Braving Boys

Danny told me recently that he is going to teach his dad to play the piano. He’s become quite the pro since starting lessons in July (he and big bro Joe rocked their first recital in December), and he’s discovered he has the tools for teaching others.

“That’s great!” I responded. “You can teach me, too!”

His response: “No, it would be too complicated for you.”

This from the boy who paid me the nicest compliment last week — he said I look 14, not 40.

I think it’s a compliment, anyway.

Never a dull moment in a house with two growing kiddos. Here, some more bits about boys:

Someone once told me the appropriate time to talk about sex with kids is when they start asking questions about it. Well, on the way home from the grocery store one day, Joey asked a question, and I answered, and while there’s a lot more we need to cover on the topic, let’s just say he now knows exactly how the baby is made, and he’s declared that he will definitely be adopting his children.

Joey is 10 now, and I realize, sadly, that we are halfway done with him (well, in the controlling, we-are-in-charge-of-everything-you-do kinda way). If all goes according to his plan, in not so many years, he’ll be living in a condo on the beach, with a pet, a boat, and a bunch of hot babes. He’ll be working in a boat store, and he might let his little brother live with him, although he’d prefer him as a neighbor, and WOW, this is pretty heavy stuff. Yes, we still must advance through puberty, driving, dating, and who knows what else, but the prospect of an emptying nest is darn sobering.

Danny is 7, going on 8, but acting a lot like 4. A therapist told me years ago she believes the 7-year-old has a foot firmly planted in toodlerhood, and Danny, on some days, could be her case study. Whining is his specialty, and if he must cry out in protest, he’ll do that, too. Overall, though, he is a sweet, smart, loving boy. His teacher reports he is her model student (a terrific turnaround from last year’s pinching and underwear incident), and his “brain cage,” as he calls it, holds so many fantastic facts and figures that we are mostly in awe of our second born, whose latest passion is the ipod Touch he got for Christmas. Uh-Oh, I just heard kids should have no more than an hour or two of daily screen time. He’s not going to be happy about that.

This Christmas marked a family travel milestone for us. We stuffed loads of gear and ourselves (plus one grandmother) in a rented van, and we headed for New York to see an uncle, aunt, and four cousins. New York, if you aren’t aware, is 21 horrendous hours away from where we live, and for someone like me, who doesn’t like to be on the road for more than two hours, the lead-up to this adventure can cause some distress. But I ended up managing just fine, and the sights and stops along the way (like Washington, DC) made for an experience that exceeded my expectations. Bonus: A blizzard, and the boys had never before seen snow (or felt such freezing cold weather), and what a treat that was!

Also on the boy radar: The guys are taking turns going to Gator basketball games with dad; school Read-A-Thon starts on Monday, which is good since all four of us need to hit the books more; mountain biking has commenced; fishing and boating are tops when the warm temps return; taking a break this season from sports, but flag football is up next this Spring; and gosh, so much more lies ahead. Will it be tackle football? Not sure, but I do know I’m up for anything. Well, except camping.

Joey, No. 91

He was choked up. I saw him fight back the tears. But when we walked away from his very last tackle football game of the season on Saturday night, Joey told us, like he’s done a thousand times, that he doesn’t really like the sport at all, that he will likely never play again.

Well, maybe if he can play defense only, he’ll consider it, but mostly, he’s done with the game.

That’s fine. I don’t care if Joey plays again or not. What I care about is what he got out of the past three months.

Joey got an education in the fundamentals of football and a lesson in commitment — there were days when he wanted so badly to quit, but he toughed it out, finished, and earned a Pop Warner medal and trophy.

Joey got discipline, criticism, and praise. He got first place almost every time he ran laps with his 30 teammates, and he got to hardly ever come out of the game. He got knocked down, he got $5 from Dad for every game tackle, and he got bumps and bruises. He got the nickname “Big Bird,” he got skilled at football drills, and he got accustomed to playing in sweltering heat, and then, in the finger-numbing cold.

Joey got good at football, he got a passion for watching pro games on TV, throwing the ball in the yard with anyone he could recruit, and trying to tackle me in the grass, the living room, even the aisles of Walmart. He got to experience the thrill of team comraderie, he got to yell and scream in huddles, he got to be team captain.

Joey got a game jersey and wore it to school every Friday, he got dressed up for Halloween as a football player, and then, one week after scoring a bag full of trick-or-treat sweets, he got tears in his eyes when football came to an end.

I saw them — the tears.

And that’s how I know that somewhere deep inside his big body, Joey realizes football was not so bad.

I suspect he knows it was actually pretty fun at times.

He just won’t admit it.

That’s OK.

Because I know.

Scouts no more.

We should have waited to sign up Danny for Cub Scouts. We should have better investigated our suspicion that the organization discriminates against people who are gay.

But we didn’t.

We joined. We paid. We bought the shirt, and the neckerchief, and all the other garb. We went to a few meetings, were thinking about an upcoming camping trip, and then Bam!, there it was — a status update on Facebook by a friend linking to an article about a Texas dad told to take a hike from his leadership position because of his sexual orientation. Had he kept it private, all would have been well. But once it was known, the Scouts had to let him go. It’s in their bylaws, you know? No gays.

Don’t believe in God? Yea, that’s a problem, too.

The news made my stomach sink. John’s too. And so there was just no way we could continue on, knowing this belief system (apparently set in stone, enforced, and even supported legally) exists.

Boy Scouts of America director of public relations Deron Smith told CNN the nixed dad is welcome to continue volunteering his time, just not as a leader.

“The policy, as it is written, is that the Boy Scouts does not accept for membership avowed homosexuals,” he said.

He added: “This is not meant as a social commentary. We do not have an agenda that we’re pushing. We don’t discuss this with our kids. We’re simply an organization that feels like this is the right thing for our membership and we move it forward and we simply focus on our mission. It’s really that simple.”

Simple. Umm, I don’t think so.

And that’s why our boy will not be a Scout.

The University of Florida Men’s basketball team, ranked ninth in the first Associated Press men’s basketball poll on Thursday, scored a 92-58 win against Florida Tech last night. It was exciting, but not near as thrilling for Danny as it was to snuggle up next to mascot Albert the Alligator.

A boy and his piano

There once was a boy who attended a piano workshop. He wasn’t sure it was the instrument he wanted to pursue, but he faithfully showed up, and he plugged away at the lessons. Twice a week he went back, and on all the other days, he practiced. He did well, and somewhere during the course of his study, he started enjoying what he was doing. So did his brother, who glared at his mom from a bench on day No. 1, angry she was forcing him into this activity.

It’s been nearly four months since that first lesson, and for two of those months, the boy and his brother have been taking private lessons from the man who taught the workshop. He says he’s impressed with what he hears, and so is the mom. What charms her most is that this boy, who would have rather been perched in front of a computer screen instead of learning to read music this summer, seems so natural at the keyboard. His little fingers know right where to go, he sways a bit to the sounds he creates, and much of the time, he doesn’t even look at his music book. Once he learns the song, it’s in his head, and he can crank it out on command. This skill — the memorizing of songs — has earned the boy double stickers on some lesson days, and he has collected 12 in all. This week, he turns them in for a prize. He doesn’t know yet what it will be (he’s secretly hoping it’s the adorable puppy living at the teacher’s house!), but on Wednesday, he will find out. He’ll also find out how well he does on this-week’s songs. Mom is betting he rattles off some beauties, and it’s pretty possible another two stickers will be awarded.

Way to play, Danny! You make your momma proud!

Photo: earl53, morgueFile

Joey is in fourth grade, and writing is the end-up, be-all of this stage in his school career. I love it, because writing, I can handle. It’s the math that throws me into fits of confusion. So, you can bet that when given the opportunity to help Joey master his skills with pencil and paper, I’m jumping at the chance.

Joey’s teacher told me Friday that practicing writing at home is a wise idea, so tonight, we sat at the kitchen table with a matching assignment, and we wrote, and wrote, and wrote, until we both had finished four paragraphs. Our challenge was to write clearly, to elaborate on details, and to use our sparkly words (first-grade terminology there!). I think we did pretty well, and what follows are the essays we completed. Now, in the interest of full disclosure, I do admit that I edited for spelling and punctuation — but that’s all. And just a teeny, tiny bit. And the exclamation points: All Joey. The words, however, were not altered in any way. I promise.

Assignment: Everyone has enjoyed special days. Think about one day that was special to you. Now, write to explain why this particular day was so special to you.

By Joey

112 shrimp!

“Yes, I’m reeling it in. It’s a big one. Awesome. It’s a large mouth bass.” This is what I said to my dad when we went fishing at the St. John’s River. This was a special day because school was the next day, and I wanted to end the last day of summer on a good note. Also, I wanted to spend some time with my dad.

I don’t really like school, so I needed to end it on a good note. I like to think back on what I did this summer, and I am going to do that now. I went to get a boat and truck, I did drama camp, I learned to play the piano, I had a garden, and I played football. The best thing about the summer was the boat and truck. The most shrimp we caught on the boat was 112 shrimp! It took two hours to clean. The worst part of the cleaning was the veins. But the shrimp were delicious to eat, which made the last day of summer awesome!

I usually don’t get to see my dad much, so I wanted to spend a lot of time with him on the last day of summer. When I’m at home, he is usually at work, so spending about five hours with my dad each weekend is pretty nice. When my dad and I are on the boat together, we mostly shrimp, but in the meantime, we also use our nice poles. I help my dad dock up the boat. I help my dad dock up the boat because he needs to put the trailer in the water. We work on our boat 50/50 to make it a team project. Any day with my dad is a good day.

There have been many good times in my life, but this one was the best because boating and spending time with my dad are awesome things to do to end the last day of summer on.

By Jacki

Finished!

It’s hard to choose just one special day, because there are two most-special days in my life, and they are January 3, 2001, and May 30, 2003 — the days my babies (Joey and Danny) were born. So, in an effort to not play favorites, I’ll go with another day altogether — the day I ran and finished a half-marathon. This day rocked for two reasons. First, I wasn’t sure I could conquer such a feat, and I did. Second, I had a spunky and enthusiastic cheering section waiting for me at the finish line.

At one time in my life, I could hardly run around the block. Then, a fitness trainer friend challenged me to run for 20 minutes without stopping. I wasn’t speedy, but I succeeded. I kept at the running, and before long, I ran a 5K, which is 3.2 miles. Still, a half-marathon wasn’t even on my radar — until I watched a “Biggest Loser” episode and saw the contestants run a full marathon. Surely, I could master half of that, so I decided to try it. I trained for 10 weeks, running in the heat, cold, rain, and wind, and clocking as many as 12 miles before the big event. Then, on February 14, 2010, I pounded the pavement for 13.1 miles. It took me two hours and 12 minutes, and boy, was I glad when that was over. But WOW, was I elated to have scored such a grand victory in my life!

The shouting observers and on-lookers who filled the finish-line area were very motivating, but it wasn’t the people I didn’t know who made me jump for joy. It was my family people — my kids, husband, mom, sister and nieces. They yelled and waved fancy, hand-made posters at me. They greeted me with hugs and kisses, and their love and support warmed my heart, which was pretty important on this freezing-cold day — it was 29 degrees outside!

I bet a lot of people would count marathons as events that make for special days. I’m one of them. There’s just nothing quite like pushing myself physically to overcome something that seems sort of impossible, and to finish the journey welcomed by screaming fans makes for one seriously spectacular day!

Donaldson / #91

It turns out that Joey doesn’t much love football. He doesn’t hate it, but it’s become pretty clear that if he had his choice, he’d be on a boat — with his dad, a fishing pole, and a cast net. He likes fishing so much that standing for a few hours at the kitchen sink cleaning shrimp qualifies as fun when compared to two-hour practices. It’s actually the practice he doesn’t prefer. Games are better, and we’ve even spotted the guy pretty pumped up after each of his team’s three wins.

The coaches warned us at the beginning of the season that tackle football could very well be the toughest thing our kids have ever endured in their nine years of life. The grueling conditioning, old-school coaching, hot temps, hard hits, and colossal time commitment would build our boys into men, they declared, and sure enough, it’s tough stuff out there on the field.

Ready to block!

It’s not the physical demands that bother Joey, though, and I watched him just last week come from behind 30 teammates while running, pushing himself to first place on the first lap, and second on the second lap.

He’s not lazy. He’s not slacking.

He’s just. not. that. into. it.

Still, he’s going to finish, and I happen to think that’s what makes him most like a man. He’s not complaining (anymore), and he’s fulfilling his commitment — three practices per week, one game per week, and a healthy diet that keeps the big boy a bit below max weight so he can play in each game. Yep, tough stuff.

Joey’s not sure he will ever be a superstar in the world of football. But maybe he will. It’s still early in the season, and he’s only 9, after all. Plenty of time on both accounts for a change of heart. For now, however, I’m just plain proud every time I watch my kid suit up and do his thing. I’m not sure I could do it as well.

Four words for you, Joey.

Boy.
You.
Are.
Amazing.

Don’t ever forget it.

Yes, that's a black-ish eye, but not from football, just rough play.

Let me preface this post by telling you that my 9-year-old kid has not yet been fully uniformed and padded and protected and knocked around on the football field, and, yes, of course, I am scared to death that he will soon be jolted around to the point of tears and serious injury, but so far, he’s just been conditioning his big-boy body for a season of tackle football.

By conditioning, I mean he’s been running, jumping, racing, weaving, bear crawling, crab crawling, sitting up, pushing up, attacking dummies, and then doing it all over again. And again. Then one more time. For two hours. Sometimes more.

Almost every day, Joey is soaked in sweat and fatigued to the point that he can’t fall asleep. This is tough stuff — the hardest he’s ever had it in life. And here’s what I have to say about it all:

So far, I love tackle football.

It’s not the hours on end I’m sitting on a field overrun with ants that nibble constantly on my ankles. It’s the not the 4PM dinners we’re eating to prep for 6PM practice, or the rushed night-time routines when we return home at, oh, 8:30 or 9PM. It’s not my messy vehicle, the dirty clothing, the relentless reminders that Joey must lose 2 pounds if he wants to play in the first game.

Nope.

None of that makes me terribly happy.

It’s the way Joey works on that field that fills me with joy. He might complain at home about this sport that he chose (the first one he’s ever picked all by himself!), but as soon he as steps those cleats into the dirt and grass with 35 other boys, he becomes a man. No whining, no slacking, no eye contact with mom and dad. The kid just digs deep, and he works. And when he comes home, after he takes his long, hot shower, he has a certain bounce in his step. It’s not like he’s announcing that he’s enjoying himself, but I see it. And it’s something pretty special.

I keep telling Joey how proud I am of what he’s doing, and I’m guessing he’s going to get sick of hearing it. Like, soon. So I think I’ll shut up, watch from the sidelines, and simply marvel at what football can do for my child.

Monday starts conditioning with gear — that means pads and helmets, mouth guards, chin guards, everything. Maybe then my tune will change, and I won’t be so thrilled with what football can do for my guy (think: bumps, bruises, and brain boo-boos).

For now, though, one week into our new team sport adventure, I am encouraged, inspired, in awe of the baby who rarely participated at playgroups, the toddler who kicked and screamed at gymnastics class, the boy who refused team sports until last year, when we finally nudged him to try basketball.

Proud.

That’s all.

Just proud.

Photo: JSmith Photo, Flickr

My boys can be very dramatic at home. Joey just told me yesterday, “It’s not so fun to clean the boat, mom. I’d rather spray sunscreen right in my eyes!” For those who know just how much he hates sunscreen, this is a pretty powerful statement. Is it safe to assume, then, (given the flair for exaggeration) that Joey and Danny might shine bright in drama camp?

I think so.

And that’s why I signed them up for a one-week, all-day theater experience. The director of things told me that lots of kids are dramatic at home. It’s because they are comfortable. The key is making them just as secure on stage. So that’s my wish for this week: that my boys find drama just as fun while standing before an audience as they do performing in private quarters.

Today was Day No. 1 of Drama & Musical Theatre, and it seems all went well. Joey is now channeling Fabian, Danny is Troy, and they both will practice lines all week for a performance on Friday evening. They’ll also sing and dance. I can’t wait to witness it all, especially after Joey’s reaction as we pulled up to camp this morning:

On the outside of the gymnasium where we checked in was a sign that read, “Welcome to The Hall.” The school is called Oak Hall, so this makes sense. But Joey put his own spin on things: “Welcome to Hell,” he announced, hesitant to attend this week’s festivities.

Hell, it was not. Danny’s first-uttered words at pick-up were, “Mom, I liked it!” And Joey already has several of his lines committed to memory: “Yeah, I’m nervous too! Even my teeth are sweating!” and “Hey, Duke! It must be hard finding shoes that fit those two left feet!” He delivers his words with emotion and enthusiasm, and he hasn’t once complained about a trip back to “The Hall” tomorrow.

And so.

The show goes on.