MICHAEL
With reading considered a completed lesson for Michael, I hear lots of peanut gallery-esque remarks from him as he reads his way through life. Last week on the way home from Kansas, we passed one of my favorite signs: Terrible's Casino. It is an at least 100' tall sign in the shape of a handlebar-mustachioed man complete with ten gallon hat. As we passed it, I heard him mutter, "Well THERE'S a great way to kill your money."
MEGAN
Conversation today with Megan:
Meg: "How many 100s makes 1,000?"
Me: " 10."
Megan: "That. BROKE. My brain."
Friday, July 29, 2011
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Dad Entry #102
Megan said, "I saw a picture of you when you were little, Daddy." She said it like it was a secretive or scandalous discovery of some sort. I said, "Yeah, it's true, I was little once, smaller than you even." Then I asked, "Was I cute?" Megan said, "Yes, but then you grew up to be 16 and went to your own house and fed yourself." Ha, Megan's encapsulation of the passage to adulthood. Growing up. Some truth to it. Although, I didn't have my own place or 'feed myself' that young; my mom cooked for me - along with fast food joints, and my fraternity house mom and Grandma Bev at Iowa State - until I was about 20.
Michael's in Minnesota for the week. He called last night to say he won the homerun derby. Staged by Papa Mike, it was apparently a well organized event, with multiple rounds and competitor-specific distances (e.g. Michael had to hit it to the sidewalk, Ellie only past the tree). There was no Prince Fielder though, or even Daddy (I still got it, I sent one over the fence in my softball game last week, which is kinda hard to do in this thick, humid air). No prizes either, as the winner noted in my conversation with him, "I think I deserve a prize or something, don't I?" Michael hit 10. Grandma got second - she's pretty athletic, and a pretty athlete, my mom - followed by Alissa and Ellie. I'll have to watch the MLB Network for the official score and highlights.
Yesterday, out of nowhere Megan said, "Daddy, I miss watching you play basketball. I wanna go to one of your games again." I was touched, I don't know why she thought of it, it's not basketball season, it's not on TV a bunch, I'm not crying tears of joy or sorrow over Cyclone bball. Okay then, gotta plant that WNBA seed for my sweetie-heart, get onto another team. Megan might be tall! She was the tallest kid on her tee-ball team, I know I've said that many times here. She's up to my belly-button now. Which is too tall for my baby girl! But I tower over her still, and really, really love it when, in an elevator for example, a stranger steps in, and Megan tenses and moves toward me, kind of leans on me, real close, at this point she can't get far enough from the stranger or close enough to me, even if the stranger is the nicest guy in the world and all genuine warmth and smiles, Megan is just not comfortable, maybe she even takes my hand or puts an arm around my waist. Safe. In that moment, her dependance or trust or whatever it is, it's very empowering, and I'm pretty sure I would take on a pack of wolves, or hockey goons, or crazy soccer moms, to protect her, even if I wouldn't last long. Hysterical soccer moms eat guys like me for breakfast. I would rather face rabid beasts, or toothless enforcers.
I want my kids to learn that repetition is the mother of learning. I don't expect them to pursue the Malcolm Gladwell '10,000 hour rule' for international stardom in something. I just want them to appreciate the benefits of practice. There is no substitute. Whether it's playing an instrument, swinging a bat or golf club, or writing (what I do here: practice writing), I want them to realize it takes hours and hours of practice for incremental, appreciable improvement. The best musicians and golfers do their thing for hours a day for thousands of days. That's what it takes. You need some ability to begin with, and being average - or even good - at many things, being well-rounded, is fine too, but if you wanna be head-and-shoulders above, if you wanna be 'great'... repetition and tons of it. Swing that racquet or club or bat every day, even if it's just in the yard, going over mechanics, without hitting any balls. Keep shooting, playing that song, painting, singing, swimming, skating, skiing, dancing, running, throwing, solving, speaking, presenting, coaching, leading, writing. Practice the skills. If you're not cool with average, or with performance plateaus, if you wanna get better at something, better than you were yesterday, last season, last year... hours of repetition is your answer. Your only answer. The price, however, is time. And that's a big price, involving decisions and motivation. But big rewards are possible, too. 'Less is more' for some things, like certain style concepts, good snappy writing, makeup, government. But not so with practice. That was preachy. But I'm leaving it :)
Michael's in Minnesota for the week. He called last night to say he won the homerun derby. Staged by Papa Mike, it was apparently a well organized event, with multiple rounds and competitor-specific distances (e.g. Michael had to hit it to the sidewalk, Ellie only past the tree). There was no Prince Fielder though, or even Daddy (I still got it, I sent one over the fence in my softball game last week, which is kinda hard to do in this thick, humid air). No prizes either, as the winner noted in my conversation with him, "I think I deserve a prize or something, don't I?" Michael hit 10. Grandma got second - she's pretty athletic, and a pretty athlete, my mom - followed by Alissa and Ellie. I'll have to watch the MLB Network for the official score and highlights.
Yesterday, out of nowhere Megan said, "Daddy, I miss watching you play basketball. I wanna go to one of your games again." I was touched, I don't know why she thought of it, it's not basketball season, it's not on TV a bunch, I'm not crying tears of joy or sorrow over Cyclone bball. Okay then, gotta plant that WNBA seed for my sweetie-heart, get onto another team. Megan might be tall! She was the tallest kid on her tee-ball team, I know I've said that many times here. She's up to my belly-button now. Which is too tall for my baby girl! But I tower over her still, and really, really love it when, in an elevator for example, a stranger steps in, and Megan tenses and moves toward me, kind of leans on me, real close, at this point she can't get far enough from the stranger or close enough to me, even if the stranger is the nicest guy in the world and all genuine warmth and smiles, Megan is just not comfortable, maybe she even takes my hand or puts an arm around my waist. Safe. In that moment, her dependance or trust or whatever it is, it's very empowering, and I'm pretty sure I would take on a pack of wolves, or hockey goons, or crazy soccer moms, to protect her, even if I wouldn't last long. Hysterical soccer moms eat guys like me for breakfast. I would rather face rabid beasts, or toothless enforcers.
I want my kids to learn that repetition is the mother of learning. I don't expect them to pursue the Malcolm Gladwell '10,000 hour rule' for international stardom in something. I just want them to appreciate the benefits of practice. There is no substitute. Whether it's playing an instrument, swinging a bat or golf club, or writing (what I do here: practice writing), I want them to realize it takes hours and hours of practice for incremental, appreciable improvement. The best musicians and golfers do their thing for hours a day for thousands of days. That's what it takes. You need some ability to begin with, and being average - or even good - at many things, being well-rounded, is fine too, but if you wanna be head-and-shoulders above, if you wanna be 'great'... repetition and tons of it. Swing that racquet or club or bat every day, even if it's just in the yard, going over mechanics, without hitting any balls. Keep shooting, playing that song, painting, singing, swimming, skating, skiing, dancing, running, throwing, solving, speaking, presenting, coaching, leading, writing. Practice the skills. If you're not cool with average, or with performance plateaus, if you wanna get better at something, better than you were yesterday, last season, last year... hours of repetition is your answer. Your only answer. The price, however, is time. And that's a big price, involving decisions and motivation. But big rewards are possible, too. 'Less is more' for some things, like certain style concepts, good snappy writing, makeup, government. But not so with practice. That was preachy. But I'm leaving it :)
Monday, July 18, 2011
Dad Entry #101
Megan's an ant-smasher. I'm not sure what it means. At least she's not repressing it. She usually stomps on 'em, but yesterday she used a rock and was a bit more surgical, hunched over, chasing and squashing as her prey skittered for the safety of sidewalk cracks or grass. Even Michael, alarmed by her blood thirst, said "Geez, Megan!" After that it got weird; before getting into the car, she handed me her weapon - the rock - and said, "Keep that, it's my 'Ant Smash Rock'. Can we write that on it, 'Ant Smash Rock', like with a pen or something?" I didn't answer; I was imagining Megan's run as 'Xena the Warrior Princess', filling the big shoes - literally I think - of Lucy Lawless in that terrible series that ended many years ago, thank God. Yeah, that won't do; they'd put her in a deerskin bikini and Uggs, something stupid like that. I'd prefer she was like Angelina Jolie's character in 'Mr. and Mrs. Smith' or 'Wanted' or 'Salt'. Actually, I remember those movies now, forget it, I hope she's an accountant.
Michael had his first zit. Pretty sure it was a pimple, a full blown whitehead, right between his eyes. He picked at it last night. And speaking of Lucy-Lawless-sized-feet, Michael's dogs are gettin' big in a hurry. It's all happening too fast!
Michael has a lot of baseball cards now. And he's been watching games on TV. He knows most of the good players. Gone are the days of:
Michael: "Dad, do you know who Albert 'Puh-jawles' is?"
Me: "I think you mean 'Poo-holes'."
Michael: "Oh, yeah, that could be. Is he any good?"
Me: "Albert Pujols? No, terrible, never heard of him. You can trade him to me though."
Is it just me or do individually packaged Velveeta slices last way too long? A million years from now, when the Earth is nothing but a barron wasteland of post-nuclear ash, they will find perfectly good cheese. If you can call it that.
Sitting to the left of Megan, hip-to-hip in the big chair, looking down at her long eyelashes and tan button nose, with my right arm around her, her head and sun-bleached hair in the crook of my elbow, watching her play the 'Hello Kitty' game on her Nintendo DS, listening to her narrate all the 'important' activities she's undertaking to get along in the game, while I take long deep breaths and sip green tea from my warm 'Master Kong Chef's Table' mug I have in my left hand... I think it was my perfect moment of happiness and health. I will try to recreate it again tomorrow.
Michael had his first zit. Pretty sure it was a pimple, a full blown whitehead, right between his eyes. He picked at it last night. And speaking of Lucy-Lawless-sized-feet, Michael's dogs are gettin' big in a hurry. It's all happening too fast!
Michael has a lot of baseball cards now. And he's been watching games on TV. He knows most of the good players. Gone are the days of:
Michael: "Dad, do you know who Albert 'Puh-jawles' is?"
Me: "I think you mean 'Poo-holes'."
Michael: "Oh, yeah, that could be. Is he any good?"
Me: "Albert Pujols? No, terrible, never heard of him. You can trade him to me though."
Is it just me or do individually packaged Velveeta slices last way too long? A million years from now, when the Earth is nothing but a barron wasteland of post-nuclear ash, they will find perfectly good cheese. If you can call it that.
Sitting to the left of Megan, hip-to-hip in the big chair, looking down at her long eyelashes and tan button nose, with my right arm around her, her head and sun-bleached hair in the crook of my elbow, watching her play the 'Hello Kitty' game on her Nintendo DS, listening to her narrate all the 'important' activities she's undertaking to get along in the game, while I take long deep breaths and sip green tea from my warm 'Master Kong Chef's Table' mug I have in my left hand... I think it was my perfect moment of happiness and health. I will try to recreate it again tomorrow.
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