Eminem First, Death Star Second

November 30, 2009 By Leave a Comment

Hi there! I hope you had an awesome Thanksgiving weekend. Unfortunately, I’ve not yet learned when to say when on our annual day of gratitude and gluttony. Perhaps next year I’ll do better.

One of the highlights of the holiday was Max blowing up the Death Star. Yep, you read that right. He flew his X-Wing right to the end of the trench, unleashed his proton torpedoes and…

BLAMMO!!!

He’d been trying for weeks. After his introduction to Star Wars a few months back, we also showed him Rogue Squadron for the Nintendo Gamecube, and he’s been trying to blow up the Death Star (the first level of the game) ever since.

Tomorrow I’ll tell you all about it. In fact, he might want to share in the honors himself.

Today, I’d like to send you over to Copyblogger.

One week back, I wrote a post for Copyblogger, “The Eminem Guide to Becoming a Writing and Marketing Machine.“ As of this morning, the post has earned a perma-spot on the sidebar for “Popular Posts.” Surprising to me is that even though I’ve written about one of the most controversial characters of our time, there is little if any dissent among the 100+ comments currently posted. I wasn’t looking forward to controversy, but I did expect to defend my position at least a little. I’m been blown away by the open minded writers from all walks of life sharing their thoughts on the post. Please feel free to share your own

The post was tremendous fun to write. Click on continue and check it out.

Thanks!

______________

Ten years back, my soon-to-be wife, Cindy, and I first noticed the bombarding beat for Marshall Mather’s “My Name Is.”

“What an ass,” I said as the two of us sat to watch the Grammies a year later. “It’s sad he can sell so many records just by being vile. Really, how much talent can that possibly take?”

“Have you heard the record?” Cindy asked.

Click to continue…

Filed Under: Writing

I’m Grateful For Thanksgiving

November 26, 2009 By 32 Comments

When I was a kid, I never cared too much for Thanksgiving. I hate to admit it now, since I think it’s a wonderful thing to sit down on a designated day each year with friends, family and excellent food and take the time to acknowledge those things we are most grateful for. It is an excellent time to reflect, not on those things we want or wish we had, and not on what we could do better or must endeavor to improve. Christmas and New Years are waiting just beyond Black Friday to serve those particular emotional masters.

No, Thanksgiving is about looking your present day in the eye with a smile and saying thank you for the many wonderful things you already have.

This year I am thankful for many things, but I will limit my list to the following five.

1) I am thankful for my dreams. Yes, my muse is quite demanding and has me often running all over the place, wandering from children’s rhymes to horror and back, usually wearing a grin so wide I’ve considered traveling with a drool bucket. Yet having too many dreams, I am certain, is better than having too few or none at all. My dreams are fuel for my passion and my passion petrol for my future. I am grateful I can close my eyes and dream of all that will one day be any time I wish.

2) I am thankful for my family. Without my family as anchor, my most recent dreams would have never set sail. Cindy is my best friend, and though I know y’all are probably tired of reading about it, it’s true. She placed the pen in my hand and told me it was not only okay to dream, but that I deserved to stoke my desires. My children are so remarkable that I sometimes shudder when I ponder them too long; like dwelling on the scope of the universe or the concept of infinity. I’ve seen my sister more in the last few months than I have in the last couple of years and each moment has been wonderful. My mom comes over for dinner once a week, and though she annoys me without limits, I love her dearly and miss the days when we cannot connect. I don’t see my father nearly as often as I’d like, but he is often in my thoughts as well.

3) I am thankful for my health. Though I was 175 pounds of pure uncut pain and suffering a few weeks back, I am lucky to be as healthy as I am. I’m strong, with enough emotional and physical fitness to make what would have been a difficult year into just another hurdle to jump. In the past I have been guilty of wanting the perfect body, the type that gets a third look because the second wasn’t enough. Yet rarely have I been willing to embark on the difficult, sustained work required to make it happen. It took me until my early thirties to realize that fitness is far more than the definition in my abs. I’m now content with my daily sit-ups and push-ups, running up and down the stairs approximately 1,437 times per day, and keeping away from peanut M&M’s by the bucket. I’ve never felt healthier, even though I’m a tad soft around the tummy more often than I’m not.

4) I am thankful for an audience. Thanks to all of you, and to all the scattered readers across the Internet who read my words and help me to refine my purpose. I enjoy writing under most any circumstance, but it is a unique reward to write for an audience. For all who read my words and enjoy their rhythm, thank you. You make my world a better place and I truly appreciate it.

5) I am thankful for Cindy’s cooking. I think a large part of the reason I didn’t dig on Thanksgiving too much as a kid was simply that the menu did little for me. I know, I know I must be some kind of Un-American heathen helmet wearing buffoon to not like the Thanksgiving menu. It is possible I would like turkey a lot more if I wasn’t haunted by the memory of my mother buying a 97lb bird every year, even when it was just the four of us, because any turkey that weighed less than a kindergartner was “mostly carcass.” Cranberry sauce and yams = yucky. Mashed potatoes and pumpkin pie delicious. Everything else, okay. What’s my vice? Pasta, and lots of it. Every year Cindy makes three different kinds. See #3.

It would be nice if we stepped outside ourselves more often and acknowledged those things we are most grateful for with every meal, but the truth is that would mute much of the impact. I’m glad there is a designated time of year when we can pass appreciation around the table and nod our heads in gratitude.

This year, I am grateful for Thanksgiving.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!!

Writer Dad

Filed Under: Family

October

November 25, 2009 By Leave a Comment

This excerpt from Four Seasons is a little longer than usual, but I couldn’t figure out any other place to break it up. As always, you can sign up to get the full story and all the other stories as well by dropping your email address at the bottom.

Enjoy!

Laney opened the door and beamed at her newest student. “You can go ahead and get started,” she said, looking over the top of Reggie’s head and into the empty street. “Will your father be joining us this morning?”

“Nope, he had to head in to work for a few minutes. Weekend emergency, he said. He promised he’d be here to pick me up though. Said he really wanted to hear what we’ve been working on.”

Laney leaned down in front of Reggie and looked directly in his eyes. “It’s okay if he doesn’t make it. You know that right? I’m sure he’ll do his best, but he’s trying to juggle a lot of balls right now. If he misses something, it isn’t necessarily his fault.”

“I know,” Reggie shrugged. He’d been hearing his father say the same thing for a few years, but it felt kinda weird hearing it from another grown up, almost word for word. “Should I warm up?”

“Yes,” Laney nodded, rising to her feet and picking up her violin along the way. “Go ahead and start with Twinkle.”

Reggie placed the violin beneath his chin and pointed his toes, then closed his eyes and put bow to string using the near perfect hold he had been practicing for a few hours each day since the final week of summer. He glided through the piece without a single pause in rhythm or awkward moment to mar its beauty. Laney beamed.

“Just extraordinary, Reggie. I’ve never had a student take to their instrument quite so naturally before. You really should be very proud.”

Reggie’s face felt suddenly hot. He wondered if he was blushing. “You’re a great teacher, Ms. Laney. That’s all it is, really.”

“I thank you for the compliment, but I assure you it isn’t me. You have a natural ear and are willing to do the hard work. Believe me, that’s a pretty rare combination for any teacher. Most of us know it as soon as we see it and the smart ones know enough to compliment it and do all we can to keep it going.”

Now Reggie was positive he was blushing. “Hey Ms. Laney, you know you probably shouldn’t say anything bad about your other students.”

“I wasn’t. I was simply drawing a comparison that was perfectly appropriate to the compliment. If I can’t offer an honest reflection between my students, I’m not running much of a studio. Besides, I feel as though you and I can be direct, especially considering what’s going on with your father.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Reggie said. “What do you want me to play now?”

“I would like you to try and play Cambia Espeta.”

Reggie whistled, a nervous sort of half twitter. “I haven’t learned it yet.”

“Just try,” Laney said. You’ve watched me play it for you every Saturday morning for the last six weeks. I know you’ve been paying attention. We have two more weekends to get this in shape before the recital, where I expect you will be playing it perfectly.”

“The recital? There’s no way, Ms. Laney. I can’t play Cambia Espeta. Not in two weeks. How about I play Hot Cross Buns? I’ll kill it!”

“I’m sure you would make it beg for mercy, but Hot Cross Buns is for beginners. I want you to play something more advanced. You can and you will. Follow my lead.” Laney glided through a stunning, though abbreviated version of the piece, then smiled and curtsied to Reggie, who then cleared his throat and crunched his way through an awkward yet reasonable echo.

“Wow,” Reggie said, dropping the instrument to his side. Laney just smiled.

“So how many other kids are going to be at this recital?”

“Twenty-one,” Laney said, tasting the number on her tongue. “Including you.”

Reggie whistled, full bodied this time. “That’s a lot.”

Laney agreed. “I never thought I’d have so many students, but when I moved out here at the beginning of summer, most of my old families followed. Plus I’ve picked up a couple of new students each month since. I think I’m gonna have to hang a No Vacancy sign on the doorknob any day now.” An accidental giggle escaped Laney’s lips and she leaned down and whispered in Reggie’s ear. “You’re still my favorite though. Okay, back to practice. This song isn’t going to learn itself.”

Reggie smiled, then put bow to string and played the piece a second time from memory. Finding comfort and confidence together, Reggie hit the notes slightly sweeter; the bow finding its way against the strings seemingly by instinct. Reggie finished and said, “Hello toes,” as he took his bow, then grinned at Laney. “How was that?”

Laney beamed right back. “Just beautiful,” she said, shaking her head in a mild cocktail of slight disbelief and undiluted wonder. “You’ll be playing it perfectly by the time of the recital, don’t you worry one bit. Let’s roll through it a few more times, and if you keep playing so sweetly, I might just have to go ahead and give you a cookie.”

“I knew I smelled them!” Reggie smiled. “What kind did you make this week?”

“Snickerdoodles. I think I read somewhere that they were the one cookie no kid could resist, though I just wanted to make them because I never have before.”

“Never?”

“Nope, never. So far, I haven’t made the same cookie twice. There are just too many to try and I’ve only been cooking for a few months now.”

Reggie was missing something. “What do you mean?”

“That’s my first kitchen.” Laney threw her right thumb behind her shoulder. “When I lived at home, my mom cooked every meal. Now I do everything myself.”

“When did you move out?” Reggie knew she had only lived in the house for a few months, but was having a hard time imagining she had still lived with her parents until then. She looked about his dad’s age and the idea of a grown up old enough to have kids almost ready for middle school still living at home was a bit weird. But Ms. Laney was super nice and surely had a reason.

“Three months ago,” Laney laughed. “I know, I know. What was a woman my age doing living with her parents for so long.”

“I get it.” Reggie nodded his head. “Your parents did everything for you, right? And you got to keep all the money you made from teaching because you didn’t have to spend it on stuff like food and rent and stuff. Makes perfect sense to me.”

Laney’s face was blank. “Something like that,” she finally said.

“Well, that’s probably why you’re so happy all the time.” then after a pause he added, “We’re you always this happy?”

Reggie thought that in that moment, Laney looked about as sad as a lady could ever look. He felt bad for having maybe pried and found himself suddenly wishing he’d never said a thing. “No, no I wasn’t.” Laney gave Reggie a weak attempt at a smile and then said. “Now let’s get back to the lesson. We’re almost finished and your father will probably be here any minute.”

They flew through the exercise a few more times, then Laney instructed Reggie to put his violin away while she played a string version of Green Day’s Basket Case just to make him smile.

“That was awesome, Ms. Laney,” he said.

“I really wish you would drop the Ms.,” she said. “Laney is just fine.”

“I know. I will.”

Laney went to the kitchen and placed an oversized sized snickerdoodle onto a napkin, folded it over the cookie, then brought it to the front room and handed it to Reggie. He took the cookie and stole a glance at the clock. It was five minutes after the hour. “Thanks for the cookie Ms… er, I mean Laney. I’m going to save it until I get home. I’m sure my dad’s gonna want half after having to spend a Saturday morning at work. He might already be waiting at home for me too. I should get going.”

“He’ll be here,” Laney said. “Just be patient.”

As if on cue, they heard the crunch of gravel as Reggie’s dad took the short cut through the rock garden like he always did. A second later the doorbell rang and echoed through the house. Reggie looked up at Laney and saw a smile so big that it easily reduced the sad look on her face just a few minutes before to barely rumor.

They rose from the sofa and Laney opened the door. “Hi there, handsome,” she said.

“Hi, Sweetheart.” Reggie’s father took Laney by the waist and kissed her softly on the lips. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”…

Filed Under: Writing

Dancing to Billie Jean

November 24, 2009 By 53 Comments

Despite my best intentions, it is entirely possible this video is funny only to me and those people who know my son. However, I’m willing to take the risk. The video is only a minute forty seconds and I sorta dare you not to smile a single time.

Here’s Max, dancing to Billie Jean.

Enjoy!

Filed Under: Fatherhood

A Very Monkey Christmas

November 23, 2009 By 58 Comments

Curious George a Very Monkey ChristmasCindy is a GINORMOUS fan of PBS and has been ever since they were helping her learn to read with Sesame Street, one of the only television shows she was permitted to watch during her entire childhood. Both our children adore Curious George, so it was with barely a flinch that I agreed to accept a promo copy of Curious George, a Very Monkey Christmas when the public relations department of PBS contacted me last week.

I’m supposed to write my thoughts. Easy peasy, one, two threesie.

A Very Monkey Christmas starts out with Curious George exploding with anticipation for the BIG day by using The Man with the Yellow Hat as a trampoline, just as he has each morning since Thanksgiving. I laughed seeing that George also greets each morning at 5:00 a.m., just like our own curious little monkey.

The DVD unfolds in a wonderfully predictable, though perfectly comforting narrative as George and The Man each spend a month of their time and one hour of ours wondering what to get one another. As you can well imagine, this leads George to making a series of small messes while The Man hunts around town asking George’s friends and acquaintances to help him crack the code so he can give his little monkey the present he deserves.

The animation in A Very Monkey Christmas has none of the gee whiz gloss which graced George’s multiplex adventure from a few years back. Instead, the animation is exactly like that found in the version of Curious George which normally airs on PBS, sticking closely to the tradition established by the original books from more than 60 years ago. Though I did love the look of the feature film, I fully appreciate the simple design, colors and texture which made the movie look like H.A. Rey’s original books given breath.

Overall, the movie is fairly adorable. It’s simple themes and undeniable warmth are perfect for children of all ages and the script would only offend the most cynical among us. Unfortunately, this daddy didn’t really dig on the music. While I genuinely enjoyed the soundscape of the Curious George feature film, I felt the songs in this DVD were largely forgettable, except the one that rattled around in my head all Saturday afternoon. It did take the place of Michael Jackson’s “Ben,” which my daughter is suddenly and quite curiously obsessed with, and though I was grateful for that, I still didn’t care too much for the tune. Considering it was the best one in the movie, I have to admit the soundtrack was a disappointment.

Let’s be honest though, the real judges when it comes to this stuff are the kids, and they gave it four collective thumbs up. My daughter is 7 and son 5, yet neither one of them were interested in watching anything else this weekend. If Curious George had been less fun, I might’ve missed my usual weekend time with Pixar, but George was just adorable enough to make me forget.

PBS has given me two copies of the film, one which made me feel like a bootlegger because of the words, “Property of Universal” omnipresent on the screen, and another shrink wrapped mass market copy that I’m going to give away to a lucky commenter. Drop a comment below and I’ll pick someone at random to send the DVD to.

Thanks PBS!

Writer Dad

Filed Under: Movies

A Good Life Requires an Endless Edit

November 20, 2009 By 24 Comments

“Life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through. Where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it. This is a kind of death.”
~Anais Nin

My daughter writes a post every Thursday over at Children Write the Future, and though she does love to write, she doesn’t necessarily experience the same pleasure at the prospect of sitting in one spot and sanding her work to a smooth finish. The other day she claimed that she was quite certain that I never have to edit my work. I assured her that although some things I write receive only an edit or two, everything gets at least that. And my best work, I told her, is often looked over  5-10 times, sometimes over a period of weeks or months.

I had her sit beside me yesterday while I edited a post. We read the rough draft together, filled as it was with clunky sentences and awkward phrasing. I slowly went through the document, deleting words, adding color and fleshing out my ideas. I explained the reasoning behind each change. What would have taken half an hour was swallowed by the whole, yet I believe it was sixty minutes wonderfully spent. Mia got it, and when we went back to edit her post, it was with a noticeable difference in her attitude. She realized that good enough wasn’t and immediately thought of several ways she could make her work better.

I was grateful for the experience and glad she’d questioned the value of an edit. Just as I often learn a bit more about myself when I write, I also discover more about my thought process when I am teaching my children. Our discussion about the value of editing upstairs and in front of the computer evolved to a deeper discussion downstairs during dinner just one hour later.

“Everything in life can be thought of as an edit,” I said, half surprised as the words left my mouth.

Mia looked at me with the exact expression she’d used when I told her the chicken was really pterodactyl. “Everything?” she repeated.

“Well, maybe not everything,” I said, “but most things in life could be seen that way.”

“Like what?”

The way we live our lives,” I said. “Mommy and I edit our relationship so it gets better each day. You edit your outfits before you leave for school. Max edits which toys he wants to play with and the jokes he wants to tell. Anytime we’re interested in making something the best it can be, we must be willing to edit. Your mother and I are largely responsible for who you and your brother will one day become, and we must do our best to edit you both each day.”

The conversation continued to flow and Mia’s smile continued to widen. The new understanding which brightened her eyes also warmed something inside me; the finish on some of my life’s best work now that much smoother.

I’m not going to lie, sometimes I hate to edit. Though I love shaping things and making them better, there are times when the process is no doubt a chore. I understand Mia’s disinterest in the process and don’t really blame her, though I also know it’s my job to teach her a better way. I would never expect her to edit her raw ideas or go through her journal making X’s and scratches, but if she is going to publish something for others to read while expecting them to spend their valuable minutes, then she should absolutely be delivering her best work.

The same is true with life. Not everything requires a red pen, but we should know which things in our lives are in need of our attention, then take the time needed to trim the fat, solidify our ideas or give clarity to our purpose. Until we stop breathing our life is in draft, but every day we’ve another chance to improve the finish of the final copy.

Writer Dad

Filed Under: Fatherhood

Grammy and Me

November 19, 2009 By 29 Comments

My mother and I have a unique relationship. The two of us have batted banter back and forth in a nearly endless volley ever since I was small. These days we usually pick up one week at the exact same snarky moment where we left things the previous “Grammy Night” seven days earlier. It is odd, I imagine, for my children to see me in the cut and thrust wordplay which takes place between us, as it is not the sort of exchange I share with anyone else. After twelve years, Cindy is just now getting used to the rhythm.

My mom lives just one and a half miles away, though proximity does nothing to keep her from being regularly a half hour or so late to dinner. If were I to unroll the scroll of things about her which annoy me, it would easily kiss the concrete from my house to hers. Still, I do love the old lady dearly and credit her with much of my verbal aptitude. As far back as I can recall, she’s always spoken to my sister and me in full, articulate and sometimes rather silly sentences. Whenever we had questions, her answers were thorough, and she never steered too far from the more difficult topics or acted as though we were unable to understand.

My mom stepped into the 21st century a couple of months back with the purchase of her first computer. Since then she has been one of the most frequent commenters here at Writer Dad. Her comments are often quite sweet, though she doesn’t seem to understand that answering a comment is not quite as simple as answering an email and tends to get impatient. Last week my mom left her first comment at Blogger Dad, then emailed me several hours later, a slight undercurrent of panic between the lines, “Do you think Dave got my comment?!?! It said, ‘awaiting moderation,’ but that was HOURS ago!”

“Yeah Mom, I’m sure he got it,” I said.

Wednesday’s post about the teachable moment in the library ended with a short poem. My mom’s comment was a response in rhyme. The two of us went back and forth and then back and forth again. Our exchange was fairly rapid fire and offers a rather nice snapshot of our relationship. I thought I would share.

Enjoy!

ME:
4th graders are awesome, though best when they listen
Instead of the blah-blah-ing that gets them to missing
The info the teachers are spitting and spewing
To let the kids know what they’re supposed to be doing
Writing is fun – it’s like cake and balloons
On a Saturday morning spent watching cartoons
Except writing is better because you get to choose
What things you should keep and what things you should lose
You’re the creator – the world’s yours to build
Who gets to live there and how it is filled
Unicorns, dragons and men with red eyes;
Fairies and magic, an ending surprise
Fantasy’s fun if you break every rule
Decide what is dumb and decide what is cool
Be your best writer, place pen to the page
Write the best story, then be all the rage

GRAMMY:
We all like a story, the weirder the better,
The plot can turn fast, like a change in the weather.
It’s fun to learn how to spin a great tale,
Like pinnochio trapped inside of that whale.
A good teacher can train you, just give her a chance
To guide your ideas, put your mind in a trance.
You’ll be amazed at what you can do
It’s almost as easy as tying your shoe.
It’s how they all started, those authors of fame
Playing with words, but more than a game.
Once you get going, you’ll soar and you’ll fly
but don’t waste any time or you’ll ask yourself “why”?

ME:
I like that your’e spitting your comment in rhyme
It’s really a fun way to fritter the time
The words come so quick; like “you know” from a goose
They’ll rumble around until you let loose
Obviously my verbiage was nurtured quite well
Now I lay down the rhythm like ringing a bell
Thanks for always talking to me as a kid
Even with all the obnoxious I did
It’s one of the reasons I now think so fast
The skills of my present, piled onto my past

GRAMMY:
Yep, you were a wild one, I can’t disagree,
But they say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
Encourage a young one with humor and praise
And it should pay off for the rest of your days.
I’m so glad you had such a great, twisted brain
Now you can write without feeling no pain 
Creativity’s fun, of that there’s no doubt
Just have the confidence to let it all out.
All this rhyming is making me dizzy and weak, I think
A big cheesburger I will go seek!!!!

ME:
How long can you do this, ’cause I’ve got all day
And you know I never run out of new things to say
I’ll rhyme in the morning and then rhyme at lunch
I’ll rhyme during dinner and I have a hunch
That I can keep going even when I am dreaming
The words in my head are all twisted and teeming
Foaming and frothing, all set to explode
Syllables spilling – I’m cracking the code
Chew on your cheeseburger, swallow your shake
Feast on your french fries and dream about steak
If you wanna keep going, you know I’m right here
I’ll keep this thread running till the end of the year

GRAMMY:
Oh, pshaw, boy, of that there’s no doubt
You have talent like a tile store has grout.
We could keep going like this, you and I
But you’re right, I would rather go eat some pie.
While this is great fun,I could go all day
I have things to do and places to play
Laundry to do, dishes to wash
Cats to feed , perhaps a roach to squash.
I’ll cut it short now and bid you adieu
See you at grammy nite with cookies or stew.

ME:
I’ll look forward to Grammy Night, as I always do
But please, there’s no need for your cookies or stew
I’d rather you knock on the door right on time
A Thursday on schedule would be so sublime
While we’re on the subject, my mother so dear
Can you please not bring any chotskys ’round here?
Seriously, we’re swimming in a sea of detritus
And I’m afraid the navigation will give me arthritis
Please bring your smile, your wit and your charm
Do it on time and we’ll ring the alarm
We’ll call in the media so they too can witness
Your attempt at finding some on the dot fitness

Writer Dad

My daughter has been sitting beside me for the last half hour while I edit this piece. She has her second post up over at Children Write the Future this morning, yet has been loathe to edit. She loves to write, but does not have the same feelings about the revision process and is under the false impression that her father does not need to edit. I pulled a Stephen King book from the shelf, the fattest I could find, and told her that even King, author of over 50 books, doesn’t ever get it right the first time. If you have a moment, either in the comments below or over at her post, “How to Know if Someone is a Good Friend,” please let her know that her Daddy is right.    : > ) THANKS!

Filed Under: Family

This is How the Law of Attraction Works

November 18, 2009 By 20 Comments

Once or twice a month the four of us pile into our mini-van and head to CostCo on an afternoon quest to binge on household essentials. CostCo, like any other big box outlet selling salad dressing by the drum, is permanently overpopulated. Though I have always enjoyed our trips to CostCo once inside, I used to loathe pulling into the lot, knowing full well I would have to wage a small war to win the luxury of a decent parking space.

I’m not the type of guy willing to spend ten minutes circling for a space when I can park in an outlying section, walk a few hundred yards, and get inside while the people who pulled in behind me are still driving laps at 5 MPH. The problem with this particular CostCo is that the lot is neatly divided into two sections: teeming with tons of metal or barren wasteland. The barren wasteland is situated on the far side of a violent fault line of broken concrete and a heavy flow of incoming and outgoing traffic – not a lot of fun to cross with a cart, children or both.

Last year I stumbled upon something remarkable, and have since considered it a fine example of the Law of Attraction in motion. The problem with the Secret, and the Law of Attraction in general, is that many people assign it a magic that simply doesn’t exist.

For the last year, I have always found a parking spot in the first row, a dozen yards from the entrance. This is, by far, the most coveted row of spaces in the entire lot, and yet in our last two dozen trips to CostCo, there has only been a single instance when the row was filled and I had to park on the other side of the divide. Perhaps this is because people expect the row to be filled; it is difficult after all to believe it could be so easy. Yet every time, almost without fail, I swing to the front row and quickly claim my space. Sometimes I even have a couple to choose from.

I assume the best, hope that I’m right, and am perfectly content to circle around if not.

The law of attraction is about putting it out there and taking your shot, not about expecting wonder to rain from the sky.

Writer Dad

Filed Under: Etcetera

An Army of Curious Eyes

November 17, 2009 By 37 Comments

Today we had parent teacher conferences for Max and Mia. It was the first one for Max, and the first time Cindy and I have been able to attend as a couple. It was awesome to hold hands and sit across from our children’s teachers in tiny seats that made me feel even more Lurch-like than my 6’3” frame usually does. Neither conference held any surprises, but then again, they were more for confirming our thoughts than anything else. I only mention them because they serve as preamble to today’s story.

The writer’s workshop Cindy teaches to the fourth grade students fell an hour before our first scheduled conference. We drove in to school together. I sat in the library pretending to work while Cindy taught her lesson and pretended not to notice me watching.

Because of the conference schedule, the students had a minimum day. If you remember from your days in school as I remember from mine, this meant most of the students were counting the minutes until the final bell and strongly resenting any work preceding their early dismissal. This accounted for the few scattered moans and groans which loudened the library when Cindy concluded her lesson on Shel Silverstein and asked the class to finish the day with fifteen minutes of free poetry writing.

“Would you like me to do the assignment, Mrs. Platt?” I asked, raising my hand.

A few children chuckled. Cindy smiled. “Yes, Mr. Platt,” she said. “I would like that very much.” She handed me a sheet of paper.

I noted the army of curious eyes on me, scribbled for a few minutes, then laid down my pen and went back to the laptop. When time was called, Cindy asked if I would read my work out loud to the class.

The collective smiles plastered on the sea of little faces just two minutes later is a sight I can’t get out of my head. If this is what being a children’s author is going to be like, I’m fully on board and can’t wait to hand the conductor my ticket.

While writing, I thought little of audience reaction. I was merely trying to support Cindy while also showing the students that they should be listening rather than speaking, that writing can be both fun and powerful, and that there’s not much to it other than allowing your mind to start moving that pen across the paper. I certainly didn’t expect the response. Yet smile for smile, it might have been the best ten minutes of writing I’ve ever spent.

The children were enchanted. Even more, they were stirred. It wasn’t that they were impressed, necessarily, it was that at least a few of them were visibly inspired. Some of the children merely saw a magic trick and wore a “how did he do that?” sort of wonder on their faces. This delighted me, of course, as I love to think of my little ditties as verbal slights of hand, but what I truly loved in that moment were the other looks, the ones etched deeper into their expressions.

The ones that said, “I wonder if I can do that too?”

The answer is yes, absolutely. All it takes is a lot of practice, until familiarity with the words and their innate rhythm is an extension of instinct. Yet children do this already, whether it is with their feet anticipating the skip of a rope, their minds memorizing the levels of a video game, or their tongues tasting the sequence of words that will get them their way.

I hope the emotion wasn’t fleeting, and that at least a few of those children in the library will remember the moment and take it with them, wherever they may choose to go. I know for me, I found deeper purpose in my writing today.

Cindy stole my original, but she let me have it long enough to copy it here.

Enjoy!

4th graders are awesome, though best when they listen
Instead of the blah-blah-ing that gets them to missing
The info the teachers are spitting and spewing
To let the kids know what they’re supposed to be doing
Writing is fun – it’s like cake and balloons
On a Saturday morning spent watching cartoons
Except writing is better because you get to choose
What things you should keep and what things you should lose
You’re the creator – the world’s yours to build
Who gets to live there and how it is filled
Unicorns, dragons and men with red eyes;
Fairies and magic, an ending surprise
Fantasy’s fun if you break every rule
Decide what is dumb and decide what is cool
Be your best writer, place pen to the page
Write the best story, then be all the rage

Writer Dad

Filed Under: Children's Poetry, Poetry

Persevering Through the Pause

November 16, 2009 By 20 Comments

After three weeks of rehearsals, last Friday I finally sat to watch the fall talent show at our children’s school. Max didn’t participate, though I think he regretted his decision about five minutes after the first auditions were finished. He didn’t realize he’d have to spend every minute at the rehearsals anyway, but without the benefit of stage time. And believe me, that boy does love a good turn beneath the spotlight.

Mia decided to play her violin, choosing a medley of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and Lightly Row. What I dearly loved about her performance was the perseverance she showed throughout the piece.

She knows the music well, can play it without pause, and did just fine through all her rehearsals and at-home practice. However, standing on stage and playing in front of a live audience is a different thing entirely then playing from the comfort of your living room, or at rehearsals among friends.

During the transition between Twinkle and the second part of the medley, she starts to lose it. A few seconds later and things really start to break. For me, this is where it gets good.

Mia took a deep breath and found her way through, which is not an easy thing to do when standing in front of a sea of held breath and flashing lights. Even more than the pride I felt watching her on stage, I loved the conclusion of the show when the winners were announced. Of course Mia was hoping to win first prize in the musician category, but she didn’t. That honor went to an adorable kindergartner who played through her own medley of songs on the xylophone, without a single slip.

Mia looked so genuinely happy for the little girl, it made me want to cry. Then I almost did when I saw her approach the tiny tot and give her a giant hug and heartfelt congratulations.

Later, her brother asked her if she was sad that she didn’t win. “No,” Mia said in her matter-of-fact way. “I made mistakes and the winner didn’t.”

Sometimes life is all about preparing for next time. I love that at seven years old, this is something our daughter already understands.

Enjoy!

Writer Dad

Filed Under: Fatherhood
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