Dad Entry #97

I went through Megan's purse. Was I practicing? For her teenager years? The sneaky rituals and parenting tricks I'll employ. No. Maybe. It depends. No. Whatever, I have ten years before that stage. Or nine. Eight. Six? Actually, I'm more fearful I'll be too passive; I'll trust Megan's moral compass when I should punch her boyfriend instead. I followed the rules when I was a teenager. I said goodnight to my mom every night when I was in high school. I mean when I went out and came home late; I had to walk up to the edge of her bed and tell her I was home (safely). Some nights I tried to keep my distance, and kind of whisper-yell from her bedroom doorway (because I smelled like cheap, skunky beer). My mom would groggily respond, "Ok, goodnight," to my, "I'm home," like she was still halfway under, and I would relax, relieved, and then the next morning she'd ask with a piercing, direct certainty, "So how come you barely stepped into the bedroom last night to say goodnight?" That magical mother sense. But Megan will be fine; I can trust her inner strength. She'll make her own decisions. Put another way: she's stubborn, not easily coerced or convinced to do something like be nice when she's crabby. Does this 'strength' as I've called it - because I'm too nice, naive, or dumb - anyway, does this mean she'll ignore peer pressure? Who knows. Okay, back to Megan's purse. Contents: a notebook, glitter pen, water bottle and rubber band. Pretty benign. Does anyone else remember Geraldo opening Al Capone's secret vault in Chicago during a live, heavily-hyped, special broadcast? Megan's notebook was small; it had stickers in it, mostly hearts and snowflakes. Nothing to worry about. No "I love Justin Beiber" scribbles, over and over, page after page. In Megan's handwriting!! She could easily manage that now if someone helped her spell. Who was her accomplice?!?! Seriously, I just thought it was cute she had a real purse - like a hand-me-down from Mommy custom made at 1154 Lill - and when I moved it from the middle of the hallway (?) I noticed it was very light. Gosh, I hate to say it, but when I think of purses I think of oversized, bulging bags, with straps awkwardly looped over arms, as sunglasses, checkbooks, make-up, and keys spill out, with photo buttons pinned on (of the kids in sports), all attached to a harried woman on some mission like shopping during a big sale or corraling misbehaving kids. I know that's distorted and wrong. But I'm being honest; I'd prefer I thought instantly of a 'red carpet handbag' instead, a designer dress accessory, which is more like a wallet, or a snack-sized-ziploc (one that's a bit more sturdy, pimped-out and colorful, and likely has diet pills or other drugs in it - stimulants, muscle relaxers, hunger cessation supplements, typical hollywood stuff, probably not apple slices or baby carrot sticks like I put in the snack-sized-ziplocs in Michael's school lunches).

Michael's first baseball season is winding down. He's improved; he has a nice swing. He does, however, like almost every second-grader, strike out a lot. It's his first year of 'kid-pitch'. Seven-year-old pitchers are erratic. That's an understatement. After four balls from a player, a coach takes over. But even that makes for a difficult, mid-AB change. A few of the kids cry when they K. Michael's not about to cry, but I can tell it grates on him. So I said, "Name a good player." He said, "Aramis Ramirez." I agreed with him when he said, "It's almost like for some guys I can tell they're good by the sound of their names." I responded with a bad Tim McCarver impression, enunciating "Michael Cox" in a very baseball-friendly, announcer-kinda way. He wasn't convinced. Anyway, Aramiz Ramirez does have a nice ring to it, and yes, he's a good hitter. So I told Michael, "Pay attention, we're gonna google his career stats." In 14 seasons, Ramirez has hit 294 homers. Not too shabby. And he's struck out 922 times, and that's not bad either; it's less often than many - Soriano! - who swing for the fences. Michael was quiet; that means it sunk in. But he still asked me the next day, "Did you strike out when you played baseball?" I said, "Sure, I played a lot of baseball and struck out plenty of times, but I don't think about that, I think about the times I hit homeruns, launched it over the fence, outta the park, and then I got to trot around the bases, now that's a good feeling, and one you'll love too, you can crush it, I've seen you, and that's what we, as hitters, remember. Just go up there and get your hacks. Got it?" He nodded at least. (For the record, what grated on me was if I booted one at shortstop. I hope Michael's just a monster first baseman. That's easier duty over there. You just gotta rake at the plate.)