I often feel as though I’m more referee than father. 

Today I threw an unnecessary roughness penalty on my 5-year old for, well, roughing up his older brother.  This morning I whistled a delay of game penalty on my daughter after she was unable to find a suitable shirt to wear after staring at the laundry basket for 15 minutes. That’s when I step in and select a shirt for her which results in a fashion disaster only her mother can repair.

By the end of most days, I’m out of flags or just too tired to throw any more.

It’s not that I mind standing in as a replacement ref, but I assumed I’d have more time to coach my kids. I grew up as the son of a high school coach, and I watched how he encouraged and brought out the best in hundreds of young men.

And that’s how I pictured fatherhood. Yet, for the most part, it hasn’t played out that way with flags having replaced pats on the butt.

Occasionally, one of my children will approach me and ask for advice. Or help with fractions or spelling. It’s usually something very specific, but the questions could often be answered by anyone. I’m basically an extension of their school teacher or last resort when Google can’t pinpoint the answer.

Years ago when I was in high school I returned home late after a date and was surprised to find my mother still awake reading a magazine on the couch. We had a good relationship, and I knew she trusted me so I asked why she didn’t just head to bed and I’ll let myself in and tell her how my night went the next morning.

She said, “I stay up because I never know when you’ll need to talk.”

I’m beginning to understand what she meant that night.

Lincoln has been pestering me to make a YouTube video with him. So tonight I finally sat down and interviewed him about his Rubik’s Cube skills. Later Luca told me she was hungry so I made her favorite dish, pesto pasta, she she sat at the table and told me about her friends and teachers.

With both children I learned something that I didn’t know before. I doubt they learned anything about their father. But that isn’t what’s important.

Many a night I’ve turned down such requests, rationalizing they can wait till after dinner or tomorrow or the weekend.

But they don’t return. The opportunity is lost and the kids move on.

Mom was right.

The rain is coming down so fast and furious that the windshield wipers can’t keep up.

The heater hasn’t had time to warm the car or clear the windows.

It’s almost 7 am which means the bus will arrive anytime.

And as much as I want to get back to my warm bed, I have a job to do, and that’s to keep an eye open for the bus.

As I sit in the drivers seat staring straight ahead waiting for lights to appear in my peripheral vision, my oldest daughter talks to me.

We’re only together for a few minutes, but I’ve learned more about my daughter before 7 am than any other time of the day. Maybe she’s more open and talkative in the morning. Or maybe I’m a better listener when I’m tired.

When I see the bus lights, I hit the button which opens the sliding doors to the van. My daughter leans over just enough so I can kiss her on the forehead before she grabs her backpack and cello and disappears into the dark morning air.

Occasionally I’ve taken this time with my daughter for granted.

But not today.

Google rules desktop search, and has for many years now. I use the Chrome browser, and its integrated Google search is fantastic.

But once I move to my iPhone, Google basically doesn’t exist anymore. Searching on my phone has been such a pain that I tended to avoid it unless I had to. Like that time I stood in the automotive aisle of Fred Meyer searching for the right size windshield wipers for my car. But that all changed when Siri came to the 4S.

Siri has improved to the point where my search habits have changed, and that’s not a good thing for Google. I tell my phone what I’m looking for and it finds it. No typos. No ads. Works nearly every time. Not 100% but dang close.

This is bad news for Google, especially when you take into consideration the low engagement of Android compared to iOS. Example: Mobile devices made up 24% of Black Friday online traffic. But of that segment, iOS made up 77% of mobile traffic. In short, iOS users make better customers. Or maybe iOS devices are designed to attract better customers. And these customers using iOS are going to search and buy more products.

Google bought Android and continues to develop the platform because they can’t afford to miss out on mobile search spoils, and this keeps them in the game. So they have helped created a hugely successful mobile business for Samsung, but bear all development costs and see little return for their efforts.

In hindsight, turning against Apple instead of partnering with them could turn out to be one of the biggest boneheaded business decisions we’ve seen in while. Since Android’s inception, Google has earned 4x the revenues on iOS than it has Android.

If I were a Google shareholder I’d be scratching my head. Microsoft will probably make more off Android licensing deals than Google will this year. My friends running Android laugh when I tell them Google should sell off Android to Samsung and come crawling back to Apple.

But the train has left the station and Apple is well on its way to taking a major slice of mobile search and no longer needs Google. If Brian Hall is correct, expect to see Siri in a lot more places too. The game is far from over, but Siri is looking like Apple’s scalpel of choice in carving out portions of search market Google is trying desperately to protect.

Siri could turn out to be Google’s worst nightmare.

My oldest son began playing basketball this past week, and I had the chance to drive him to practice a couple of times. On the drive, he asked me questions about the rules of basketball and I answered him as best I could. Unlike baseball and football he was fascinated how in basketball, players alternative between offense and defense in the span of a few seconds.

I remember the butterflies I felt in my stomach when I showed up for my first football practice. I was so nervous the night before that I hardly slept.  I sensed that with my son, and as we entered the gym  I patted him on the head and said, “Just be yourself, and you’ll be fine.”

Just be yourself.

In many ways I’m a hypocrite because I often don’t live by those words. In order to fit into my family or church or even social circle, I’ll act in a way that I feel others expect me to act. I learned quickly on my mission that being myself was going result in a lot of trouble, so it didn’t take long to learn exactly what to say to keep others off my back. Each month when I met with my mission president I told him what he wanted to hear, and he left me alone.

It wasn’t until I had served my two years and was meeting with him for the last time that I told him how I really felt. My honestly stunned him, and I can still picture the look on his face as it happened. And it felt good. Man, did it ever feel good.

I think back to that experience in Germany often because it had a great impact on how I would deal with others in similar circumstances. And over the years what I realize is that I’ve avoided getting close to those I don’t feel I can be myself around, and that includes some members of my family.

When I met Kim for the first time I was on a business trip in Las Vegas. Before I flew back to Seattle, we spent the afternoon walking through one of the large fancy malls near town. Having moved away from family and recently gone through a divorce, I was looking for a friend I could be myself around.

That was 15 years ago.

Two nights ago, our neighbor offered to take our children for a few hours so Kim and I could go to dinner. I was too tired to take off my biking shorts and Kim had changed into sweats so we called in take-out from our favorite Thai restaurant. Kim told me how spicy food is sometimes known to start labor which she would welcome anytime as our fifth child could arrive any day now.

When we finished our Chicken Pad Thai we sat in our car in our driveway reminiscing about the last 15 years. Many of the activities and possessions we thought were important back then mean little to us now. We laughed about the time we went to Bellevue Square and bought four pairs of shoes we didn’t need. We couldn’t believe how much we’ve relaxed with each child, learning not to stress out over things that don’t matter. For example, Luca was brought up on classical music exclusively while Kai was raised on Van Halen.

But what I realized is how lucky I am to have met Kim.

I hope one day each of my children meet someone  they can say the same about.

“We learned about salmon. Then we did some math and some reading and then some other stuff.”

That’s how Anna described her day at school while she sat on my knee. Not often do I slow her down long enough to catch such details.

She flips her head around to show me how she tied and pulled up her hair up into a knot she describes at “totally cool”. It’s impossible not to smile around Anna. She throws herself into everything she does. While the rest of us walk together, Anna dances and twirls and skips ahead of us.

I thought about tuning in to watch the presidential debate this evening. Instead I decided to spend my afternoon running errands with Luca before stopping to speak with a friend on his porch. A good friend is there when you need him and willing to listen. A close friend tells you what you don’t want to hear, but need to. That was the case today.

As the debate was about to start, I decided to take Lincoln to basketball practice. This is second organized practice he’s attended, and he’s still learning the game. I watched him run up and down the court with his close friend not far behind. He’s so serious. I wish I could inject him with a portion of Anna’s carefreeness.

When I returned home, I checked Facebook and Twitter and both were filled with reactions from the debate. That’s when Anna decided she wanted to tell me about her day.

“Pretty soon I’m going to be too big for your knee”, she tells me.

“I’ll just have to use both knees.” I reply.

Sometimes it’s best to close down the browser. Tonight was one one of those times.

As the days counted down towards the birth of our first child, more doubts danced their way into my mind.

I had no point of reference.

My preparation consisted of checking off a list of “must haves” from Babys-R-Us down to the color of the Baby Bjorn.

I had just started feeling like a competent husband, but the title of father felt overwhelming.

That was 11 years ago and I still feel overwhelmed.

Yet, I sit here tonight tapping away at my computer waiting for number five to arrive, and I have no idea where the Baby Bjorn is. I’m certain that within a few minutes I can locate my keys, wallet and a suitable car seat if the contractions become more intense.

At this stage of the game my only job is to keep everyone calm.

I didn’t realize how much joy these four balls of energy would bring to our home. And challenge and squirm and test the quality of my hearing.

Two tired but thrilled parents welcomed our first child into this world. This time around the parents are still tired, but the other four are anything but.

I wonder if number five has any what he’s about to experience.

When my daughter slammed a cheeseburger down on the tray because it was supposed to be a hamburger I lost it.

I would normally glare at her until she got the message, but I was well past that point. Instead I lashed out at her in front of the family. That she wouldn’t eat her burger because we’d been given the wrong order was beside the point. I was upset that she’d feel so entitled to slam it down in such a manner.

It wasn’t as if she had snuck out of her room to take the car for the joyride at midnight.

But in the moment it felt like the right action to take, and I let her have it. My daughter was so surprised at my outburst that she followed my example and yelled right back. That’s not normally how she operates.

I don’t recall what I said to her nor do I recall what she said to me. It doesn’t matter though because my message was lost in its delivery. It’s one thing to yell when your child is running towards a busy street. But that wasn’t the case here.

Has someone ever changed your mind after yelling at you? Have you ever changed a person’s mind by yelling at them?

I’ve had nearly 11 years worth of experience as a father, but there are times all that experience doesn’t mean squat.

It’s been a couple of days, and I’ve had to reflect on how I acted. Honestly, I feel sort of numb about it but mostly embarrassed. Embarrassed because my other two sons and daughter and spouse witnessed it.

The next morning I was saying goodbye to the kids who were piled on the couch watching cartoons. My daughter got off the couch, walked over to me and gave me a hug. I patted her on the head a few times, wondering what she was thinking.

I’m not naïve enough to assume that she has forgotten about my actions the night before, nor do I believe she’ll be this forgiving when she reaches her teens and beyond. Even at her age, I would have avoided my mother or father had I been in a similar situation.

If I could take a mulligan I would.

I told my daughter why I was upset and apologized for yelling.  Maybe I’ve banked enough goodwill with her that she knows I love her and don’t normally act the way I did.

I kissed her on the forehead before taking off for work on my bike.

One good thing about having four kids is that I get a lot of opportunities to redeem myself.

I don’t have all the answers, although to my children, it may seem like I do.

Children are naturally curious. It’s not uncommon for our family to sit around the table for dinner while Kim and I are peppered with so many questions that keeping up is difficult.

Luca often asks me, “What’s your worst favorite color?”

What does that even mean?

Lincoln often asks questions I don’t have the answer to or have no idea how to answer. I’m still not sure how to answer this question he asked three years ago: “What’s under the ocean?”

I could Google for the answer, but that might spoil the reminder of my son asking one of his many off-the-wall questions because those questions reflect his personality. I wouldn’t be surprised if Lincoln has already Googled the answer and wrote a report on it. That’s just how he is.

Sometimes the questions feel overwhelming and I try to run from them or ignore them. But there are many questions from which I cannot nor should I run from.

The morning after the shooting at the Aurora mall last week I sat in front of the TV trying to comprehend the horrific scenes I was watching. Police and sirens and chaos filled the screen when my daughter pulled up a blanket and sat next to me.

Looking back now I never considered changing the channel over to Nickelodeon. No, I put my arm around my daughter and stared straight ahead. Between the reporters blathering on about the gunman and the text which scrolled along the bottom of the screen, it didn’t take long for her to figure out that something awful had taken place. 

My earliest recollection of publicized violence was the night John Lennon was killed because it was announced on Monday Night Football by Howard Cosell as I watched.  I was old enough to understand he was a member of the most famous band on the planet, but didn’t fully comprehend his importance to his fans or his eventual place in music and pop culture.

A few minutes passed before my daughter asked, “Why would someone shoot other people?”

I don’t know why a man would dress up like the Joker, head to the theater and gun down 12 people and send dozens more to the hospital. Like most people, my mind can’t comprehend that level of evil or insanity. The mind tries to make sense of it but can’t.

The best I could muster for my daughter? “Some people are very very sick.”

I wish I had a better answer for myself and my daughter.

But I’ve learned that answers that encourage more questions are often as good as right answers when it comes to children.