before going to work. The principal saw me and told me it was a good day for me to stick around. I wandered the halls and found Mister�s project with a maximum score and blue ribbon. Cool! And then I found Lamb�s project on the stage. She won the class trophy! I was so pleased for Lamb.

I was a bit disappointed for Mister, realizing that since his project was not on the stage he did not win a trophy. But he did so well that I made sure I hugged him and commended him for his ribbon when he came into the auditorium.

I had only a moment of worry for Lamb when the students were called up to get their trophies and to explain something about the project. Uh oh! I hadn�t prepared Lamb for this. I feared she�d be lost and make it seem like I did the project! That would be so unfair, I thought. And with Lamb going first, she wouldn�t have the chance to hear the older students talk to get an idea.

After waving to me when the teacher pointed me out in the back, the teacher gave her the trophy and asked the question. My heart stopped at that moment, even as my eyes brimmed with tears of pride. She should have a future with no boundaries to what she can achieve and this recognition of her abilities was important to me--especially since she is the youngest in her class.

I needn�t have worried. Lamb started out, �Well� and paused in thought. My worry broke. No shyness at all there. Then she explained that when she rolled the colorful rubber ball down the ramp to bounce into the cup, she was surprised that it didn�t bounce higher.

She nailed it! And nobody in that auditorium could have any doubt that Lamb conducted the experiment and understood it completely.

The scoring sheet itself said that the project had all the elements of a prize-winning effort and that the student was obviously involved in conducting the experiment. Darn straight.

Lamb displays her trophy after the awards presentation:

In the end, we all got what we wanted. I wanted my kids to work hard on their projects. I explained to Lamb that I was happy she won but that I was proud of how hard she worked.

Lamb won her trophy just like her brother had.

Mister got his wish for his sister and won a prize himself.

And I was so pleased that Mister put his sister first in his expressed wishes. More parental pride. I have good children.

Of course, the pressure is still on for new projects in the new year.

�I Solve a Math Problem� (Posted May 19, 2008)

Mister is good at math. I can still check his math homework, so I feel pretty good about that. But some math problems are more challenging than others.

Yesterday, Mister had weekend math homework and he did it Sunday morning. When he finished it, I checked it and returned it to Mister. Mister placed it on an end table. And there it sat all day. When I was getting Mister and Lamb ready to go back to their mom�s house last night, Mister scrambled for his homework. It wasn�t by other school material I set by the door. Mister went back looking for it while Lamb and I waited with our shoes and jacket on.

Mister found his homework. Unfortunately, it was welded solid to the table top. I can only guess that Mister must have spilled something sticky on the table in the morning. Perhaps some strawberries he ate there. Maybe some juice. Hard to say.

Hard to remove, actually.

So I popped off my shoes, with Lamb following to see the source of the commotion and anguish from Mister over the state of his homework.

Pulling up on the paper I could see that a good 4� x 6� part of the paper was stuck solid. I pulled and some paper started to come off from the back. So already I had some very thin spot with the ink barely surviving in a translucent segment of near-paper. Anguish levels went up.

But not mine. I worked the problem. With a spatula. In retrospect perhaps a damp towel applied gently could have loosened the paper. But we had to get moving to get two children ready for bed. So I scraped up the homework, leaving strips of paper stuck to the table surface and only a couple small holes in the paper. But the homework was free and still retained that rectangular paper shape. Luckily, this was a one-sided homework assignment. The anguish level was no longer rising but the homework was looking shabby.

So it was off to the table. I slapped the paper down with the blank side up, grabbed a blank sheet of paper, cut a patch to cover the thin spot, and taped it in place. After flipping it over, I told Mister to fill in the gaps of his answers on the blank spots formed by the paper patch.

Lamb thought this was a hoot. While Mister and I worked at the table, Lamb started going after the paper remnants on the table with the spatula. Hey? Dad was doing it! This was an opportunity to do something ordinarily verboten, without a doubt. Meanwhile, Mister was able to do this very quickly and I then applied tape across the holes in the front.

This was good. Since Mister answered questions that had not been covered in class about the number of sides and vertices on 3-D polygons, I really hated to lose this homework. Mister used a dictionary and Google to get those answers, after I prodded him that not having been taught the answers in class should be no obstacle in this day and age. Even my dial-up service could handle this!

So I can still solve fifth grade math problems.

"Near Historic Idiocy" (Posted December 31, 2007)

On Saturday, with the New England Patriots playing for a perfect regular season, I sent Mister up to bed later than his usual time but before the game was over. Mister mildly protested, but he went up. When the Patriots scored to close the gap, I ran up to tell him as he got out of the shower. Not long after, I went up to tell him that the Patriots had scored again to go ahead.

I went down and after about ten seconds, I had a blinding revelation--I was being an idiot. I went upstairs and told Mister to come down and watch the rest of the game. He was thrilled.

Brady is a former Michigan player and this could be a record unmatched since 1972. And I was sending Mister to bed? During vacation?

So I redeemed my error in time for Mister to see this historic event in the sports world. To his credit, Mister had accepted bedtime easily though in retrospect I would have expected him to protest. He's a good kid. And he saw a moment in sports history. And I avoided a bad decision I would have regretted.

�Attention to Detail� (Posted December 15, 2007)

I pay a lot of attention to the details of Christmas. I make special Santa gift tags and note pads for both me and my ex-wife to use. I avoid detailed explanations that can be broken apart by questioning children looking for inconsistencies, and I add little things like bringing up the NORAD Santa site on Christmas even and not settling for cookie crumbs and milk residue on Christmas morning. I add chewed carrots around the fireplace to show messy reindeer were present. Well, it wasn't as gross as that sounds. I just gnawed on the carrot as the bits fell to the ground. No chewing at all. Really. It looked realistic. Mister believed until last year. Lamb still believes.

Two years ago, Mister didn�t pay much attention to the Santa tracking on NORAD and I wondered if I was paying too much attention to detail. No, I found out later, Mister actually was extremely affected by that site and thought it was real!

And this year, as I got the decorations and tree out, Lamb was thrilled and even mentioned that we�d have to put out cookies and carrots. �The reindeer was so messy!� She nearly screamed with a smile that took up 180 degrees of her face. She hadn�t seemed to notice the carrot bits last year, but a year later she recalled that detail right off the bat!

To Mister at one time and Lamb now, it is natural that Santa delivers toys to two different homes for both of them.

So to parents out there, don�t be bashful about your Christmas ploys. Heck, I remember one Easter where my mom and sister dipped our poor cat�s paws in green food coloring and put �hopping� prints across the kitchen floor. They sold me!

You never can tell what they notice and remember and believe for years to come.

Heck, I�m only now starting to question that whole Social Security trust fund thing.

�Mostly Downhill from Now On� (Posted December 15, 2007)

A snow storm is upon us. The first of the year. Unfortunately, Mister is under the weather so Sunday will not be a sledding day.

Speeding down a hill is a joy for kids And for adults, too, but there are no sled resorts in Vail. Adults have to pay far more for the same thrill. Somehow I think that if I walked into the lodge to warm myself around the fireplace with a good stiff drink while holding my plastic saucer, the snow bunnies would not be clustered around me as I recounted my run down Demon Hill backwards.

But I digress.

Over the summer, I introduced Mister and Lamb to the slip and slide. I don�t know why I never thought of getting one of these before this summer. I have a pool so that�s where we get our summer water cooling, but in the spring I spotted a slip and slide at the local CVS and I had to buy it.

Lamb was thrilled by it:

And Mister liked it, too, despite being the advanced age of ten:

One thing I didn�t realize is that a slip and slide takes a tremendous toll on the lawn beneath it. I kept moving the thing every five or ten minutes to keep from gouging a muddy scar through the grass. The grass healed after a couple weeks, but how on Earth would you have one of these in your backyard all summer and used every few days?

After that first day, I tried to place the slip and slide on a slope so the water would not pool under the mat but that had no noticeable effect. I still had to move the thing over every 5 or 10 minutes to save the grass. It�s a lot of effort but the kids sure thought it was worth it. I am glad, however, that the pool is the usual coolant of choice.

This followed on another good year of sledding fun. Mister still had fun on the small hill by our local park and for Lamb, this was her first time on the slopes.

Lamb was a bit worried at first and even told me she really didn�t want to go. I told her she could just play in the snow if she wanted to, but after one ride down with me was sold and eager to go on her own:

Mister extended his enjoyment of the small hill with a new sled that went faster and farther than the saucer he passed down to his sister:

This year, I�ll have to take Mister to a park across town for a real hill. Lamb will still like the small hill, so I broke the news that when I�m taking Mister and Lamb, small hill by us is our destination. On other days, we�ll go to the big hill.

And me, I�m still trying to impress the babes with tales of head-over-heels tumbles down a hill when the saucer edge digs into the snow. Seems like an Extreme Sport to me. But apparently not. It�s the agony of defeat every winter.

I bet if they sold $500 dollar sled boots, Italian leather sled gloves, and designer Austrian saucers with special wax for them, the chicks would be all over me at the park.

It�s very unfair. Snow boards are edgy. Snow saucers are childish. Where�s the logic?

�When Football is Life� (Posted December 11, 2007)

Michigan�s football season has been a disappointment this season. Mister lives and dies for Michigan football. I don�t think there is any question in his mind that he will go to the University of Michigan (you know, when he gets fifth grade and all the rest out of the way).

Starting out number 5 in the polls with talk of a national championship bandied about, the stunning reality of losses to Appalachian State and Oregon turned that victory parade into an uphill struggle.

Yet eight straight victories later and stunning upsets across the NCAA landscape, it seemed that glory remained within our grasp despite the obstacle of a 0-2 start.

And then it all fell apart with a shocking loss to Wisconsin. And then another defeat to Ohio State. So we ended with an 8-4 season. Not horrible. But not stellar, either.

Mister and I managed to make it to four games this year�a record. The alumni association came through with tickets to Eastern Michigan and Notre Dame while Mister�s grandpa gave us tickets to Purdue and Appalachian State.

Until this season, since going to 2 or 3 games per season since 2002, Mister has never seen Michigan lose in person. That ended with our Appalachian State game. It was stunning to see ASU play so well yet still we thought we�d get just a scare until that last field goal attempt was blocked. Mister was devastated. I tried to provide the usual dad perspective that if we could bounce back from this loss, by the end of the season this upset would no longer be considered the greatest upset in history as the instant analysis was claiming that day. Indeed, that judgment has fallen with time. Not that it did us any good. We went on to get crushed by Oregon the next week.

Still, I tried to provide that perspective thing. Look, this could be very bad, I said, but if our team can make a gut check�and Michigan has the character to do this�we could still win the Big Ten and have a very good season.

Beginning with a needed thrashing of an admittedly weak Notre Dame team, our large margin of victory at least made a statement that we weren�t done for the season. Mister and I saw that game:

We also got bragging rights versus my dad who is an ultra Notre Dame partisan and professes to hate Michigan. I think it is mostly an act, but I digress. Walking home from the stadium, Mister asked if we�d call grandpa when we got home to gloat. Oh, no, son, I replied. That�s what grandpa would expect. I�ll wait until tomorrow to call. Because if I call tonight, he�ll know it is over. If I wait, every time the phone rings he�ll wonder if it is his son and grandson calling to proclaim Michigan�s victory. I can be cruel that way. No instant gratification weakness in my blood. Heh. Still, I did not gloat. Earlier in the season after his call to rub in the ASU loss, my dad had the good grace to call back and leave a message that he may have called too soon since Notre Dame was demonstrating just how bad a season his team was about to have.

And I went into the perspective thing, again. Even a close win would have been insufficient to provide hope. And then the next week we beat a tough Penn State team despite fighting it with our freshman backup quarterback. Injuries to Henne and Hart would plague us all season. Yet we came up with the victories, validating my refusal to let early season disaster become full blown defeatism. I want Mister to have the perspective to take setback in stride. To assess where you are and plan how to move forward and not just think further retreat is inevitable. Life is like that. Problems come up. You don�t let those problems crush you, however�or rather you shouldn�t let them crush you. Too many people do just that. I want Mister to always look forward. To learn from setbacks and build a life rather than compile a list of really good reasons for your failures.

Heck, we even had a moment for the �back when I was young� moments when the tussle over the new Big Ten Network (curse the Big Ten for this move and damn Comcast for pretending that they don�t want customers to pay for a channel they don�t watch�let�s have a discussion over the home shopping channel and about thirty other channels I have to pay for on my basic cable. Anybody at corporate headquarters want to really discuss that issue? Bueller?) kept the Northwestern game off of our TV lineup. We listened to the game on the radio and Mister clearly had trouble following the game in this medium. This was normal, I explained. My friends and I in college often listened to games on the radio with Bob Ufer calling the plays. (The drinking on Saturday morning pre-game, I left out.) Back before there were a thousand cable channels, even Michigan didn�t have that many games broadcast on television. Mister was unimpressed with the Stone Age. Sometimes perspective lessons fail completely.

Still, we saw no more defeats at the Big House, including the Purdue game:

With an 8-2 record and undefeated in the Big Ten, we prepared to battle a good Wisconsin team. It looked like we were all set up for the standard Michigan-Ohio State final battle. And despite adversity, we clawed our way to within two points. I thought we would get the victory in the end even without Henne leading the team. The gutsy win over in-state rival Michigan State the week before seemed to be a sign that we were not going to let our 0-2 start spoil our comeback. But taking chances, including a 4th down attempt to get the first down on our own 5-yard line, led to two more Wisconsin scores. The game was closer than it looked but it was still a loss in the end.

So Mister needed perspective again and I did my best to do so once again. Look, as much as it would have been nice to win this game and go into the last game undefeated, we didn�t absolutely need this win. If we go into the Ohio State game with one loss or no losses, we still need to beat Ohio State to win the Big Ten. And if we put Henne and Hart into the Wisconsin game and they were injured too much to play the last game, wouldn�t even a victory of Wisconsin at that price be too much to pay? Coach Carr did some coaching on that decision, I think, and did not cave to the fans� desire for a ninth win in a row when the price could be too high for what might be gained. So Mister accepted that logic. And then Ohio State�s loss to Illinois, who we beat, made the Wisconsin loss seem less fatal.

I won�t go into the final game. We lost. I thought we�d win despite the odds and our fist drive seemed to prove we could move the ball despite settling for a field goal. But then we were shut down. And I must say, Ohio State could have scored again if they wanted to. The 14-3 loss was worse than it seemed. And I told Mister that I felt worse for our players than for Coach Carr. Carr was paid for this job and he�s had his share of success. The seniors, men to be sure but just still college kids really, would graduate without beating Ohio State. As for me? Please. I�ve seen many wins against Ohio State, including many that spoiled Ohio State�s hopes for a national championship. And I�d see many more in my life. My disappointment was nothing, really.

It was tough to provide this perspective to this loss. Yet the very fact that the final game again was the game to decide who would win the Big Ten was a lesson when you stepped back to September 9 and looked forward from a 0-2 start. The bookend pairs of losses hurt, but the middle 8 straight gave us a respectable season if nothing else. And for a while there, with even more stunning upsets around the NCAA (more perspective there), it looked like we just might�maybe�back into the Rose Bowl. And all because we didn�t just give up after two defeats at the start of the season.

We still have a January 1st bowl game, and I hope we beat the odds against Florida to give Lloyd Carr a bowl win on his way out. But either way, you have to have perspective about football and life. If I can impart that lesson, no football season can ever be truly bad.

"Here's to You, Dad" (Posted August 21, 2007)

My dad recently celebrated his 80th birthday. We got together at a nearby restaurant to have a dinner on the milestone. Even the newest family member, little Very, was able to make it (though she slept a lot, amazingly enough considering the commotion).

On the way to the car, my mom asked me if I could offer a toast. I'm not accustomed to doing such things, but I said I'd give it a try. On the way there I mulled it and came up with a rough idea that I figured I'd flesh out on the fly.

As it turned out, the usually quiet restaurant was a blur of noise from orange-shirted groups taking tours of local restaurants. They rotated through by a bus that made the rounds. It was way too loud for anything but a "here's to the birthday boy" toast.

But I hate the toast to go to waste, so here we go:

I want to raise a toast to my dad tonight on his eightieth birthday.

A toast is of course a reflection of my relationship with dad, and I can't really speak for everyone here. But I want to relate two things that dad has taught me and one thing he never taught me. I am grateful for all three of these lessons.

First, you all know that dad was in the Navy in World War II. And you know that dad couldn't swim. Swimming just didn't take. The Navy, naturally, wants its sailors to swim. That whole ocean thing, you know? Unfortunately, dad had to take a swimming test in a pool with the other sailor trainees as a requirement to get out. Dad figured the best thing he could do was dive in with enough momentum to reach the other side. Bumping into the sailor ahead of him doomed that approach. But dad moved on anyway and served his time in the Navy.

Second, when I was but a lad, dad taught me how to play poker. He explained the hands, and why you discard cards to get a better hand. After the lesson, he dealt my first hand of poker. Dad discarded cards and replaced them. Then he asked me how many cards I wanted. �None,� I replied. �Are you sure?� dad asked. He quickly told me why you usually need cards. I looked at my hand, remembered the rules dad told me, and assured him that my hand was fine. So dad lays out his cards. I don�t remember what he had. But it didn�t matter what they were because I had a straight flush. Dad was pretty surprised and told me I�d never see that hand again in my life.

Finally, I guess I�m most appreciative of what dad didn�t teach me. As long as I can remember, I�ve never heard dad say a bad thing about anybody based on their race or religion. Oh, I�ve heard him say bad things about people based on their politics, no doubt. But it was always about what they believed and not who they were. Dad didn�t pass down any hatreds to me. In this day and age, that counts for a lot in my book.

So I learned that life usually works out. Bumps in the road are normal, but if you just keep moving forward, you'll be fine.

I learned that I used up all my gambling luck early in life, so it would be pretty pointless to wager money on any other bets.

And I learned to treat people as people. Any faults I have in this regard are purely my own fault�and usually involve the French.

So here's to you, dad. I like to think you gave me a pretty good foundation for life. And I thank you for that. I look forward to more lessons in the years ahead.

Oh, and Go Blue!

That�s the toast I would have given.

�Strap Them In� (Posted June 21, 2007)

You always hear that you should buckle your children in car seats that are properly installed. There are public service announcements all the time about this.

This evening I saw a little girl, no more than two years old I think, who is lucky her mom strapped her in properly to a car seat installed securely in the family mini-van.

Near Chelsea on I-94 today at about 6:10, near the old US 12 exit, I was driving along east-bound wondering if I would make it to the Ann Arbor train station in time to pick up Mister, Lamb, and their mom coming back from a short vacation. I was listening to the radio and not paying too much attention.

Brake lights lit up in front of me, so I started to slow down, starting to wonder what was up. Before I could think too much about that, I could see a huge cloud of dust billow up on the left shoulder. About 100 yards in front of me or so, there was an accident. I drove through the spot of the accident and could see a mini-van on its roof facing east on the left shoulder. For just a moment I wondered about making it to the train station. But I quickly pulled off to the right shoulder, shut down my car, and ran back to the vehicle.

I thought I was fast but there were already people there. Several people were already around the driver, a woman who was conscious and talking. I could see a little blood. I hear somebody say that he was a fireman and a number of people were aware enough to say don�t move her. I wasn�t needed right there.

A man pulled out his cell phone and he asked me if I knew what exit we were near. After saying no, I looked around and saw the closest exit and yelled over to him that we were by the Old US 12 exit.

That�s when I heard someone say that there was a child still in the back of the vehicle. So three of us started pulling on the various doors. I tried the back hatch and it wouldn�t budge. One man went to the right and I went to the left. At the left another man was already there but he couldn�t get the door open. I grabbed the handle and reached up to release the latch and it opened cleanly. I think maybe the fact that the car was upside down threw the first man off. So I dove in the door looking for the child, crawling toward the back. Then I saw her. She was just a little blonde girl, scared and crying but just dangling there safe in the car seat. The other man who made it inside the car was already getting his hands on her. So I told her, �don�t worry sweetie, you�re going to be ok. It�s ok.� I just grabbed the car seat to steady it and make sure that it didn�t fall on top of her in case the other man had released the whole seat from the car instead of just the strap holding the little girl in.

The other man pulled her out and I looked around to see if there could possibly be somebody else back there. But she was the only one. When I crawled out somebody else asked me if anybody else was in there. I said, �no.� But then I crawled back in to double check. The thought that I could have missed somebody and just said nobody is in there ate at me in the instant I said �no.�

The man who pulled the little girl out handed her to a woman who had stopped and she was holding her. The little girl was crying for her mommy. I remembered seeing her sippy cup so went in the back again to get it, hoping a familiar sight would help. She still cried and pointed to the car a couple times. I crouched next to her and asked her for her name. The woman holding her told me. Funny, I can�t remember it now. I think it began with an �A�. One of those names that is close to a standard name but not quite. I think I told her that she had a pretty name. I told her she was going to be ok and that people were helping her mom right now. I said she was very brave and that more people were coming very fast to help her mom and to help her. That seemed to help. When the sirens could be heard, I told her that those sirens meant people were coming to help. The woman holding the little child picked up on this theme and kept talking to her.

I stood up and looked around. The first officer who had checked on the scene was directing traffic away from the accident. When the first emergency vehicle came up, I waved to them and ran over to tell the personnel getting out that there was one woman injured and her little daughter who appeared uninjured. One asked me if she had been in a child seat and I said, �Yeah, she was dangling upside down in it, but she seemed ok.� I did the same when the next emergency vehicle approached and parked.

By then, not many minutes after the accident occurred, the emergency personnel were putting the driver on a stretcher to take her away and getting the little girl�s car seat from the wreck and telling her she would go with her mommy.

I walked over to the officer from the Chelsea Police Department to see if he needed anything. That�s when I found out the driver had been in the west-bound lane. I had heard one of the people who clustered around the driver tending to her say she said someone cut her off. Then I could see the ruts from the west-bound land leading to the accident site. One man told the officer that he�d been 200 yards behind the driver when he saw her go off the road. The rest of us just saw clouds of dust. Hopefully, before I wandered over, someone else gave a description of the vehicle that cut her off. The officer must have gotten some information since he took contact information from several of the people there. I didn�t see anything of use but the inside of the vehicle and I told the emergency people that information. So when the officer said one guy was free to go, the rest of us wandered off too.

I ran back across the freeway in a gap in the traffic and pulled out while a semi slowed down traffic enough for me to pull into the lane. I then checked my various pockets to make sure nothing had fallen out. Everything was there. And it was then that I realized that I had never even taken off my sunglasses. At the time that struck me as odd. I didn�t even notice they were on, actually. I don�t think more than twenty or twenty-five minutes had elapsed though it seemed like just a moment, really. I emerged with dirty hands and knees and a small cut on my finger tip. Maybe from glass or maybe from tugging on door handles.

The whole scene impressed me. When that accident took place, at least a half dozen people immediately stopped and ran to the scene to help a stranger. When somebody said a child was in the back, three of us rushed over to the vehicle to get the child out. I didn�t even stop to think about how old the child was, boy or girl, or whether they might be horribly injured. I momentarily thought that if the vehicle caught fire and that child couldn�t get out � Well it didn�t bear thinking about.

The emergency people showed up fast and worked professionally and quickly. That I expect. What really impressed me was the group of civilians who just started doing things. Nobody was directing people. Nobody took charge. But people looked around to see what needed to be done and just started doing something. And this was good enough to work until the pros arrived.

In a very small way, I could see how firemen run into burning buildings. Or up the stairs of the World Trade Center. People just see that somebody needs help and react. Like I said, I�m not comparing what I and a number of strangers did to what happened on 9/11. I�m not. This was a traffic accident. There were no flames. Like I said, it was just a faint hint of the courage that leads people to risk their lives for strangers.

But it is a strength that I think makes us a special people. We didn�t wait around for professionals to arrive. Nobody hesitated at all. And at the risk of sounding sexist, that�s what men are supposed to do.

And I have to say I commend the mother for strapping her little girl into that seat securely and having the foresight to secure that car seat in the back. When that horrible moment of a car cutting her off happened, forcing her from the road, with her vehicle flipped on its roof as a result, that little girl was shaken and hanging upside down, but with her head safely away from the ceiling below her. And now that I think about it, I think the car was centered in the back so the rolling wouldn�t have battered the child against the side windows. I could be mistaken about that. Honestly, much is a blur and I might have gotten the order of some events a little off. Was the vehicle dark blue? I think so.

And to my niece who just had a beautiful little girl on the Army�s birthday (yes, that�s how I�ll remember Very�s birthday), you and Very�s dad better make sure that little girl is strapped into a car seat properly installed every time you pull out of the driveway. All I saw today was a scared little girl hanging upside down in a wreck, but safe and sound. A much more gruesome scene could have been in that vehicle.

Strap your little ones in. You never can tell when some idiot will be driving near you.

�My Lucky Streak Continues� (Posted April 29, 2007)

I�m lucky. Oh, not hit-the-lotto lucky, mind you. Though if I played it, who knows? And I don�t mean to imply that life just flows along effortlessly with things just falling in my lap. Hardly! But I�m lucky in the sense that thing just seem to work out well for me. Even bad things seem to turn out ok in the end.

Case in point was my small household disaster this week. On Wednesday, I came home from work to find that my bathroom sink off my bedroom was filled with dirt that was clearly dried from some liquid soaking the whole thing.

Well that�s odd, I thought. How on Earth did the sink back up like that? Everything around the sink was dry so there was no harm. But I couldn�t figure out how the sink had backed up. What the heck happened? All the other sinks were fine. Oh well. I cleaned up the sink, tossed a nearby washcloth into the laundry just in case and forgot about it.

Thursday morning I woke up in a minor funk. Work has been insanely busy for three months now, and after catching up a bit a few weeks ago my backlog has shot up again. Even the Legislature�s spring break didn�t help much. Ugh. So I lay there about a minute contemplating just how I might play hooky. Sick? Nope. Ah, crap.

Nothing to do but get up and get on with it. So I showered and forgot about the brief flirtation with a day off. But as I�m brushing my teeth (man, this blogging stuff is fascinating ain�t it?), I glanced up and spotted a split in the seam of the ceiling. With a sudden understanding of what had happened yesterday, I stepped back into my bedroom still looking up. Yep, two big stains were over my desk and filing cabinet with all my important papers in there�from military records to divorce papers and mortgage information. I finished up that teeth-brushing I wrote of before and moved the desk and cabinet out from underneath the pre-waterfall. With rain threatening that day I discarded the thought of just going to work and dealing with the problem the next day. Funny how my first impulse was to go to work rather than deal with the leak problem, when fifteen minutes earlier I was imagining that I�d really like a day off.

But with rain coming that day, I knew that the leak had to be dealt with. And the water spots on the ceiling in my bedroom meant that I wouldn�t be as lucky as I was the first time. Imagine, the leak was right over my sink! I don�t know how long it leaked, but if it had been over wooden furniture or even the carpet, I would have had quite the damage problem. Plus, since I have a new roof no more than a couple years old, this could be serious. So I called into work and I called the condo management to report the problem.

And then I waited.

I couldn�t even blog or read news. I just kept checking the ceiling every half hour or so as I watched the rain start and stop. Finally I called the company again to ask just where on Earth the crew was. Turns out there were actual emergencies. No problem, I said, I understand emergencies take priority. But I�d like to know when they might arrive. I could run errands if I only knew when they�d arrive. Heck, I could have done them all had I known that it would take this long.

By now it was raining quite a bit. And the leak was starting up. It wasn�t much of a leak. Just drips�no pouring deluge or anything. Yet the water was splattering all over the place. Just on the counter, mind you, but the spray pattern clearly covered a large area. Luckily it didn�t reach my contact lens stuff or electronics (just an electric shaver).

But my tooth brush holder was clearly in the splash zone � Wonderful.

So I threw my tooth brush out�about two teeth brushings too late, mind you. Ah Crest with Attic Wash Enhancers! It doesn�t bear thinking what that splashing water flowed through to get to my sink and tooth brush.

Really, though, my luck in having a leak precisely over my sink amazed me all the more. A leak over the carpet would have wrecked the carpet and done a job on the floor below it, too. Talk about a major insurance claim.

The work crew called and said they were on the way. The man asked if I knew where the attic access is. You bet. He asked if I would clear it so they could get to work when they arrived. No problem, I said.

So I cleared out the closet so he�d have clear access. Two men arrived and they tried to shake the ladder of the water. It was raining, you know. So I offered a towel and the assistant wiped it down. We shook hands all around and I showed them the way. The guy in charge checked out the leak location than headed into the attic. Five minutes later he was back down with pictures on his digital camera that showed the entire path of the water, from my ceiling leak up to the chimney where he could see light coming in. He said he�d have to come back to fix it. And he thanked me for clearing the closet. He said it saved them time and my condo association money. I said I figured they had plenty to do so why waste their time? I got the impression that when he asks people to prepare for his arrival that this request is not often fulfilled. Very odd.

With it raining on and off I was a bit worried that they�d have to come back to fix this problem. I was really eager to get this resolved before my ceiling caved in. As we walked down the stairwell, he pointed to the chimney on the other side. That�s where your leak is. We walked outside and looked at my chimney. Well that�s the problem, he said, your chimney cap is gone. See that chimney across the way? It is capped. Yours doesn�t have a cap.

Come with me, I said, I think I know where we can find one.

Last Sunday, while I was outside playing with Mister and Lamb, I spotted a big metal thing with sharp edges and nails attached, sitting in the little alcove-like area between my place and the adjacent units� entry and stairwell. At the time I was pretty pissed off that somebody had dumped it there. What if Mister or Lamb had fallen on it and cut themselves? I picked it up and almost hauled it off to the dumpster. But then I stopped. What if someone needed it? Could I just really toss it in the trash without knowing why it was there? So I left it propped in the corner where it would not pose a threat to children. And then I forgot about it.

Until I found out about that thing called a chimney cap. Sure enough, that thing was a chimney cap. It must have blown off in the wind storm we had about a week and a half earlier. I wish I�d known it was a chimney cap�my chimney cap! I could have stopped the whole problem in its tracks. But instead, off and on rain worked its way toward the ceiling over my sink during that time.

But hey, now the crew could haul the cap up to the roof and nail it back in place. The damage was at least contained and my ceiling would not cave in after all.

Then I managed to go grocery shopping, buy a slip-and-slide at another store, and then grab a high ceiling cleaning kit that can be used to change high light bulbs. I�ve been casually looking for one of these for almost six years. My bulbs in my stairwell lights haven�t died yet, but without this device I would have been helpless had they burned out. Now the Light Fixture of Damocles inspires no fear in me.

I need to find out if the crew will come back to caulk the chimney or whatever or whether the problem is considered solved. And I want the ceiling to dry before deciding whether I can just paint the bedroom ceiling stain and get the bathroom ceiling patched or whether both areas must have the dry wall replaced. The association should pick this cost up, I should think.

Then I read a bit and washed a sink full of dishes before picking up Mister and Lamb for the evening. And the next day it would be back to work. The pile on my desk could only grow while I was gone and not shrink (and since I checked my work email during the day I confirmed that it grew. Ugh).

So there you go. That was my lucky day. Luck the leak was over a sink that contained the damage to a tooth brush. And luck I hadn�t let anger shoot me in the foot by unknowingly throwing away my chimney cap. And I did actually get a day off after all from the frenzy at work. Not that I�m not paying for a missed day of tackling that pile, of course.

Plus my digestive tract seems to have survived whatever it was that I brushed my teeth with.

So my lucky streak continues. Things really do just seem to work out for me.

Yeah, I know, not exactly Ferris Buehler�s day off. But I said I�m lucky and make no claims to leading a particularly exciting life. I�ll leave the lion taming to others.

America North?� (Posted April 14, 2007)

I love Toronto. I have fun when I go there. So it came as rather a surprise to me that a lot of Canadians despise Toronto:

"People in Toronto are soulless, one-eyed corporate zombies," Joey Keithley, of the Vancouver punk band D.O.A., says in the film, "Let's All Hate Toronto."

The 73-minute film, which premieres at Toronto's Hot Docs documentary festival next week, follows a character called Mister Toronto, who embarks on a cross-Canada trip brandishing a sign that reads "Toronto Appreciation Day" and steels himself for the onslaught.

His tour leads from Newfoundland on the Atlantic Coast to the Pacific city of Vancouver, where feelings against Toronto -- usually acknowledged as the country's financial center and the cultural capital of English Canada -- run deepest of all.

"There is something different (about hating Toronto). People are more passionate about it," filmmaker and co-director Albert Nerenberg said in an interview.

Well, let�s not sugar coat it�hating Toronto is apparently quite common in Canada. I had no idea. Perhaps this goes a long way to explaining why those homegrown Canadian jihadis wanted to wreak havoc in Canada. Maybe it wasn�t Islamism that motivated them but simple Toronto hatred. Never can tell.

I ran across this article and did a quick search, and found a comment on some site that explained that Toronto is hated because it is a socialist haven or something like that. No disrespect intended, but doesn�t that pretty much describe all of Canada? And why would Canadians object on that basis? I suspect an American left that comment. Or a Newfie at best.

Let me just say that this knowledge will come in handy the next time I�m in a Toronto bar and some Torontonian gives me any attitude about me being an American.

I can explain that we are all Torontonians, now.

�Literature, Science, and the Arts� (Posted April 11, 2007)

This has been a good spring for Mister at school.

We started out with science. Last year, Mister won a first prize ribbon for his science fair project. It was the first year that the school had a science fair. This year, the fair had trophies for first place in each grade, and Mister was determined to win one.

Much like last year, choosing the topic was a last-minute affair. I wanted something that was actually an experiment Mister could conduct, that it could be measured, and that was fairly straightforward.

This year we went up in complexity over last year. Last year, we could do the whole experiment in about half an hour. The major work was in putting the display up and typing up the analysis of what he observed. This year�s experiment was to test the strength of various glues. This would take repeated gluing and testing over a couple weeks since we�d do it at my home instead of his mom�s. And we needed to let the glue dry in between tests. Had I been really thinking, I would have glued five or six test bonds for each glue type all at once and then we could have done the whole experiment in one afternoon. But we managed nonetheless to get it done on time.

Mister was pretty good about doing the work. I guess he put in a good thirteen hours on the project from reading to writing to typing to doing the experiment and helping with the display. He even used my drill to prepare the popsicle sticks for gluing. It did take a while for him to get into the project. He would kind of resist working when I had interrupted his playing, but once he accepted the idea that he couldn�t just do something fast and get back to playing (and knowing I wouldn�t do the work for him), he�d throw himself into the experiment.

Anyway, the project involved gluing popsicle sticks together, hanging them from a wooden scaffold, and hanging a basket from the bottom stick. Then Mister would add pennies (only post-1983 pennies to keep the weight constant) and count how many it would take to break the bond. We�d do the experiment multiple times.

The main problem was that the basket was only able to hold about a hundred pennies and this wasn�t enough to break the bonds! I added weights (rocks) to the basket and still the bonds wouldn�t break! Plus it looked goofy with massive numbers of rocks taped to it.

So after many attempts to fix this, I built a mark 2 device from the original that used a binder clip to hold the glued sticks horizontally and hung a plastic baggie instead. So we got some rotational force from the weight of the pennies going and we could add many more pennies. This was a success and Mister went through five rounds of tests, recording the pennies needed until the bonds broke. I showed him how to measure and average the results, set up a table for him to enter the data, and made the chart for him. He also wrote and typed up all the sections of the experiment flow. Gorilla Glue was the strongest by far. Glitter Glue didn�t hold up so well.

So it was a success. Mister could explain how our initial plan didn�t work, how we adapted, and then how the experiment worked with the results. And Mister won his grade�s first prize with a trophy that was ridiculously huge. Indeed, Mister would have won the entire school�s prize since he got more points than anybody else including those in grades above him. Yes, I�m proud of him. And proud because he did the work. Oh, I helped him where I had to, don�t get me wrong. But I made sure he did the work and questioned him as we did the work so he�d understand what we were doing.

I took pride in the packaging. My goal up to now has been to have a science fair project in a box. I�ve used paper boxes from work instead of the standard giant folding foam boards everyone else used. They�ve been engineering marvels, I must say. The whole thing is made from the box with fold out panels that pop out when you take the lid off. The lid, placed as the base, added some structural integrity to the cut-up lower portion. Just slide a popsicle stick brace down and voila!

Of course, Lamb had to do her own experiment while I helped Mister. And now she wants a trophy just like her brother. And next year she starts school, so I�ll have two science projects to oversee! The pressure!

The arts part of his spring was the selection by his art teacher of one of Mister�s art pieces. It was a replica of a traditional African mud print. It was pretty neat. And pretty neat that he was one of the few from his school to get this honor. It was a big deal in Ann Arbor with a big event at a downtown restaurant with local officials speechifying and different businesses hosting different schools. The children were introduced individually and received a certificate; and we headed off to see his art. The family eating underneath his piece was very gracious in ducking while we took Mister�s picture with his art. When we finally get the picture back, we�ll frame it and put it up with his certificate. This was actually well-timed. We kept the trophy in Mister�s room at my home rather than his mom�s. His mom figured that since I helped, it should go here. So I framed the certificate and we put it in his room at his mom�s. One of the little compromises necessary in divorce when raising a child together.

Last was the literature part. No prizes were involved but we went to an event called literacy night at Mister�s school recently. Had I known it was a faux-Oscars theme with a red carpet, I would have worn my tuxedo. When I saw the two hottest teachers in the school (sadly�for me�married) dressed in formal black evening gowns I kicked myself. It was not to be my night, clearly. Anyway, the focus was the display of writings by the various students. Mister wrote a story about how siblings break and lose your toys. Egad, was this a hit piece on his little sister? I shuddered. But Mister also interviewed a couple other kids about their experiences. And it was amusing. Mister protested that he named no names. Yeah, nobody would ever know you are writing about your little sister, I quipped. But it wasn�t actually mean-spirited as I feared. It was a sort of I-feel-your-pain piece. No you are not alone! Lots of people are annoyed by younger brothers or sisters. As the youngest in my family, I should be offended. I�m sure my sister and brothers can testify to my sterling nature as a child and my absolute devotion to the sanctity of private property. But it was nice to see Mister doing well in this area. He doesn�t like to write. He loves to read. But writing, not so much. I emphasize that the ability to write will serve him well in whatever he decides to do for a career. I note that my job is all about writing. I hope he comes to like writing as I do.

So this was a nice spring leading up to the final couple months of school. Lietrature, the science, and the arts. A scholarly hat trick, eh? Mister knows he will go on to college. He knows that it is expected of him and I try to emphasize that it is an opportunity. It is a difficult sell, but I do try to make sure he knows that getting an education is an opportunity that he must not throw away. I am always grateful that my parents made me know that of course I would go to college. I was the first to go to college and even in 11th grade, I had no idea of what college really was. I had to fill in a form about how many years of college I planned on and I filled in two years�surely that was more than enough after twelve years in school? But the important thing was that my parents pushed me on the road to going to college. It was longer than I thought it would be, but I traveled that road to my destination. In Michigan, if polls are to be believed, too many people even today don�t appreciate the importance of getting an education. The union jobs in the auto industry that created a middle class from high school graduates may be disappearing, but the assumptions of that fading reality lives on. Can you succeed without college? Sure you can. But you go with the odds. And college provides a little insurance that you won�t reach a plateau at some point in the future that you can�t rise above because you don�t have that piece of paper that you dismissed when you were young. So I take my job seriously to make sure that Mister assumes he will go to college. I emphasize the importance of learning how to learn because you can�t stop learning even when you finish school.

And his college years will be here before I am ready for it, I am sure. Pretty soon it will be ice cream social time and summer vacation. Another school year has nearly flown by! And my son�s childhood flies by, too. But if he emerges from this childhood with the tools to succeed as an adult, I�ve done my job. I want him to grow up to be a good man, happy, and successful. I am proud of him today, and if I am to be proud of him in the future, I have to be a big part of his childhood that shrinks every day. Success in literature, science, and the arts in grade school is a good start to a promising future.

�My Year of Plumbing Success� (Posted January 1, 2007)

The year 2006 has been a good plumbing year for me. And it came to fruition in December.

First off, I�m not a lazy guy. I am patient, however. I will get out tools and install stuff or build it or repair it. But with limited time I am fully in the mode of �if it works well enough, that�s good enough.� I don�t need perfection�I just need good enough.

So in my home in 2006, I have three toilets and four sinks. One toilet works just fine. One you need to hold down the lever for a couple seconds. And one takes ten minutes to fill up after a flush.

Of the sinks, two work just fine and two dripped. At first it was just seasonal. In the summer they didn�t drip as long as you turned them off the right way�each one differently, of course. One you had to turn it off with the knob all the way to the left. The other straight up and down and hard.

Now, I did try to fix them after I moved in. I disassembled them ready to install new washers only to find they are washer-less. I fiddled with them for a long time and in the end I had a choice�replace the faucet assemblies or live with the drips. So I decided to live with the drips. I can do it but my time is limited. I would be on drip patrol and get the drips to stop using my special knowledge of how to turn them off. That would work well enough.

But in November when drip season began in earnest, the dripping was worse. It started to annoy me. The downstairs half-bath now had a steady stream of water rather than a drip. I tried to ignore it and tried to modify my turning off techniques but it was to no avail. I couldn�t stop the drips and I couldn�t accept them.

But the thought of replacing two faucet assemblies in the holiday season was daunting. So I hauled out my tools, turned off the water supplies, and disassembled the faucet downstairs. Yep. Staring at it disassembled game me no particular clues at first. No more than staring at a car engine will provide me. But as I fiddled I noticed that the straight up and down movement that used to provide closure should work if I could just get the darned thing to move forward just a little more. But how? I finally decided to try tightening the one large part that could be adjusted. I tightened it. I turned on the water and I had made it worse! So I turn off the water and contemplate my next move. Am I doomed to starting a household project when I still have shelves to install and Christmas presents to buy and wrap?

But I decide to take a leap of faith. Logically, if tightening the large nut-like thing made the drip worse, then loosening it should surely help! So with visions of loosening this mystery nut too much and having water spraying my ceiling, I shut off the water and loosened the nut. I turned the water on and it was much better. Still dripping�but much better than after my initial repair attempt. So I loosened some more and the dripping stopped! Loosening this mad it possible to move the handle forward just that tiny amount necessary to close it off completely! Success.

Giddy with my plumbing success, I headed upstairs with the knowledge of experience on the downstairs sink.

First I have to snap off the cover to the first screw. I had to glue it on after my first repair attempt four or five years ago. And to my horror, I see that the screw is rusted to Hades and back. I push in the screw driver as hard as I can to try and get some bite into the faltering screw. Nothing. I add oil to see if I can loosen it and go at it with the screwdriver again. I try the drill in screwdriver mode. I�ve only succeeded in removing the rust and completely smoothing out the screw head. Great. But I�m not lazy, like I said. Faced with a setback I am determined to finish what I started. I know how to stop the drip and I just have to get beyond this rusted screw to apply that knowledge!

I retrieve my pliers but there is nothing to grip. In what I can only describe as an inspiration from Neptune and whatever plumbing gods there are, I looked at the screw. I looked at my drill. Drill. Screw. Drill � the � Screw. What if I drilled into the screw?

Feeling very plumber like�I sensed my blue jeans settling just a little lower on my waist.

So I drilled into the screw head, hoping to drill out some depth in order to get some bite with a screwdriver head. I drilled away but I could not drill a groove. My saw would not work in the recessed cavity.

I remained unwilling to surrender. The jeans dropped a bit more.

I began drilling into the edge of the screw head. First one side and then the other. Plastic shredded as I worked but I was eating away at the metal. Finally, I could fit my needle nose pliers around the screw and I removed it! I then applied my leak-stopping knowledge gained from the first floor bathroom. Success! Yet the rusted screw had to go. Rummaging through my supply of nails and screws, I found an exact match for the rusted screw! I screwed the faucet back together, hitched up my pants, and packed away my tools. No drips and no new faucets. This would work just fine.

You�d think this would be enough success for one year but my year was not over.

The toilet I mentioned that took ten minutes to fill was the result of another repair effort from mid- 2005. Then, the floater arm snapped off at the plastic base. I had to turn the water off to keep it from constantly filling. I tried gluing the arm back but it kept snapping off at the weld. Weeks later, I finally bought a new tower head to install and put it all together. But when I turned the water back on, the assembly worked sure enough but the water did not flow freely.

I turned the water off and on. Off and on. Hoping to unstuck whatever was stuck. But nothing happened. So I have a choice. Live with a toilet that takes 10 minutes to refill or call in a plumber. I have two more toilets. The call was easy. Besides, I figured, the water pressure will eventually unclog whatever is halting the water flow. I�ll make do. I used the upstairs to keep the downstairs ready for tinier bladders than mine. And I waited for that blockage to break free. Through the remainder of 2005 and into 2006. And it looked like I�d be going to 2007 but last night, at about 8:00 pm, I noticed the toilet was sure running loud.

I checked it and there was water on the floor and spraying out the back of the toilet tank through a small gap. Yikes! (And thank goodness I was home. A few hours of that and I�d have a flood. I shudder at what it would have looked like had I been at work.

So I open the tank lid and flush. And to my amazement it refills almost immediately! The blockage is gone! And the leak is from the arm head assembly that I�d replaced. I just needed to tighten it to deal with full pressure. I kept flushing to keep the water level low until I tightened the whole thing enough to stop that leak. After ten minutes, I had a fully working toilet again! Well, ten minutes, two years, and some odd months, to be fair. But it was a triumph of making do and not throwing money at a problem. And a triumph of plumbing patience.

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