Category: Fatherhood

Crossing the Bridge

Few cars were on the road at this time of night. With the moon roof down, I could see a group of stars in the dark, clear sky.

I don’t know what is about driving on a bridge over water. 65 mph feels like 85. Cops are rare so maybe I was doing closer to 85. Either way, I had the the I90 bridge all to myself as I zipped around the stretch from Mercer Island and into town.

With the top open, I extended my hand to deflect the crisp air onto my face like I did when I was kid while sitting in the backseat of our station wagon. I love the cool air of Seattle. It makes me feel so alive.

My iPod was playing Till Brönner’s “River Man”.

If he tells me all he knows
About the way his river flows
And all night shows
In summertime

It’s been nearly 15 years since I first crossed the bridge on my way to Seattle where I moved into an a tiny studio across from the University of Washington.

But tonight I exited the bridge and jumped onto I5 which goes through downtown Seattle, past the glowing pillars of Safeco Field. Taking the 45th Street exit put me on “the Ave”.

A lot has changed over the years. Tower Records was gone. The corner computer shop had been replaced with a used clothing store. My favorite used record and CD joint was now a copy store. I was happy to see that Bulldog News and Haagen Daz were still around.

But the vibe I remember was gone.

On the drive home I thought about how my life has changed since I moved to Seattle. I’ve lost track of all the jobs I’ve held. I’ve lived downtown and far from town. I’ve commuted to work by bus, train, bike, scooter and ferry. We bought our first home and raised our first child and adopted our first pet.

But the largest change (besides meeting Kim) is that I now have four children that call me dad. And a few other names on occasion.

I arrived in Seattle as a self-centered brat who felt like the world owed me something for sticking out four years of college. Having children has softened the edges. Toned down the attitude.

I’ve got a long way to go. But I feel like I’m a better person than the one that drove a U-Haul over the bridge back in ‘94.

I’m going to take my kids to the Haagen Daz next week.

Before it’s replaced by another gas station.

Home Alone

This morning I woke up to the sound of my alarm instead of the sounds of kids arguing over the Nintendo.

I ate breakfast without Lincoln begging me to make chocolate milk.

I took a shower without Anna Lynn flushing the toilet right as I was working Tea Tree Shampoo into my scalp.

I grabbed my keys and briefcase. Wow, my iPhone was right where I left it the night before. I didn’t have to follow the fart sounds in order to find my phone in the hands of my oldest daughter hiding deep in the couch cushions.

I didn’t have four kids grabbing every limb of my body begging me to stay home and take them to Chuck E Cheese.

I left the house minus the yelling and the begging and the arguing.

But it wasn’t the same.

I pulled my car out of the garage and looked back towards the house. All I saw were two recycle bins.

Most days I see three kids waving their arms so violently you’d think they were stranded on an island.

I rolled down the car window expecting to hear voices yelling, “We love you!!”

But all I heard was my neighbor’s sprinkler.

I’m glad the circus rolls back in to town tomorrow afternoon.

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A Fourth to Remember

He helped move toys from the living room to the kitchen. He brought me the Tivo remote while I sat at the computer. He opened and shut doors around the house and even tossed a pair of shoes down the laundry chute.

I didn’t ask for the help but my 20-month son, Kai, decided to help anyway.

He loves the vacuum and has to be in the same room keeping an eye on it. He doesn’t get too close and will scurry out of the way if I push it towards him. Today I’d figured I’d see if I could convince him to step close enough to grab hold of the handle and push it around with my help.

After a minute of convincing him everything would be OK, he extended his left arm towards the handle. He finally grabbed it, and I helped him guide it from room to room. At first he struggled to keep up. I slowed down so he could grip the handle with both hands. He had that “I’m thrilled and scared to death at the same time” look on his face.

When we finished it took as long to pry his little hands off the handle as it did to clean the living room. He then ran down the hallway yelling one of the few words he knows, “Mom!! Mom!!”

I assumed that would be my memory of this low-key Independence Day.

But tonight, I jumped on Twitter and saw this:

sonkilled

I sat there staring at my monitor for what must have been 15 minutes. My youngest son isn’t quite two yet. And Lincoln is only six. How would I react to losing an adult son knowing the next time I see his body it will be encased in a coffin.

I hope next year it doesn’t take something like this for me to remember the freedoms we celebrate are protected and defended by brave soldiers like David’s son.

Dad’s Two Jobs

The games start the minute mom runs into the store leaving me alone in the car with the kids with no adult supervision to be found.

And by game I mean anything that mom would veto but that might slip by dad.

“Dad, let’s take turns saying all the jobs you do. Then we’ll say all the jobs mom does.”

This feels like Bert and Ernie, I say to myself.

“Ok”, I reply assuming I got off easy. Any game that doesn’t include exposing bare buttocks is progress. Celebrate the small victories, I say.

“Dad kills the spiders”, begins Anna with what I’m sure will be the first of many.

*Silence*

*Silence*

*More silence*

“That’s all you can think of? I do more than that, don’t I?”

“Well, you pickup the dog poop in the backyard.” Lincoln adds.

“Really? That’s all you can think of? I do the laundry.”

“But mom folds and puts it away.”

“But I wash the cars"

“Mom does that and vacuums.”

“Well, I take out the garbage. Aha! You forgot about that one!”

“So does mom when you’re at work”.

I’m up against a tough crowd tonight. It’s as if Kim put them up to this little exercise, yet I know she didn’t.

“Well, mom does a lot doesn’t she? She does a lot more than your old dad.”

As I stare towards the store waiting for Kim to return and save me from more questions, Luca chimes in with, “It’s OK, dad. Just keep making the money.”

Next time, I’m leaving Kim in the car while I buy the diapers.

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Window of Opportunity

So maybe we let Kai stay up later than we should.

Or gave him a few more Animal Crackers or sips of Diet Coke. I may have given him a slice of gum or two when Kim wasn’t looking.

When he hid the Tivo remote for a day we laughed it off. Had it been Lincoln, who knows if Scooby Doo privileges would be reinstated.

kainord

Whatever the reasons, the arrival of Kai has been different. Different from the previous three.

I’d like to tell you I was deeply involved with each child when they were newborns and toddlers. And I was to some extent, but it wasn’t consistent. There’s a difference showing up and being involved. I was there. But I wasn’t always engaged. The computer or game was in the foreground while my kids disappeared into the background.

Within four months of Anna Lynn’s birth we sold our home, lived with two grandparents, switched jobs, and relocated to a small down 1500 miles away from the only friends our kids knew.

By the time I got settled my baby daughter was no longer a baby. I wanted to rock her to sleep. But she wanted to run around the house. I wanted to spoon feed her applesauce. She wanted to feed herself. That window of opportunity where I could sit her down next to me on the couch and she couldn’t jump off?

Gone.

Things have been different with Kai. I’m sure part of that is due to regret.

And the fact that he might be our last child.

Kim brought Kai home to me tonight while she ran an errand with the other kids. Had this one of our first three children, I would have sat him on the floor, given him a few toys and kept my fingers crossed he didn’t discover the scissors and gum in my top drawer.

But tonight I didn’t push him into the background hoping he wouldn’t bother me.

Instead I placed him on the cushions I’d pulled off the couch and looked into his big blue eyes. And then I pulled faces and giggled and tickled his belly button until he had tears running down his chubby cheeks. What felt like a few minutes turned into half an hour, and I could not possibly be any happier.

Moments like this are magical. Just me and my son who will be two in November. He doesn’t say much yet. But that doesn’t detract from the enjoyment. He doesn’t have to say anything because I can see his joy reflected back in those eyes.

And yet I know that no matter how much he’s enjoying our time together, I’m enjoying it even more.

Because I know what it feels like to miss it entirely.

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One Lesson I Learned From My Father

The back of the station wagon was weighed down with ice which my father asked me to pickup for the award’s ceremony that evening. High school graduation was less than a week away, and I was busy planning for college and an LDS mission.

 brettdadgrad
My father attending my graduation at the University of Utah

But I’d taken a wrong turn and became lost.

I turned the radio off and sat up as straight as I could. As if somehow that would help me find my way back.

My heart was beating against my chest so violently that I thought I could hear it. I had to concentrate if I was going to make it back to the school in time.

And that’s when disaster struck.

As I turned the corner and began to accelerate faster than I should, I heard the loud *SMACK* of the speed bump connecting with the car’s underside. But that wasn’t the worst part. As I slammed  on the brakes and pulled to the side of the road, I noticed large cracks in the windshield.

My first thought was “Dad is going to go ballistic”.

Most of the cars we’d owned over the years were older and had at least one major flaw. The Brown Hornet (Chevy Malibu) would catch fire and could only be driven safely during the winter when the flames under the hood could be doused with snow. The driver’s side door on the Temptation (Buick Skyhawk) could only be shut from the outside. I drove around Ogden, Utah for several years with my right hand on the steering wheel while my left arm held the door closed.

But this station wagon was different. It’s the first car I remember my father gathering the family greet as he pulled it into the carport under the prime spot without the water leak. It was as if we were welcoming a new family member.

It was a big 9 passenger Buick station wagon. Old school with the seat in rear facing backwards and bench seating elsewhere. Huge AC Delco radio ready for any Def Leppard to come across KJQ. As we all stood in awe of our new arrival, my mom asked, “So you bought a green wagon, Dave?”

“It’s champagne”, my father replied.

As I stood on the curb waiting for my father to arrive, I was well aware of the importance he placed on that car. And the thought of having to explain the accident was making me sick. The tailpipe was smashed flat. The windshield was broken. And only a mechanic could tell us what other damage I’d caused.

I watched nervously as my father finally arrived and began walking around the car to assess the damage.

I’m sure he could sense I was upset at myself. What I didn’t know at this time was that in about an hour I would be accepting an academic scholarship that would put me through my first two years of college. My father knew about it, but didn’t want to spoil the surprise.

Nor did he want to ruin my evening even though I’d basically trashed his car. I was expecting the worst. I deserved it.

And here is where I learned something about my father. Instead of ripping me to shreds, he walked over to the curb, put his hand on my shoulder and said, “I’m just glad you’re OK. That’s why we have insurance”.

This is a memory I cherish as we celebrate Father’s Day. I’ve always admired how my father is able to see the big picture. He never dwells on the negative nor does he hold grudges. I know we can debate a subject fiercely yet walk away friends.

Nearly 1000 miles separates us today. Yet memories like this one make the distance seem small.

Thank you, dad. Happy Father’s Day.

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Boys of Summer

Kim asked me to spend some time in the backyard with the kids this evening. What I think she meant to say was, “Do something to wear out the kids so they will go to bed before midnight”.

But either way, she was right.

We started out playing soccer using a tree and yellow Tonka truck as goal markers. The game ended when Anna went inside and wrote “7” on a piece of paper and “4” on another. She returned to the yard to flash the scores which turned out to be in her favor.

Her siblings who didn’t agree. As the official score keeper, I went to the sideline to review the instant replay monitor and called the game a tie, which certainly prevented a bench-clearing brawl.

lincbaseball

We moved on to baseball. Or as close to the game of baseball one can come using a Spiderman bat and volleyball.

I showed both Lincoln and Luca how to hold a baseball bat. The proper grip, stance and motion were all part of the lecture. Just as I thought I was getting through, Luca said, “Just throw the ball, dad”.

I found myself giving the same advice my father gave me. I can’t imagine the number of hours my father spent playing catch with me. I can still hear the *smack* of the ball hitting my glove just right. Or the times he’d toss batting practice and I’d lace a hit into the street. My dad would race after the ball to keep it from going down the storm drain.

The older I get, the more I realize how often I give my children the same advice my parents gave me.

“Keep your chin on your shoulder and drive though the ball”

“If you take it, you eat it”

“No running in the church”

“Don’t sit too close to the TV”

“Hustle every play”

“All four chair legs on the floor”

“Say excuse me”

The phrases I told myself I’d never use on my own kids are the ones I repeat the most often. Maybe they contain the most universal truth. Or they could be the only ones I remember.

But it does make me aware that what I say to my children make take up permanent residence in their minds.

So when Lincoln asked me to retrieve the ball he smacked into the neighbor’s yard, I just smiled.

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There are Days

There are days that start off poorly and only get worse.

The days I can barely get out of bed because I played basketball till midnight foolishly assuming I still have the energy and body of a 20-year old.

The nights when baby Kai sleeps in 20 minute increments between yelling and wall kicking. Perfect_Pushup_2

The evenings when my kids petition for a new dad because the incumbent won’t let them eat popcorn and “Gogurt” for dinner.

The afternoons when I become glued to my computer and fail to help Kim around the house.

The nights I stay up way too late watching six episodes of SportsCenter followed by a 30 minute infomercial for the “Perfect Pushup”.  Maybe if I was as ripped as this guy my kids would finally flush their floaters.

There are days where I put my headphones on to drown out a fight that started when Lincoln’s game of Super Mario was interrupted by a belch to the ear delivered by his sister.

There are days when the day’s work gives me a headache, and I walk in the door and crash on the couch without any regard to what Kim went through that day.

I’ve had nearly 12 years to work on becoming a better husband. I’m like the baseball player who can’t make it out of Double A ball because he can’t hit lefties.

Students have earned advanced degrees in far less time, so why does it feel like I’m still stuck in remedial fatherhood much of the time? I should have learned my lesson on the midterm that whites and colors don’t mix. What do you mean Luca doesn’t need another pink t-shirt?

Many times, fatherhood feels like a pop quiz where the kids are asking the questions based on material I had no way of studying beforehand. Occasionally I learn as I go along. Other times, I pencil in “B” to all fifty questions and call it a day.

Yet I keep plugging away.

Because there are nights like tonight where I’m given the opportunity to take my son upstairs to his bed. He’s flops like a warm rag doll over my shoulder as I head up the stairs. He looks so peaceful tucked into his bed. I stand back and look at him and think to myself how lucky I am to have such a great kid.

Maybe I’m the father that finally hits stride in his mid 40’s without the performance enhancing drugs.

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Lunch with Anna

This past week I mentioned to Kim that I didn’t know Anna as well as her two older siblings. I know what Nintendo games she likes to play. I know she loves macaroni and cheese and which Smurf is her favorite. But I don’t really know what makes her tick. I want her to feel comfortable talking to me. By default she goes to her mom. Maybe she gets lost in the shuffle. Luca is our oldest and is involved in many activities. And Lincoln is my oldest son who enjoys working with me around the yard. I need to find some common ground with Anna and go from there.

So I decided to look for an opportunity this week to spend time with Anna without the distraction of her siblings.

annalynn

Today, the opportunity arose where I was able to take her to work with me. I moved her car seat over to my car and left for Redmond. I knew I had about 40 minutes in the car with my youngest daughter to talk about whatever she wanted. I adjusted the rearview mirror so I could see her face in the backseat. She gave me an awkward smile framed around her cute blond hair.

I started by lobbing a few softball questions like what did she enjoy about pre-school. I know. What a lame cop-out question.

“But dad, aren’t you going to turn on your music?”

“Nope, I want to talk to you”

It doesn’t take long for me to realize that Anna would make a great politician. She answers the question she wishes I had asked.

Anna isn’t sure what to make of all this attention being paid to her by her father, and that makes me sad.

As we near my office she begins to open up a bit more.

“If Grandpa and Grandma take us to Disneyland again, will you give me some gum so my ears will pop in the plane?”

Her questions surprise me. But all of them make me smile. I have a bright and inquisitive 5-year old daughter whom I want to know better. I realize that it takes time. I can’t rush it. But I don’t want to be one of those fathers who puts work ahead of his family and then tries to build a relationship with his children when they are teenagers.

For lunch we walked to one of the many cafés on the Microsoft campus. Anna orders a slice of cheese pizza, chocolate milk, and a cookie. She was reserved, and maybe a little intimidated at the sight of so many strangers. She sat next to me and asked a couple of questions.

“Is this what big people do when they go to work?”

“Why does everyone carry a computer to lunch?”

I wasn’t sure I was making much progress. We finished lunch and began walking back to my office. As we crossed through several parking lots and busy streets, Anna took my hand and held it tight.

And she didn’t let go until she was safely back in my office.

As I tucked her into bed tonight, I asked if she had fun at my office today. She glanced to make sure Lincoln and Luca were listening before replying, “It’s the best time I ever had going to work”.

That made me smile all night.

A Bubble Wrap Break

My entire body was sore after I spent an hour chasing a small blue ball around a racquetball court tonight. Occasionally I caught up to the ball and smacked the little bugger. But the chasing outnumbered the smacking, and my legs felt like Jello.

As I walked from the garage to our home I thought, “I hope the kids are asleep”. Or, at the very least, Kim has pumped them full of Benadryl. The last thing I needed were four kids jumping on me or pulling at my sore muscles.

kidsbikes

Piggy-back rides to bed will have to wait.

When I walked into the living room, the only person who looked like she was pumped full of Benadryl was Kim. The kids were wide awake and wild as could be. I plopped down on the couch.

“I get to sit by dad!

“So do I!”

“I called it first!”

I know their ploy. They hope I’ll hand over my iPhone so they can play the bubble wrap game.

So I sat there with one arm around each daughter watching “Jon & Kate Plus 8” and trying to imagine what my life would be like with twice the number of children. I also wonder how much Jon is getting paid to stay with Kate who is giving Spencer Pratt a run for his money as the least likeable character on TV.

I like that both daughters want to spend time with me. They don’t care if I’ve been at work all day or ran off to the gym tonight. I might be exhausted, but they haven’t given that any thought. All they care about is the fact that I’m home now, and they want my attention.

Over the next hour I will listen to Luca and Lincoln play a duet on the piano. I’ll wipe a few noses and hike a pair of pants over some plumber’s crack. I’ll listen to Lincoln read me a story about “Sam & Matt”. I’ll beat Luca’s high score on the bubble wrap game and record my name as “Anna” just to see her reaction. I’ll trip over a massive gathering of Polly Pockets and dinosaurs in the middle of the room. I’ll clean a few ears and chase kids up the stairs. If I’m lucky, we’ll say a prayer together without someone’s butt getting blessed.

The times I feel like I need a break as the dad are often the times my kids need their father the most.